the floodgates to frivolous litigation. Supporters of this view often frame the marriage contract as one that includes automatic and continuous sexual consent — a moral right, if not a legal one. For them, the idea of a husband being prosecuted for rape within marriage appears to erode the sanctity and stability of the institution.

Yet, on the other side lies a simple but fundamental truth: consent does not evaporate upon marriage. A woman’s autonomy over her own body does not diminish when she ties the knot. The Constitution does not grant any citizen — including husbands — the right to force sex upon another human being. Courts in Independent Thought v. Union of India (2017) have already recognised the inconsistency in treating sex with a minor wife as a crime, yet allowing the broader marital rape exemption to stand. The Karnataka High Court, in 2022, took a courageous step by refusing to quash a marital rape charge, calling forced sex within marriage “an inhuman act.” But the legal vacuum at the national level persists.

Those opposed to criminalisation frequently raise concerns about misuse of the law — a reality that cannot be brushed aside. India’s criminal justice system is indeed susceptible to false complaints, slow proceedings, and societal pressures. But it is worth asking: should the fear of misuse justify the absence of a law itself? If misuse were a valid ground to deny legal protection, we would have no laws at all — not on dowry, harassment, property, or even murder. The answer must lie in creating stronger procedural safeguards, not in withholding justice from victims.

Another argument suggests that marital rape is already covered under laws related to cruelty, domestic violence, or unnatural offences. But these are merely band-aids on a wound that requires deeper healing. None of these laws recognise non-consensual intercourse within marriage as the crime it is. They reduce the act to “cruelty” or “violence,” stripping it of the specificity and gravity attached to rape as a violation of bodily integrity and sexual autonomy.

At the heart of this debate lies a larger philosophical struggle: Do we see women as independent individuals with agency, or as extensions of their husbands once married? A society that respects equality cannot logically justify a legal doctrine that treats wives as perpetual consent givers. Marriage is not — and should never be — a license for unrestrained access to a woman’s body.

Criminalising marital rape will not destroy marriage; it will redefine it in healthier terms. It signals that marriages must be built on respect, not coercion; on understanding, not entitlement. It affirms that consent must be continuous, enthusiastic, and revocable — even within the most intimate relationships.

India stands at a crossroads. As the Law Commission reconsiders the issue and public opinion evolves, the question is not whether the country is ready for such a reform. The real question is whether we can continue to justify a law that denies half our population the protection every human being deserves.

To call marital rape a “conjugal right” is to ignore the core principles of our Constitution. To recognise it as a crime is not only legally sound — it is morally imperative.