On September 10, the Supreme Court of India turned its gaze towards the turmoil sweeping Nepal to underline the resilience of India’s own democratic fabric and to reaffirm its pride in the Constitution. “See what is happening in our neighbouring states. Nepal we saw,” Chief Justice of India BR Gavai remarked. A Constitution Bench, headed by the Chief Justice, was hearing a presidential reference on whether courts can prescribe timelines for Governors and the President to act on bills passed by state assemblies. During the exchange, the Bench observed how political upheavals in neighbouring countries cast a stark contrast with India’s constitutional endurance.
The observations came even as Nepal reeled from violent, student-led demonstrations that forced Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli to step down on Tuesday, following days of arson, attacks on institutions, and mounting casualties. Protesters torched Parliament, the President’s office, the Supreme Court, and the residences of senior leaders. Earlier, demonstrators vandalised the residence of former Prime Minister Pushpa Kamal Dahal “Prachanda” in Lalitpur and set fire to vehicles inside the compound of Nepali Congress president Sher Bahadur Deuba. In this context, a closer look at the Supreme Court’s self-congratulatory comments poses serious questions about India's own constitutional resilience at a time when the civic virtues of its political class are steadily eroding.
Democracy's Himalayan tragedy
In its first sitting in 2008, Nepal's elected Constituent Assembly abolished the centuries-old Hindu monarchy of the Shah dynasty. Krishna Prasad Sitaula, Home Minister in the interim government, moved a resolution declaring Nepal an "independent, indivisible, sovereign, secular, and inclusive democratic republican nation." The motion was passed with a resounding majority.
The Constituent Assembly's proclamation was the logical outcome of the 19-day People’s Movement of 2006. Popular slogans such as "Gyane chor, desh chhod" ("King Gyanendra is a thief, leave the country") and "Loktantrik ganatantra zindabad" ("Long live the democratic republic") captured the spirit of the upheaval.
The movement demanded that the King accept the sovereignty of the people and relinquish royal authority. Although many democrats initially favoured a constitutional monarchy, the Palace's insistence on absolute power forced them to abandon the monarchy altogether. They envisioned a state committed to the well-being of its people, not the whims of its ruler.
As journalist Prashant Jha observed in Battles for the New Republic: A Contemporary History of Nepal (2014): "Republicanism was the guiding spirit of the partnership between the Maoists and the democratic political parties [in the People's Movement] – the latter had given up support for constitutional monarchy and the former accepted the logic of a peaceful movement to achieve the goal. If there was any doubt left about popular sentiment, the April 2008 elections cleared it – parties with republican platforms won overwhelmingly, with the Maoists leading the charge. The openly pro-monarchy Rastriya Prajatantra Party (Nepal) bagged only four out of 601 seats in the CA."
The Nepali Revolution guillotined the ancien regime and heralded the republic. Yet, 19 years later, those dreams stand shattered.
Today, Nepal's streets echo with slogans like "KP chor, desh chhod" ("PM KP Oli, you are a thief; leave the country"). The youth are disillusioned by a political class that embodies none of the civic virtues—the soul of republicanism. Anger has been amplified by social media campaigns such as one around "nepo kids", which spotlight the lavish lifestyles of politicians’ children—foreign education, luxury cars, exotic holidays—allegedly bankrolled by corruption. As one widely shared TikTok video put it: "Nepo Kids show off their lifestyle on Instagram and TikTok, but never explain where the money comes from."
Aristotle’s prescience
Nepal today stands as a cautionary tale: even the most carefully crafted constitutions cannot withstand a deficit of civic virtue among political actors. The collapse of republican optimism into disillusionment reflects not the inherent failure of democracy, but the bankruptcy of its custodians.
Political parties once entrusted with the hopes of democratic consolidation—Nepali Congress, the CPN-UML, and the Maoists—have degenerated into vehicles of self-interest. Rather than nurturing institutions, they have turned them into bargaining arenas. Coalition governments collapse with dismal regularity; Prime Ministers are ousted through intrigue rather than accountability; Parliament has become a theatre of obstruction instead of deliberation.
The result is a hollowing out of Nepal's Constitution, barely a decade old. A document once envisaged as a progressive charter guaranteeing social justice and federal harmony has been reduced to a bargaining chip in elite politics. Disillusioned citizens, yearning for order, are now drawn towards nostalgia for monarchy.
This trajectory fits neatly into Aristotle's classification of constitutions. For him, no political form was inherently perfect; its quality, he believed, depends on whether rulers act for the common good or for their private gain. Monarchy can be virtuous or tyrannical, aristocracy can serve the people or devolve into oligarchy, democracy can embody equality or descend into mob rule. Ultimately, the health of any system depends on the ethical compass of those who wield power.
The paradox of Yemen and Oman
The contrasting experiences of Yemen and Oman underscore this lesson. On paper, Yemen seemed to embody democratic promise: a multi-party system, periodic elections, and a republican constitution. Yet under President Ali Abdullah Saleh (1990-2012), democracy was hollowed out.
Saleh personalised power, replaced law with patronage, suppressed dissent, and manipulated tribal divisions. Elections became instruments of control. When the Arab Spring arrived in 2011, decades of suppressed grievance erupted into civil war, leaving Yemen fractured and devastated.
Across the Arabian Peninsula, neighboring Oman's Sultan Qaboos charted a different course. Ascending the throne in 1970, he inherited a poor, isolated country. Though he ruled as an absolute monarch, his vision was developmental, not extractive. He invested oil wealth prudently in education, healthcare, infrastructure, and women's empowerment, while maintaining a moderate, diplomatic foreign policy. Omanis, though without the ballot box, experienced stability and steady progress.
This paradox illustrates Aristotle's central insight: democracy without virtue can breed despots, while monarchy guided by benevolence can nurture prosperity. Constitutions, institutions, and ballots are not substitutes for civic virtue among leaders.
The message for India
India, watching from across the Himalayas, cannot ignore these lessons. The steady tilt towards majoritarian, elected autocracy is unmistakable. Electoral mandates are increasingly treated not as instruments of constitutional accountability but as blank cheques to bulldoze dissent, weaken institutions, and centralise power.
The examples of Nepal, Yemen, and Oman converge on a single truth: the health of any constitutional order depends less on its formal design than on the civic virtues of those who inhabit it. Constitutions are living promises, but only ethical political actors can breathe life into them. When they fail, even the most robust frameworks crumble, while authoritarian alternatives begin to look appealing to desperate citizens.
In his famous Grammar of Anarchy speech to the Constituent Assembly on 25 November 1949, Dr BR Ambedkar had underscored this very point.
"However bad a Constitution may be, it may turn out to be good if those who are called to work it, happen to be a good lot. The working of a Constitution does not depend wholly upon the nature of the Constitution. The Constitution can provide only the organs of State such as the Legislature, the Executive and the Judiciary. The factors on which the working of those organs of the State depend are the people and the political parties they will set up as their instruments to carry out their wishes and their politics," he stressed.
India still retains the ballast of resilient institutions, an independent judiciary, and a vigilant civil society. Yet, unless its political class rediscovers civic virtue, the "world's largest democracy" risks following Nepal's tragic trajectory—where the promise of republicanism collapses into nostalgia for authoritarian rule. In this light, even the Supreme Court's confident proclamations about constitutional resilience ring hollow.
(Views are personal. The author is Deputy Law Secretary to the Government of Kerala and author of The Supreme Codex: A Citizen’s Anxieties and Aspirations on the Indian Constitution.)