Baranda’s Bombshell Exposes Dry Law Farce

Gujarat’s storied prohibition has survived decades of political grandstanding, moral sermons, and official circulars. What it hasn’t survived is the honesty—perhaps accidental—of its own Minister of State for Tribal Development, P.C. Baranda. In a public event at Chhota Udepur, the former Deputy Superintendent of Police cheerfully declared that, during his tenure, liquor sale was “allowed.” Not overlooked, not slipped through—allowed. One almost applauds the sheer candour; it takes a unique kind of courage to broadcast one’s own dereliction of duty while occupying a ministerial chair.

And thus emerges the great Gujarat paradox: prohibition for the people, permission for the powerful. A regular Police Inspector faces suspension the moment liquor worth more than ₹2.50 lakh is seized in his jurisdiction. But a DSP who admits to permitting illegal liquor sale? He is promoted to ministerial rank—because in this state, violating the law is not a crime; it is evidently a qualification.

Baranda’s defence is even more staggering. He invoked the tribal community—suggesting that liquor sale was tolerated because “Adivasis drink.” This convenient stereotype is more than insulting; it is a tacit admission that an entire state machinery was willing to look away, if not actively abet, illegal trade. If liquor was indeed being sold with official blessings, are we to believe only Adivasis consumed it? Or is this the latest chapter in the long-running political anthology titled: “Excuses That Fool No One”?

The real question, however, transcends Baranda himself. Will the Director General of Police, the Additional Chief Secretary (Home), or even the Chief Secretary initiate action against a former DSP who openly admits to enabling illegality? Will the Chief Minister, Bhupendra Patel, sack his minister for misconduct he has confessed in broad daylight? Or are there two sets of rules—one for the powerless and one for the politically precious?

If a suspended PI must bear the full weight of departmental proceedings, why shouldn’t Baranda face the same? Will the government recover his salary for the period during which he failed to enforce the very law he was duty-bound to uphold? Or is selective accountability now the state’s official policy?

There is an old Gujarati proverb, painfully apt here:
“When the fence itself grazes on the crops, what harvest can one expect?”
And in Gujarat’s prohibition landscape, it appears the fence hasn’t merely grazed—it has devoured the field, built a farmhouse over it, and called it governance.

Baranda has not just exposed himself; he has exposed the farce of a system where the