Gate No 5: A look back at the 2011 Delhi High Court bomb blast

It's hard to believe that thirteen years have passed since that fateful morning of September 7, 2011. I recall driving through Gate No 5 of the Delhi High Court at 10:07 AM, parking my car just ten meters from the entrance with the ever-helpful Sripal, the parking attendant, guiding me.

The air was calm, and as I walked toward the court, I was greeted by familiar faces. Ishwar, in his usual spot near Lawyers Chamber Block 1, was selling lawyers' bands and robes, just as he does today. As I entered the main lobby, the usual buzz filled the corridors - an ordinary day in the life of the court, yet one that would soon be etched into our memories forever.

It was just another morning, until 10:14 AM, when everything changed.

A high-intensity bomb exploded at Gate No 5, the very spot I had passed through minutes earlier. The blast was powerful; it shook the building. In the blink of an eye, the routine calm turned into chaos. Blood was spilt, and lives were changed forever. For some, life ceased. Fifteen lives were lost, and about ninety were injured. The debris, the blood - it was everywhere. The deafening blast ripped through the air, a sound I would remember forever.

And then, silence.

In that silence, cries for help broke out. Panic spread. The horror of what had happened hit us all.

I rushed back toward the gate, back to the very spot where I had been just moments earlier. Sripal, who had helped me park my car minutes ago, was now helping the injured. Ishwar, who had stood near the blast, had lost his hearing. Thankfully, he recovered a few days later. But at that moment, the devastation was overwhelming. The spaces once filled with the steady rhythms of court life were now a battlefield of dust, debris and disbelief.

But what stands out vividly in my memory is what happened next. Amidst the terror, something remarkable unfolded. Lawyers, clerks, judges -everyone rushed to the destruction. There was no hesitation, no waiting for someone else to step up. I watched as colleagues, who had been focused on legal battles just that morning, suddenly transformed into first responders. They lifted up the injured, comforted the shaken, and tried to make sense of the devastation. Even the judges - breaking protocol and abandoning their personal security -rushed in to help. In such moments, it didn't matter who you were or what your role was. It was pure human instinct.

By 2:15 PM that day, court was back in session. It was an act of defiance and survival. Terrorists aimed to break us, but they couldn't. We returned to work, not unshaken, but refusing to let fear win. Walking back into the courtroom was one of the hardest things I've done. The weight of what happened was heavy, and the grief was palpable. We'd lost innocent people, but the work had to go on.

That day was more than a test of our resolve; it reminded us who we are as a community. The legal fraternity is not just lawyers and judges - we are human beings, united by something greater than our cases. Though the scars of that morning will never fully heal, they remind us that no matter how deep the wound, justice will prevail.

Tragically, that day was not an isolated incident. India's legal fraternity has faced many dark moments. In 2019, Darvesh Yadav, the first woman President of the Uttar Pradesh Bar Council, was shot dead in her own chamber. The news shocked the community. It was unimaginable -someone who had fought to the top, silenced within the very walls meant to be her sanctuary.

In July 2021, Judge Uttam Anand, an Additional Sessions Judge in Jharkhand, was mowed down by an autorickshaw while on his morning walk. The CBI later revealed that it was no accident. That same year, bomb blasts rocked the Rohini and Ludhiana court complexes, aiming to disrupt the justice delivery system.

The violence has escalated. Delhi's courts have seen at least three gunfire incidents - gunshots in spaces meant for debate, not bloodshed. In February 2024, a lady advocate commissioner was attacked in Tirur, Kerala, while carrying out her court-assigned duty. It is a reality, and not just lawyers are vulnerable. Judges must be protected and supported, so they can act without fear or favour, inside or outside the courtroom.

We have faced loss and fear before. Threats are real, and security cracks may still exist. The Supreme Court and High Courts have taken action. In Pradyuman Bisht, the Supreme Court directed courts and state governments to establish Court Security Units, draft security plans, and install CCTV cameras. Yet, the Supreme Court's 2023 State of Judiciary report shows that only 35.7% of district court complexes have functional CCTV surveillance. The remaining district courts remain exposed, leaving judges, lawyers and the public vulnerable.

Steps have been taken, especially in Delhi, where the High Court initiated suo motu action on security lapses. But much remains to be done. We need more than plans on paper or cameras that don't work. We need action, consistency, and the assurance that the pursuit of justice isn't being compromised by fear.

Still, there is hope. The resolve of the legal community has been tested time and again, but we've never faltered. Thirteen years ago, we stood united in the face of terror and still stand together. I'm grateful to the judges and bar leaders who resolved to start work at 2:15 PM on that fateful day, despite death and destruction. We're not just fighting for ourselves; we're fighting for the idea that courts should be places of safety, where justice prevails without intimidation.

With every step forward, no matter how small, we move toward a future where our courts are not just symbols of justice, but fortresses of security. I am proud to have been part of the Delhi High Court and the Delhi High Court Bar Association's efforts, starting work at 2:15 PM on 7 September 2011. We owe it to ourselves, our children, and the generations to come to create a safer, more just world.

Robin Ratnakar David is a Delhi-based lawyer and arbitrator practising since 1990.