Lalit Gargg
Voluntary euthanasia—ending one’s life according to one’s own will—has long been a subject of social, ethical, and legal debate in India. This issue is not merely about death; it is deeply intertwined with unbearable suffering, human dignity, compassion, and the right to self-determination. These days, the case of a 32-year-old man who has been in a coma-like state for the past thirteen years has become a living symbol of this tragedy. There is no consciousness, no communication, and no possibility of recovery, yet the family is forced to endure immense emotional, mental, and financial agony. This case has once again reignited public discourse on euthanasia. Across the country, thousands of such cases silently endure suffering, with neither solutions nor a clear legal pathway. This situation is not just a medical crisis; it is a profound test of human sensitivity and social justice.
Modern medical science has developed the ability to artificially prolong life, but it has not resolved the ethical question of whether sustaining life at all costs is truly humane when life itself becomes nothing more than pain, unconsciousness, and a meaningless biological process. The irony is that for those compelled to live a hellish existence due to incurable illness, prolonged coma, or complete loss of consciousness, Indian law has yet to provide a clear and compassionate framework. Many believe that when dignity, awareness, and hope disappear from life, a dignified death becomes more meaningful than the mere continuation of existence.
This raises a fundamental question: why does our legal system still view such a death through the lens of suspicion, fear, and criminality? Sections 309 and 306 of the Indian Penal Code long remained legal obstacles to voluntary euthanasia. Although the Mental Healthcare Act of 2017 partially decriminalized attempted suicide by recognizing it as a consequence of mental distress, there is still no comprehensive and explicit law addressing euthanasia. Article 21 of the Constitution guarantees the right to life and personal liberty, yet the debate continues as to whether this right also includes the right to a dignified death.
A historic turning point in India’s judicial approach to euthanasia came in 2011 with the Aruna Shanbaug case. Aruna Shanbaug, a nurse at Mumbai’s KEM Hospital, suffered severe brain damage after a brutal assault in 1973 and remained in a persistent vegetative state for forty-two years. In response to a petition filed on her behalf, the Supreme Court rejected active euthanasia but permitted passive euthanasia under strict conditions. The Court held that if a patient’s condition is irreversible, with no possibility of regaining consciousness, and medical treatment merely prolongs life mechanically, life-sustaining treatment may be withdrawn under expert opinion and judicial supervision. While this judgment marked a significant milestone in Indian legal history, it was clearly an exception rather than a permanent legislative solution.
Subsequently, in 2018, the Supreme Court, in Common Cause v. Union of India, made the landmark observation that the right to life is not merely the right to live, but also the right to live—and die—with dignity. The Court recognized the legality of a “living will” or “advance medical directive,” allowing individuals to state in advance that life-sustaining treatment should not be administered in the event of an incurable condition. However, the process was burdened with such complex procedural formalities that, in practice, this right remains largely inaccessible to the common citizen. In recent years, several cases have emerged that starkly reveal the gravity of this problem. The very need for euthanasia arises from this harsh reality.
In terminal cancer, severe neurological disorders, and end-stage illnesses, life often becomes synonymous with suffering. Keeping an unconscious body alive through machines appears less like living and more like prolonged torment. Individuals should have the right to make decisions about the final chapter of their lives, as self-determination is a core value of a democratic society. Prolonged medical treatment shatters families emotionally and financially, while also raising questions about the allocation of limited medical resources. Opponents of euthanasia argue that it may be misused, that the elderly or the poor could be coerced, and that doctors might become arbiters of life and death. These concerns are serious, but their solution lies not in rejecting euthanasia outright, but in framing clear, stringent, and transparent laws. International experience shows that where well-defined legislation and multi-layered oversight mechanisms exist, the scope for misuse is minimal. Countries such as the Netherlands, Belgium, Canada, and Switzerland have demonstrated that compassion and regulation can coexist.
In India, the Jain practice of Santhara (or Sallekhana) and modern euthanasia may appear similar at first glance, yet at the levels of philosophy, purpose, process, and constitutional interpretation, they differ fundamentally—while also sharing certain deeper parallels. This is why Santhara has continued without obstruction in the same country where euthanasia remains a subject of intense debate. In Jainism, Santhara or Sallekhana is not viewed as death, but as the final spiritual discipline—a celebration of death rather than an escape from life or pain. It is neither a flight from suffering nor from existence, but a conscious process of shedding attachment, anger, fear, and delusion. Santhara is undertaken when an individual realizes that the body is no longer capable of spiritual practice, when illness has become incurable, or when old age has rendered the body frail. Food and water are renounced gradually, with discipline and under the guidance of a spiritual mentor. Its purpose is not to destroy the body, but to purify the soul. Jain philosophy holds that death is inevitable; the only question is whether it occurs in attachment and agitation or in equanimity and awareness.
In contrast, voluntary euthanasia is a modern legal concept whose primary aim is relief from unbearable physical or mental suffering. Here, the individual seeks an end to life’s torment when consciousness, communication, and hope of recovery are irreversibly lost. This decision is emotional, medical, and situational—not a part of spiritual discipline. Euthanasia involves physical interventions such as medication, injections, or the withdrawal of life-support systems, whereas Santhara involves no act of active violence.
The time has come for India to shed its hesitation and enact a clear, compassionate law on euthanasia. Such a law must scientifically define incurable and irreversible conditions, place the patient’s will and dignity at the highest pedestal, spare families unnecessary suffering, and provide doctors with ethical and legal protection. Euthanasia is not an act against life; it is a compassionate response against meaningless suffering. When life is reduced to a mechanical biological process sustained only by machines, devoid of consciousness, dignity, and hope, death should be seen not as a crime but as a human right.
If our Constitution accords dignity to life, it must also recognize the right to choose death with dignity. Enacting a clear law on euthanasia would not merely be a legal reform; it would be a defining mark of a sensitive, mature, and compassionate society. Human empathy demands that a balance be struck between the sanctity of life and the cruelty of suffering. When euthanasia is guided by consent, safeguards, and compassion, humanity itself is preserved. The judiciary must deliver justice that liberates the patient from suffering and paves the way for a more humane future.
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