53Penal Code, irst enacted by British
colonials in 1860. Matthew Hale, the
chief justice of England from 1671 to
1676, originally argued that consent to
marriage itself implied consent to sex,
which, once given, could not be re-
voked. The U.K. and other British colo-
nies have long since overruled this, but
in India, the issue has been met with
ierce debate.
According to the latest research
from Pew, nearly 9 in 10 Indians, in-
cluding women, agree with the notion
that a wife must always obey her hus-
band. In January, Nundy’s eforts were
virulently opposed by a small group
of Indian men who launched a “mar-
riage strike” on Twitter. A men’s-rights
group called the Save Indian Family
Foundation encouraged men to boy-
cott marriage altogether, saying that
marital- rape laws could be misused
and lead to false convictions.
The Indian government seems to
agree. Spokespeople did not respond
to TIME’s request for comment, but
when similar pleas were iled in 2017,
the government argued against mak-
ing marital rape a crime because it
could “destabilize the institution of
marriage” and “become an easy tool
for harassing husbands.” The courts
accepted this argument. In the latestrecord in high-proile and impactful litigation in India speaks for itself.”
Still, the Indian judiciary remains a man’s world. Since its inception in 1950,
the Supreme Court has had only 11 female judges out of 256, and the presence
of female lawyers inside courts is still uncommon. Nundy deals with this by
overpreparing—with a more robust legal strategy, by studying the argument
style of her (predominantly male) counterparts, and by iling long, detailed
briefs—just so there’s no doubt she’s “better than the next guy.” Ultimately,
her job is to be persuasive. “I’m always toeing this line of not being seen as too
aggressive, and smiling at that key moment,” she says.
Nundy’s public proile, bolstered by an active social media presence, has
made her a target of online trolling at a time when India’s online spaces are
especially rife with the harassment of women. In March 2021, the U.S.-based
nonproit Freedom House downgraded India from “free” to “partly free” after
independent journalists, activists, and lawyers, especially women, faced in-
creasing threats.
Nundy has learned not to think twice about blocking her trolls. “Free
speech doesn’t mean you have a right to my attention,” she says. Nundy re-
mains guarded about her private life to protect her family, but also for self-
preservation: “Women in the public arena are continually asked about our
personal lives, and it dilutes the focus
on our work and ideas.”
THE MARITAL-RAPE CASE will be
heard at a time when the Indian state
and courts are increasingly deciding
what women can and can’t do. In De-
cember, the government raised the
legal age of marriage for women from
18 to 21 years, which some feminist
activists argued could backire—for
instance, tightening the grip of par-
ents on young women’s personal lives.
And in March, one court in the state of
Karnataka upheld a government order
banning Muslim girls from wearing
headscarves inside schools, sparking
protests. Even before the pandemic,
Muslim girls were at greater risk of
dropping out of education; since 2020,
their enrollment has further declined.
“Forcing a woman to take of a hijab is
as patriarchal as making her wear one,”
Nundy says. “We can’t aford to shut
the door to girls in school.”
While current laws deine rape and
consent clearly, the exception for rape
within marriage has remained, de-
spite increased campaigning in recent
years. After the Nirbhaya case in 2012,
a government- appointed committee
made a set of recommendations, includ-
ing the criminalizing of marital rape,
to reform laws to prosecute rape. The
government refused to address mari-
tal rape then, saying that there wasn’t
a “societal consensus” on the issue.
The exception for marital rape in In-
dia’s law exists because of the Indian
challenge, the judicial bench has once again asked the government for its view
on the matter, and questioned if parallels can be drawn between cases of rape
among a married couple and nonmarried individuals.
One-third of women globally face violence at the hands of a partner, ac-
cording to the World Health Organization. And even in countries where mari-
tal rape is a crime, reporting and conviction rates remain low. But for Chitra
Awasthi, founder of the RIT Foundation—which irst petitioned the courts to
criminalize marital rape in 2015—the goal of the petitions is not just to change
the law. It’s also to raise awareness. “There are many girls and women who
didn’t even know that marital rape was a form of abuse. They thought it was
their fate,” she says. “Even now, over and above any legal relief, it’s important
to make both men and women aware of the fact that there has to be consent in
having sex with your partner.”
Nundy remains hopeful that the law still has the power to change what so-
ciety considers the norm. “The more [marital rape] is prosecuted, the more it
will be deterred,” she says. In court, she has argued that devaluing the ability
of women to give consent has ripple efects in both directions. “You’re taking
away a woman’s right to say a joyful yes,” she said at the hearings.
For all the injustices she has fought in court, Nundy recognizes she’s
just at the midway point in her career—and in her life. “I’m in lux and still
growing,” she says. “But for the irst time, I’m also thinking about what I
want to leave behind.” And rather than being driven by anger about these
injustices, her primary motivation will always be love. “After the patriarchy
beats you out of shape and cuts you down to size, love can make you whole
again.” —With reporting by ELOISE BARRY/LONDON ‘IT GOES TO
THE HEART OF
THE WORST
PATRIARCHY.’
—KARUNA NUNDY,
ON THE LEGAL EXCEPTION
FOR RAPE WITHIN MARRIAGE