The Law Draws Lines; Society Must Walk Them

In Ravish Singh Rana v. State of Uttarakhand (2025), the Supreme Court quashed a rape charge filed by a woman after the end of a long-term live-in relationship. The Court held that such prolonged cohabitation cannot be assumed to have started under a false promise of marriage.  

The judgment touches on a crucial legal point: not every failed relationship amounts to fraud, and not every emotional fallout is a criminal offence. The Court shifted the focus from emotional betrayal to the legal meaning of consent—an overdue and necessary move.  

It’s easy to see the law as a way to protect the hurt or punish the dishonest. But relationships, especially those outside marriage, are complex. What the Court recognised is not just the validity of live-in relationships, but also the importance of adult choice in them. Long-term cohabitation, it said, suggests mutual understanding and voluntary participation. A breakup doesn’t erase consent that was once given. The key distinction here is between regret and legal violation.  

This isn't just a technical ruling. It marks a significant shift. Courts have long dealt with cases where women alleged rape based on unfulfilled marriage promises. Earlier, such cases were often seen through a protective lens. This judgment takes a clearer stance: adults in consensual relationships are responsible for their choices, even when things go wrong.  

It doesn’t dismiss the emotional hurt one might feel when a promise is broken. But it draws a line between personal pain and criminal conduct. That’s the heart of this decision. The Court isn’t denying anyone’s experience—it’s asking whether that experience falls under criminal law or reflects the uncertainties of human relationships. 

This judgment prompts a more grounded discussion about consent in today’s context. And that makes it a legal milestone—not because it breaks new ground, but because it clarifies where the law must, and must not, intervene. 

As urbanization, education, and changing cultural attitudes normalize live-in relationships, the law is struggling to keep pace. Traditional legal concepts like consent, coercion, and deceit no longer fit well with informal but serious partnerships that, while not formal marriages, involve similar intimacy and expectations. The Ravish Singh Rana judgment isn’t an end—it’s a call to rethink. Lawyers must revisit arguments, judges must challenge assumptions, and everyone must reconsider what words like “promise,” “consent,” and “violation” truly mean. It’s a reminder that a relationship can be broken or painful without being illegal. 

The Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), introduced in 2023, promised to modernize criminal law, but its real impact lies in redefining consent. Section 63 sets a clear standard: consent must be active, clear, and freely given. Silence or lack of resistance no longer count as consent. The law requires an unmistakable “yes,” expressed through words, gestures, or actions. This change corrects a long-standing problem—assuming consent based on silence ignored how fear or confusion can silence women. Now, the focus is on clear agreement, not just absence of protest.  

Section 69 deals with consent given under deception—such as false promises of marriage or fake job offers. While such consent isn’t valid, it’s not classified as rape under Section 63 but treated as a separate offense with its own penalties.  

Why the distinction? Because the law separates the nature of the act from the reason behind consent. If someone lies about their identity—like pretending to be a spouse—that’s rape under Section 63. But lies about future promises fall under Section 69. The law acknowledges not all lies are equal: some undermine consent itself, others affect decisions indirectly.  

Even with these changes, challenges remain. How do you prove someone never meant to keep a promise? How can a court know what someone thought weeks, months, or years ago? Proving intent is difficult. Usually, courts rely on messages, conversations, or behavior patterns—but these rarely show true intent. This leaves room for confusion and misuse. Relationships often fail not because of deceit, but because life changes. Turning every broken promise into a criminal case risks courts becoming venues for emotional retaliation. 

The law must balance protecting people from deceit without criminalizing every failed relationship. Sections 63 and 69 introduce a clearer framework: consent must be explicit, silence isn’t consent, and deception causing real harm is punishable. These changes ask for honesty and respect, both in court and everyday life. 

Courts often get drawn into personal heartbreaks. But in Pramod Suryabhan Pawar v. State of Maharashtra (2019), the judiciary drew a crucial line between a relationship that failed and one founded on false promises. This distinction is vital: a false promise is a deliberate lie to gain consent; a breach of promise is when someone meant well but circumstances changed. The Court ruled that only the first is criminal. 

This ruling protects against misuse of the justice system as a tool for settling personal scores after a breakup. It emphasizes intent over outcome. Treating every failed relationship as a crime turns justice into a weapon, not a safeguard. 

In the Ravish Singh Rana case, the Supreme Court extended this principle to long-term live-in relationships. It held that such relationships can’t be presumed to have begun under false pretenses. Years of shared life show mutual consent and choice. If the relationship ends, it’s unfortunate but not unlawful. 

The message is simple: treat adults like adults. Respect their choices, even when things go wrong. Hold people accountable only when there’s clear, deliberate, proven deception. Otherwise, the law risks punishing normal human experiences—falling in love, making promises, or changing minds.  

Both judgments focus on intent at the time of the promise. If someone truly meant to marry, even if it didn’t happen, it’s not a crime. But if they lied just to get consent for sex, that’s different. Proving intent is tough, relying on texts, conversations, and behavior, which don’t always tell the full story. Courts must carefully separate real deception from disappointment. 

Together, these rulings push for a balanced view of relationships under the law. People make choices based on emotions and hopes. Sometimes things don’t work out—that’s not criminal. The law is shifting to focus on lies meant to deceive, not promises made in good faith but lost over time. 

Consent is no longer just a legal term—it’s becoming a social and personal responsibility. Starting with new laws and court rulings, the idea is now entering everyday life. Friends, partners, and families are learning to rethink what consent really means. 

The challenge isn’t just legal—it’s human. For years, silence was seen as consent. Cultural norms made women hesitant or passive, fearing objection would be improper. Changing this mindset to require clear, voluntary, active consent is a big shift—and such shifts take time. 

This moment feels like walking a tightrope. On one side is the long-overdue respect for autonomy—the right to say no or ask for clarity. On the other is the need to stop the law from being used for emotional revenge. Not every bad breakup is betrayal; not every broken promise is deception. The goal now is to teach this difference—not just in courts, but in homes, schools, and online spaces where relationships form and end every day. 

The law can set standards, but society must live by them. In many parts of India, live-in relationships remain taboo, and women who leave such relationships face harsher judgment than men who may have deceived them. This imbalance leads to confusion about what the law protects. Sections 63 and 69 of the BNS don’t punish relationships—they punish exploitation. Yet when society equates relationship failure with moral failure, legal complaints can become tools of emotional revenge, weakening genuine cases and eroding trust in the justice system. 

At the same time, those who misuse casual relationships to manipulate others—making promises they never intend to keep—are losing their legal cover. The Supreme Court and the BNS are raising the bar for proving consent and exposing deception. Personal accountability is becoming central: individuals must mean what they say and recognize that lies, even in romance, have consequences. 

For this shift to succeed beyond law, public participation is essential. Parents must teach children that consent is an ongoing dialogue, not a mere formality. Schools need to talk openly about relationships, autonomy, and respect. Media should stop glamorizing manipulative romance and instead showcase healthy interactions. Friends should hold each other accountable. And society must accept that walking away from a relationship doesn’t require justification or invite legal threats. 

Ultimately, these legal reforms call for maturity—not just in courts, but in how people understand and practice consent in daily life. The law cannot resolve every heartbreak; it’s not meant to. Its role is to define what is acceptable, criminal, and worthy of respect. The rest is up to us: to build a culture where freedom and responsibility go hand in hand, promises are sincere, and consent is given—and understood—with dignity. 

Legal reforms and judgments may seem distant, meant only for lawmakers and judges. But when it comes to consent, responsibility belongs to everyone. The evolving legal framework in India is more than new rules—it reflects the society people want to become. This conversation doesn’t end in courtrooms; it begins in everyday relationships and the clarity with which people communicate. 

For individuals, the first step is awareness. Many still don’t fully understand what “affirmative consent” or “deceitful means” really mean under the law. It’s not enough to assume silence means consent; the law now requires a clear, honest, and freely given “yes.” Consent isn’t a one-time box to check—it must be ongoing and mutual. Agreement once doesn’t guarantee agreement always. Silence doesn’t mean acceptance. This shift asks people not just to act differently, but to listen, ask, and respect more thoughtfully. 

Awareness must be paired with responsibility. Words, especially promises about love, marriage, or the future, must be used carefully. Not every broken promise is deceit, but promises made with no intent to keep them—just to gain trust or intimacy—cross a line. Section 69 of the BNS makes clear that deceit has consequences. This isn’t about criminalizing love or punishing breakups; it’s about distinguishing emotional honesty from manipulation. 

Legal literacy is key—and it’s not just for lawyers or activists. Schools should teach it. Parents should discuss it. It should be part of relationship advice, college orientations, dating apps, and media narratives. Misunderstanding the law leads to confusion, fear, and misuse—sometimes people overestimate their rights; other times they underestimate the consequences of their actions. Legal literacy helps close this gap, empowering people to protect themselves and make better choices. 

Meanwhile, the law must keep evolving. The Supreme Court has recognized, especially in Indra Sarma, that India lacks clear laws on live-in relationships. Courts currently rely too much on personal judgments, creating uncertainty and injustice around rights to maintenance, property, and custody. Legislators must step up to provide clarity, reflecting the reality of modern relationships. 

But legal reform alone isn’t enough. Cultural change must follow. The law can’t stop families from shaming women who leave live-in relationships or films from glamorizing manipulation as romance. It can’t stop friends from pressuring others to “just promise whatever it takes.” What the law can do is raise the standard—and then it’s up to everyone to meet it. 

We stand at a crossroads. India’s laws on consent are more precise than ever. Courts are more socially aware. But this is only half the journey. The rest depends on how people live these laws—in how they teach the next generation, how they hold themselves accountable, not because the law demands it, but because it’s the right thing to do. This journey forward is no longer just legal.