How Jayanta Narayan Chattopadhyay got the bail for the 9 Youths
Read the extraordinary story of how barrister Jayanta Narayan Chattopadhyay and his team of junior lawyers fought against the odds to free nine young boys arrested during Pujo for chanting “We Want Justice.” Discover how the Kolkata High Court opened its doors on Ashtami in a remarkable legal battle.
We’ve all heard it, haven’t we? The bizarre tale of nine young lads who were arrested from a Pujo pandal for the heinous crime of chanting “We Want Justice.” Yes, you heard that right—chanting for justice! It sounds like something that happens every now and then, doesn’t it? But there’s more to this story. You see, this wasn’t just any ordinary arrest, and this wasn’t just any ordinary day. It was Pujo, the courts were closed, and yet, somehow, by sheer legal wizardry, these lads were set free. How did this happen? Well, let’s hear it straight from the horse’s mouth—none other than the illustrious advocate himself, Mr Jayanta Narayan Chattopadhyay! Sharing a translated version (original in Bengali).
“Now, I must confess, I am truly humbled. Everyone’s thanking me, raising their hands in gratitude, but let me be clear—this wasn’t my fight alone. The blessings of the common people were with me, and so were my brilliant junior lawyers—Shirshendu, Debashish, Joyshree, Ritushree, Pritha, and of course, Suprim.
It was Thursday evening, around ten to eight, when I got a frantic call. It was on behalf of the nine young boys who’d been arrested. Now, you know me, I’m a fighter, so I resolved to see this through. I immediately rang Shirshendu Singh Roy, explained the gravity of the situation, and bless him, he was on board. But here’s the rub—we had less than 24 hours, and tomorrow was Ashtami. Everything was shut. Every office, every court—closed. So, how on earth were we going to get them out? Shirshendu, in his usual nonchalant way, says to me, ‘Dada, let’s petition the court to open on Ashtami itself.’ I laughed. ‘Do you really think the court will open its doors for a bunch of ordinary boys? Still, the court is always the last hope for the common folk.’
‘If we can convey the seriousness of the situation to the court,’ he replied, ‘a miracle can happen, and the court might just open on Ashtami.’
So, we quickly formulated Plan A, Plan B, and, for good measure, Plan C. I told Ritushree, ‘You get the bail application ready for these boys.’ Mind you, it was half eleven at night by this point, and where was Ritushree? Off pandal hopping, of course. But bless her, she rushed home and got to work on the bail.
The real pickle was that we needed a certified copy of the bail rejection from Alipore Court. Now, as you can imagine, on Saptami evening, the court was well and truly shut. There was no chance of getting the copy the next day either. Plan B it was then! Meanwhile, our dear Suprim, who was off-road-tripping to Ladakh, found himself in Lucknow. I rang him up and explained the situation. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘if we can’t get the certified copy, we’ll file a writ petition. The High Court can grant bail through that as well.’ So, I told Joyshree, ‘You draft the writ petition. We’ll use whatever avenue we can.’
Believe me when I tell you, Joyshree and Ritushree spent the entire night emailing the Honourable Chief Justice’s office and the Registrar General. I am eternally grateful to them, for they responded. Even at 3:50 in the morning, I was still sending emails, explaining the urgency of the situation. They understood the gravity, and my brilliant team kept at it all night long.
Finally, on Ashtami morning—11:04, to be precise—we received the news: the court would open at 2 PM. For these nine ordinary lads, the High Court doors would indeed open on Ashtami.
Now, the battle wasn’t over yet. I called Debashish, ‘Get here quickly.’ He arrived in half an hour. Shirshendu came rushing in from Haripal. Joyshree, Ritushree, and Pritha arrived with laptops in hand, cases prepped for all possible scenarios. Meanwhile, the venerable Bikash Ranjan Bhattacharya had graciously agreed to join us online from Kolkata. Advocate Shamim, too, was on his way to court.
Then came another curveball—Lalbazar wasn’t allowing the boys to sign their vakalatnamas. Unbelievable! Yet again, a new plan was hatched. After consulting with Shamim, we had two parents file the case on behalf of the boys. More paperwork, another change in strategy. But wait, all the court offices were shut. Where were we going to print the documents? Another lawyer kindly opened his office and let us use his printer to file the case for the two parents, acting on behalf of the boys. Copies were served to the government lawyers, and finally, the hearing began. Two and a half hours later, we had our victory.
Now, you might say it was all in a day’s work, but it was anything but. I owe it all to my junior lawyers. This was a triumph for all of us.
But here’s the real kicker—it was nothing short of historic. For the first time, at the call of ordinary citizens, the doors of the Kolkata High Court opened on Ashtami. The Honourable Justice Shampa Sarkar presided on a holiday, and today, seeing those nine boys walk out—albeit 26 hours later—I couldn’t help but shed a tear.
I hope they stay well. Namaskar.”
— Jayanta Narayan Chattopadhyay