The Bengal Files: Fact, Fiction, and the Politics of Memory

 

Cinema has always been more than entertainment in India—it is a weapon, a mirror, a battlefield of memory and imagination. With the rise of politically charged films like The Kashmir Files (2022), audiences have become accustomed to movies that claim to “unveil hidden truths” while in reality presenting a selective narrative. The upcoming The Bengal Files falls squarely into this category. Its title alone suggests a daring exposé, but the truth is far more complex: the film is not a faithful retelling of historical fact, but rather a fictionalized, politically loaded narrative woven out of real fragments of Bengal’s history.

To understand where The Bengal Files stands between reality and imagination, one must first revisit the turbulent history of West Bengal.

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The Historical Backdrop of Bengal

Bengal has never been free from turmoil. Partition in 1947 tore the region apart, dividing Bengal into West Bengal (India) and East Bengal (later East Pakistan, and after 1971, Bangladesh). The scars of Partition—displacement, refugee suffering, and communal violence—continue to shape Bengal’s collective memory.

In 1971, the Liberation War in East Pakistan triggered another massive influx of refugees into West Bengal, aggravating communal and economic tensions. This was followed by decades of political upheaval: from the Naxalite movement of the late 1960s to the long rule of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), and eventually the rise of the Trinamool Congress. Each regime carried with it its share of controversies, allegations of violence, and authoritarianism.

So yes, Bengal’s history is soaked in trauma. But that trauma is complex, layered, and often entangled with questions of class, caste, ideology, and migration—not the simplistic victim-perpetrator binaries that films like The Bengal Files tend to present.

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What the Film Might Claim

From its title and early buzz, The Bengal Files positions itself as a revelation of “suppressed truths.” It seeks to emulate the formula of The Kashmir Files, which dramatized the 1990 exodus of Kashmiri Pandits but also faced sharp criticism for communal overtones and selective storytelling.

Similarly, The Bengal Files may highlight:

• Political violence in Bengal, often bloody and ruthless.
• Communal tensions, portrayed as systematic persecution.
• Illegal immigration from Bangladesh, framed as a demographic threat.
• Government complicity or apathy, a favorite trope in films meant to showcase victimhood.

But are these depictions factually accurate? Not entirely.

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The Reality Behind the Fiction

Political Violence – True, but Misrepresented

It is undeniable that Bengal has seen decades of political bloodshed. From the 1970s “Syndicate Raj” of the CPI(M) to today’s TMC-BJP clashes, stories of murders, booth-capturing, and intimidation are common. In fact, post-poll violence in 2021 drew national attention and even reached the Supreme Court.

Yet, portraying this as a targeted extermination of one community by another oversimplifies the truth. Much of Bengal’s violence is political, not communal. Villages are divided along party lines, not strictly religious ones. This distinction is crucial but is likely to be blurred in the cinematic portrayal.

Communal Tensions – Historical, but Localized

Bengal has witnessed several communal riots: the infamous Noakhali riots of 1946, clashes during Partition, sporadic incidents in the 1980s, and more recent flare-ups in places like Basirhat (2017) and Howrah (2023). However, these incidents, tragic as they are, do not add up to an organized, long-term “genocide” as some film narratives suggest. They were localized, politically manipulated, and often quelled by state intervention.

Illegal Immigration – Politicized Reality

Migration from Bangladesh is indeed a sensitive issue. For decades, porous borders have allowed inflows, leading to social and political anxieties. Both the Left and the Trinamool governments have been accused of turning a blind eye for vote-bank politics. The BJP has weaponized this issue nationally through the NRC (National Register of Citizens) debate.

But again, cinema exaggerates. What is a complex mix of economics, identity, and politics may be shown as a one-dimensional “invasion” story, fitting neatly into majoritarian anxieties.

Partition Memories – Selectively Highlighted

No other region in India has been so deeply marked by Partition as Bengal. Families torn apart, Hindu refugees settling in colonies, Muslims migrating eastward—this trauma is real and well-documented. A nuanced film on Partition would be a valuable contribution. Unfortunately, The Bengal Files is unlikely to present nuance. It may cherry-pick refugee stories that fit its desired narrative while erasing others.

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Where Fiction Takes Over

What distinguishes propaganda cinema from serious historical drama is not what it includes but what it excludes. The Bengal Files may speak of Hindu suffering but ignore Muslim victimhood during the same periods. It may present Bengal’s ruling parties as villains but leave out the violence committed by its own ideological patrons.

The “files” device is a cinematic gimmick. There are no secret archives suddenly revealing suppressed truths; history is available in libraries, court judgments, and academic research. What these films do is not “uncover” but “repackage”—repackage memory into a simplified, emotional, and politically useful story.

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Why Now? The Political Timing

No film of this kind is released in a vacuum. The Bengal Files aligns neatly with ongoing political battles:

• The BJP’s attempts to expand its base in Bengal.
• The debate over illegal immigration and NRC.
• The need to present Bengal as a site of Hindu victimhood, paralleling the Kashmir narrative.

The timing, therefore, is not cultural but electoral.

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Cinema as a Tool of Polarization

One cannot deny the emotional power of such films. They strike at identity, grievance, and victimhood. Audiences leave theaters not merely entertained but often agitated, convinced that history has been hidden from them and only now revealed.

But that conviction itself is the problem. Cinema is not history. Cinema is storytelling. When films like The Bengal Files blur the line between the two, they risk weaponizing memory for present-day politics.

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The Real Bengal Story Deserves Better

Bengal’s story is not a single “file.” It is a vast archive of struggles—Partition, refugee crises, Naxalite uprisings, communist experiments, cultural renaissance, economic decline, and revival. Reducing all this into a communal narrative does injustice to Bengal’s people.

The truth is that both Hindus and Muslims, communists and nationalists, elites and peasants—all have been victims at different times in Bengal’s turbulent history. To erase this complexity is to erase Bengal itself.

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Conclusion

The Bengal Files is not based on a singular true event. It borrows from real incidents—political violence, communal riots, migration issues—but stitches them into a fictionalized narrative designed to shock and polarize. While it may succeed at the box office and in political messaging, it will fail as history.

Bengal deserves cinema that captures its layered truth, not propaganda masquerading as revelation. The files that matter are not secret dossiers but the lived memories of millions—memories too complex to be reduced to a single, partisan script.

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 Author: Siddhartha Shankar Mishra
Advocate, Supreme Court of India. Writes on law, politics, and society with a critical lens on propaganda, authoritarianism, and the misuse of history in public discourse.

Email : - ssmishra33@gmail.com 

 

NEP 2020: A Grand Vision Undermined by Deep Fault Lines

 

The National Education Policy 2020, launched with much fanfare, has been hailed by the government as a forward-looking reform aimed at equipping Indian students for the demands of a globalized knowledge economy. With promises of holistic learning, flexibility, vocational training, and digital access, NEP 2020 aspires to transform the Indian education landscape. Yet, as with many grand visions, the devil lies in the details — or in this case, the omissions.

Despite its progressive veneer, NEP 2020 raises several troubling questions. Its centralizing tendencies, vague formulations, digital overreach, and silence on structural inequality point to a policy that may widen — rather than bridge — the fault lines in Indian education.

A Return to Central Command

One of the key concerns with NEP 2020 is its move toward centralization. The proposed Higher Education Commission of India (HECI) will replace existing regulatory bodies and centralize decision-making, curriculum design, and accreditation. While the intent may be to ensure uniform standards, this approach runs contrary to India’s federal structure.

Education is a concurrent subject under the Constitution. States are often more attuned to the linguistic, cultural, and infrastructural realities on the ground. Centralization not only undermines their role but also risks homogenizing education in a country as diverse as India. A tribal school in Odisha cannot — and should not — be subjected to the same curriculum and medium of instruction as a private school in Bengaluru.

Language, Inclusion, and the Spectre of Imposition

The NEP’s emphasis on using the mother tongue or regional language as the medium of instruction until at least Grade 5 — and preferably till Grade 8 — is rooted in sound pedagogical reasoning. Research does suggest that early learning is more effective when delivered in a familiar language.

However, in the Indian context, language is not merely a medium of instruction but also a deeply political issue. Many parents, especially in urban and semi-urban areas, view English education as a pathway to opportunity. The policy’s silence on how this shift will be implemented, especially in states with multiple regional languages or large migrant populations, has created apprehension.

Moreover, the revival of the “three-language formula” — with an implicit push for Hindi — has drawn criticism from non-Hindi speaking states. There is a legitimate fear that linguistic diversity may be sacrificed at the altar of national integration.

The Minister and the Message

Dharmendra Pradhan, who currently holds the portfolio of Education Minister, has positioned himself as a steward of this policy’s rollout. A politically seasoned leader from Odisha with strong RSS leanings, Pradhan has taken every opportunity to showcase NEP 2020 as a transformative achievement of the Modi government. But under his stewardship, the policy’s emphasis has shifted more towards symbolism than substance.

Grand inaugurations, textbook rewritings, and high-decibel promotion of Indian knowledge systems — often to the exclusion of plural histories — have taken precedence over the nuts and bolts of implementation. While ministerial speeches highlight ancient civilizational glory and "Bharatiyata" in education, ground-level issues such as teacher training, digital infrastructure, and dropout rates among disadvantaged communities receive far less attention.

Pradhan’s focus appears more aligned with ideological repositioning of education than with addressing the systemic inequalities and resource deficits that plague the sector. His ministry's silence following instances of student distress — including suicides linked to academic pressure and inaccessible institutions — is also telling. If the Minister wishes to be remembered as a reformer, then policy must translate into lived change — not remain a talking point at conclaves.

The Digital Divide: A Reform for the Few?

The policy’s enthusiastic embrace of digital learning, online assessments, virtual labs, and EdTech platforms reflects a global trend accelerated by the COVID-19 pandemic. But in a country where millions of students still lack access to basic electricity, let alone internet or digital devices, such a shift risks leaving behind the very communities the policy claims to uplift.

India’s digital divide is not a gap — it is a chasm. While urban students in elite institutions may benefit from hybrid models and AI-enabled learning, their rural counterparts may be pushed further to the margins. The NEP’s failure to address this structural inequity raises the question: reform for whom?

 Skilling Without Security

The NEP places considerable emphasis on vocational education, starting as early as Grade 6. While skill development is essential, its integration into the school system without adequate safeguards could lead to tracking — a subtle but dangerous streaming of students based on class, caste, and economic background.

There is a risk that children from marginalized communities may be nudged toward vocational streams at the expense of academic rigor. Unless vocational training is backed by robust job creation and social mobility, it may inadvertently reinforce hierarchies rather than dismantle them.

 Equity: The Missing Pillar

Perhaps the most glaring omission in NEP 2020 is its inadequate attention to equity and social justice. While the policy frequently uses words like "inclusion" and "access," it is strikingly silent on caste-based discrimination, gender disparity, and minority exclusion.

There is no clear mention of reservation policies in private or foreign-funded institutions, nor is there any roadmap to address high dropout rates among Dalit, Adivasi, and Muslim students. The absence of institutional mechanisms to protect the interests of marginalized groups is a critical failure — and one that cannot be ignored in a country still struggling with entrenched educational inequality.

A Policy Without a Law

NEP 2020 is a policy document — not a law. It lacks binding legislative force. Its implementation depends entirely on the political will of the Union and state governments, institutional capacity, and budgetary support. Many of its recommendations are aspirational, unsupported by timelines, regulatory frameworks, or financial commitments.

Moreover, the language of the policy is often vague and open to interpretation. Phrases like “light but tight regulation,” “holistic development,” and “multidisciplinary institutions” sound progressive but offer little operational clarity. In the absence of enforceable guidelines, the NEP risks remaining a lofty vision with limited ground impact.

 Conclusion: A Vision in Need of Grounding

The National Education Policy 2020 is, undeniably, ambitious. Its vision of a more flexible, creative, and student-centered education system is admirable. However, ambition must be tempered by realism, and vision must be grounded in context.

A truly transformative policy must address the systemic inequalities that define Indian education — not merely sidestep them. It must recognize that technology cannot replace teachers, that skill without dignity is exploitation, and that reform without equity is no reform at all.

If the NEP is to succeed, it must be reimagined not just as a document of policy, but as a commitment to constitutional ideals — of justice, equality, and fraternity. Anything less would be a disservice to the millions of students whose futures depend on it.

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Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is an Advocate at the Supreme Court of India. He writes on law, politics, and society with a focus on democratic accountability, civil liberties, and education reform. He can be reached at ssmishra33@gmail.com.