A court case that has ruined generations of a family lies at the heart of illustrious British novelist Charles Dickens's masterpiece, Bleak House, written mid-19th Century. The plot of the book centers on the fictional probate case Jarndyce v. Jarndyce, which epitomizes the protracted and complex nature of court cases. Ever since it was published, Jarndyce v. Jarndyce has been identified with interminable court delays.

Taking note of the novel's portrayal of endless judicial delays, the pendency of cases in India has surged significantly across all levels of the judicial hierarchy over the years. The outcome is this: our legal system, weighed down by its colonial legacy, is plagued by a shocking backlog of over 50 million pending criminal and civil cases. The Supreme Court alone has more than 82,000 unresolved cases. Far from being mere numerical anomalies, these figures reveal the deeply entrenched systemic inadequacies, turning the pursuit of justice into an endless ordeal for those who seek it.

In light of this, the brutal rape and murder of a 31-year-old junior doctor from R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital is yet another addition to India’s justice predicament, already overwhelmed by a deluge of unsettled cases. This horrific crime, that ignited countrywide outrage and drew global condemnation for its sheer barbarity, starkly illustrates the agonizingly slow progress trait of India's justice system. It is also crucial to bear in mind that almost all cases reaching the Supreme Court involve matters of considerable gravity, reflecting the deep-rooted challenges in ensuring timely justice.

That being said, it was rather reassuring when the apex court labeled the incident as ‘horrific’ and a wake-up call. “The nation cannot wait for another rape and murder in order to bring in safety laws for medical professionals and doctors... The safety of doctors who don the role of health providers is a matter of national concern,” former Chief Justice D Y Chandrachud emphasized. It is also, apparently, a heartening piece of news that the Supreme Court of India, after evaluating the latest status report filed by the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), observed that the trial in the case is likely to conclude within a month.

Yet, given the heightened public anxiety and the justice system's predicament, considerable cynicism surrounds this several month-old case. The skepticism largely stems from the complexities of allegations, including evidence tampering, document falsification, and other obstructions, such as non-cooperation from key stakeholders. At this point, therefore, any hope for speedy justice or a prompt resolution would seem like a rare and monumental achievement; put differently, it would feel like a breakthrough against overwhelming odds.

Since the focus of this piece is on ‘Abhaya (the name given to the murdered medical intern by her colleagues), I will refrain from delving into a related issue that surfaced simultaneously: the troubling culture of corruption within the state’s medical education system, including allegations of unmerited grading and irregularities in house staff appointment or selection.

The purpose is not to remotely doubt the efforts of investigative agencies or the judiciary, both of which are constrained by inherent limitations. However, the expression 'caged parrot,' coined by India’s highest court in reference to the country’s premier crime investigation agency earlier, mirrors the grim state of affairs. The responsibility of dispelling such perceptions primarily lies with the government. Therefore, this article seeks to widen the conversation to include the role of the political class, whose influence remains central in uncovering the fact.

Role of politics in mass movement

It is impossible to comprehend the gravity of anguish the victim's parents are undergoing—losing their child, their only daughter. Utterly devastated and feeling helpless, they have realized their repeated pleas to political parties didn’t translate into any meaningful actions whatsoever.  Under the circumstances, perturbed by the lack of tangible progress in the rape and murder case, they resorted to social media, creating a Facebook page titled Truth and Justice: Voice for RG KAR Victim. Uploading heartfelt written and video messages, they appealed to society at large for support. However, in many ways, their demand for justice mirrors the struggles of countless others who continue to bear the weight of a convoluted and complex legal system.

The junior doctors' protest over the gut-wrenching rape and murder case, initially seen as apolitical, gradually evolved into a mass movement with subtle left-leaning political undertones. This shift, though strongly opposed by many within the medical fraternity, left little room for other political parties to participate, despite their desire to do so, leading to simmering disappointment and subtly altering the discourse. While the movement maintained its broad-based appearance and garnered widespread support from the public for the cause, it began to lose some of its apolitical character. This raises a pertinent question: should protests organized under apolitical banners restrict participation to individuals without direct ties to political parties, or should they welcome political activists and leaders—as long as they set aside their political identities—to join as individuals, regardless of affiliation, in order to build stronger momentum and create a more effective pressure group?

Consequently, the state’s main opposition party, BJP, unable to meaningfully engage with the widespread citizens' protest against the maladministration of the Trinamool Congress government, appeared visibly on edge. This led the party to carve out its own political battle, organizing several protests—some of them intense—aimed at galvanizing its image and gaining traction in the public's mind. The Congress, the state's other opposition party, grappling with an existential crisis, made little impact on the overall protest landscape. However, for the once-invincible Left Front, the R.G. Kar case emerged as an issue that could potentially fuel the "winds of change." It was an opportunity the Front was determined not to lose; one to reconnect with the people, realign its strategies, and revitalize leftist ideology, efforts the party pursued with all its might. Whether these actions will give the party an electoral edge over other opposition parties in the days to come remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, for the first time since coming to power in 2011, the state government faced the public's ire and came under severe, unanticipated pressure. This forced the government to mobilize all its resources to counterbalance the colossal failure and mounting public dissatisfaction. Gradually, it regained its footing through adept political maneuvering, transforming vulnerability into resilience. Despite initial missteps, the Chief Minister, visibly troubled and targeted, responded with caution and strategic actions, countering the opposition’s explicit and often harsh accusations, including some of the most provocative ones.

These developments gave rise to a curious situation. Observers closely following the case noted an oft-repeated political irony: every party relentlessly uses every tool at its disposal to outmaneuver rivals and gain political advantage, yet they rarely unite to show solidarity with victims. Abhaya’s case was one such instance. On the rare occasions when political parties appeared united, they excelled at one thing: resorting to the familiar refrain. In the R.G. Kar case, it was: “Let’s not politicize this. We seek the truth behind the incident and demand exemplary punishment for those responsible.” However, such rhetoric, though predictable, seldom translates into meaningful action.

Quite evidently, when lawmakers fail to protect innocent lives or prevent untoward incidents, they often resort to covert cover-ups, leading to dubious investigations that span regimes and regions, all in pursuit of political interests. Similarly, when faced with uncomfortable truths, each party plays the game in its own way. Thus, it’s not unusual for issues seen through a political prism to rarely be black and white; more often, they exist in complex shades of grey.

Truth be told, the tragic reality is that had Abhya lived, her potential contributions to society would have far outweighed those of many leaders combined across all political parties.

Apparent erosion of momentum

The medic rape-murder case, which captured global attention in an era dominated by the attention economy, had the potential to ignite systemic reforms, given the brutality of the crime. The movement, like many before it, held the power to expose the moral failings of the ruling party in the state. Yet, as so often happens, it faltered within a couple of months—or perhaps was made to falter. Herein lies an uncomfortable reality: we, the aam aadmi (common man), must share the blame.

Political hypocrisy, though often covert, was at its peak in Abhaya’s case. As David Runciman notes in Political Hypocrisy: The Mask of Power, hypocrisy is an inherent feature of politics, with the most dangerous pretense being the claim of a politics free from it.

It’s not that people are unaware of political hypocrisy. Whether knowingly or unknowingly and whether they like it or not, they have accepted it as an intrinsic part of power politics. The larger question remains: to what extent should this hypocrisy be tolerated? How long should people remain bystanders, watching harm befall the nation and its people? In Abhaya’s case, it was once again political hypocrisy that lay at the root of the failure to deliver effective governance, exposing society’s complicity in tolerating unaccountability and incompetence at the expense of just and fair leadership.

As a result of the tragic incident, it seemed that a large segment of the public—including some TMC leaders, supporters, and sympathizers—had turned into its fiercest critics, sparking a political turmoil that could have reshaped state politics. However, such a shift never materialized. While public outrage over the entrenched social issue at the heart of the case was undeniable, trust in the ruling government remained largely intact. The primary reason for this was the opposition parties' performance, which ranged from poor to average—whether in West Bengal in the past or in other states currently—failing to inspire confidence or offer a viable alternative.

The near absence of a trustworthy alternative, together with the attraction of the ongoing freebie culture masquerading as welfare initiatives, ultimately tipped the balance in favor of the ruling establishment. The Trinamool Congress government navigated the political storm by leaning on the crutch of the TINA (there is no alternative) factor.

Call for collective responsibility

If we are to learn from history, which educates us, true change often emerges from moments of crisis. However, such change requires more than mere outrage; it demands genuine, united efforts from all segments of society. For India's vibrant democracy, a streamlined legal system, faster justice delivery, stern measures to prevent corruption, and strengthened democratic institutions are essential steps toward transforming good governance into a concrete reality rather than an elusive aspiration.

Successive governments in West Bengal have left behind a legacy of misgovernance, bordering on misrule; yet we, the people, cared little, more often than not. We preferred to remain like broiler chickens—bred and confined to serve a narrow purpose, optimized for maximum productivity and profit. We preferred to be satisfied with political pettiness at the cost of risking future generations. We preferred to be seen and utilized just as vote banks—no more, no less, plainly so.

R G Kar typifies brazenness and unaccountability. This is a moment for reflection. Can we afford to go back to ordinariness and the status quo is a pertinent question. According to some, early momentum may have faded but the quest for justice remains resolute. Here is yet another opportunity to uphold fairness while dismantling deep-rooted power structures that perpetuate injustice and abuse government machinery. An opportunity to awaken collective morale – it’s possible if we care for ourselves.

As Abhay’s departed soul watches us warily, the onus is on both the political class and aam aadmi . Justice for Abhaya lies in our collective resolve to ensure that no other Abhaya suffers the same tragic fate. Justice for Abhaya lies in ensuring that no other parents lose their child due to dysfunctional systems and governance. Above all, true justice for Abhaya lies in ending the endless cycle of Jarndyce v. Jarndyce.

Let us all, for our daughter Abhaya’s sake at least, pay heed to her cry for justice and stand in unison in demanding accountability, ushering it in at all levels.

(The author is a former DGM, India International Centre, Delhi and former GM, International Centre Goa, Author of Whispers of an Ordinary Journey. Views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at db.bhattacharyya@gmail.com)