The Long Arm of the Law

The recent conviction of Amit Jogi underscores how, despite delays and distortions, India’s justice system can still bring the powerful to account

Amit Jogi

The complexities of India’s judicial system, and its eventual credibility, are best illustrated not in abstract doctrine but in the fate of the powerful. Few propositions are more frequently doubted and more intermittently vindicated than the idea that the law can reach those once thought untouchable. The recent conviction of Amit Jogi, son of former Chhattisgarh chief minister Ajit Jogi, in the Ramavatar Jaggi murder case, offers a fresh reminder of this proposition. The reach of the law may be delayed, sometimes frustratingly so, but it is not indefinitely denied.

Earlier this month, the Chhattisgarh High Court sentenced Amit Jogi to life imprisonment under Sections 302 (murder) and 120-B (criminal conspiracy) of the Indian Penal Code, along with a nominal fine.

Over the past three decades, India has witnessed a steady procession of high-profile cases involving murder, rape, sexual exploitation and abduction, in which individuals from influential backgrounds have been tried and convicted. These cases reveal three seemingly commonplace but persistent truths. First, the law can, in time, reach even the most powerful. Second, media scrutiny and public pressure frequently play a decisive role in pushing cases to their conclusion. Third, judicial outcomes are not static: they evolve through appeals, reversals and the emergence of new evidence.

Abuse of Power

Consider the murder of Ankita Bhandari in Uttarakhand. In 2022, the 19-year-old employee of a resort became aware of an alleged prostitution racket and resisted attempts to coerce her into it. She was pushed into the Chilla barrage and killed. In May 2025, a court in Kotdwar sentenced Pulkit Arya - the son of a local BJP leader - and his associates to life imprisonment. The conviction relied heavily on testimony from 47 witnesses and a trail of WhatsApp messages.

Prajwal Revanna

A similarly disturbing abuse of power was exposed in the case of Prajwal Revanna, a member of one of Karnataka’s most influential political families and a former MP. He was found guilty of repeatedly raping a domestic worker. In August 2025, a special court in Bengaluru sentenced him to life imprisonment and imposed a fine of Rs. 10 lakh, directing most of it to the victim. Viral videos circulated widely, intensifying public scrutiny and shaping the trajectory of the investigation.

The case of Kuldeep Singh Sengar, the BJP legislator convicted in the Unnao rape case, underscored the same dynamic. Sentenced to life imprisonment in 2019 for raping a minor and intimidating witnesses, Sengar’s case became emblematic of systemic failure. It laid bare how political patronage can obstruct justice, and how sustained public attention is often required to counterbalance such influence.

Long Memories

Some cases have lingered longer in the public memory. The murder of Nitish Katara in 2002, widely described as an ‘honour killing,’ resulted in life sentences for Vikas Yadav and his accomplices. Katara’s relationship with Bharti Yadav, the daughter of a powerful politician, proved fatal. The brutality of the crime (his charred body was found days after his abduction) was matched by the persistence of his family in seeking justice. The case demonstrated that even deeply entrenched social prejudices, when combined with political clout, do not guarantee impunity.

Nor have religious figures been immune. Asaram, once a prominent godman with vast influence, was sentenced to life imprisonment in 2018 for the rape of a minor. His conviction punctured the aura of invincibility that often surrounds such figures, suggesting that charisma and following offer limited protection when faced with sustained legal action.

The film industry, too, has had its share of reckonings. Actor Shiney Ahuja was sentenced in 2009 to seven years in prison for raping his domestic helper. Meanwhile, Sanjay Dutt, son of veteran actor and Congress leader Sunil Dutt, was convicted for illegal possession of weapons linked to the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts. In 2013, the Supreme Court of India upheld his five-year sentence. In such cases, celebrity offered no absolute shield.

Few cases illustrate the evolving nature of judicial outcomes better than the murder of Priyadarshini Mattoo. In 1996, she was raped and killed by Santosh Kumar Singh, the son of a senior police officer. A trial court acquitted him for lack of evidence, prompting widespread outrage. A decade later, the Delhi High Court overturned the acquittal and sentenced him to death, a penalty later commuted to life imprisonment by the Supreme Court. While justice was certainly delayed, it was, thankfully, not entirely denied.

Santosh Kumar Singh

Public outrage reached its zenith in the murder of Jessica Lal in 1999. Shot dead at a party for refusing to serve alcohol, her case initially collapsed when witnesses turned hostile, leading to the acquittal of Manu Sharma, son of a politician. The infamous headline - “No one killed Jessica” - captured the cynicism of the moment. Yet relentless media coverage and public mobilisation forced a reopening of the case, culminating in a life sentence upheld by higher courts. It remains a landmark in the interplay between media, public opinion and the judiciary.

The grim case of Champa Biswas in the 1990s offers a different perspective. Subjected to repeated sexual exploitation under the patronage of Hemlata Yadav, a politically connected figure in Bihar, her ordeal revealed the depth of systemic rot. Police initially refused to act, even when complaints came from her husband, an IAS officer. The case exposed not just individual culpability but institutional complicity.

These episodes reveal a judicial system that is at once flawed and resilient. Yet when judgments do come, courts have shown a willingness to impose stringent punishments, including life imprisonment, even on those with considerable influence.

The nature of evidence, too, has evolved. WhatsApp chats, video recordings, CCTV footage and social-media content now play a decisive role in courtrooms. In cases such as those of Prajwal Revanna and Ankita Bhandari, digital trails proved critical in guiding investigations and securing convictions. Technology has become an unlikely ally of accountability.

Perhaps the most important lesson is that justice in India is not forged in courtrooms alone. It is shaped in the public sphere by media scrutiny, by civic activism, and by the persistence of victims’ families. When these forces align, the pace of justice, though still imperfect, quickens.

The conviction of Amit Jogi fits squarely within this broader framework. It is not merely the fall of an individual, but a reaffirmation of a principle that underpins democratic order: the rule of law. Power, wealth and influence may distort the path of justice, sometimes for years. But they rarely succeed in extinguishing it altogether.

Dark Deeds Behind Closed Doors

In our democratic architecture, the Chief Minister’s residence is meant to symbolise executive authority tempered by constitutional restraint. Yet, at various regrettable moments, these addresses have cast dark shadows - emerging not as centres of governance but as arenas of crime and sordid political intrigue.

In the Bihar of the 1990s, during the tenure of Lalu Prasad Yadav, power was often perceived to reside not only in official office but in an informal network of influence. His close aides, Sadhu Yadav and Subhash Yadav, were widely seen as pivotal brokers in decisions relating to contracts and administrative transfers. Subhash Yadav would later allege that ransom negotiations in kidnapping cases (a grim hallmark of that era) were conducted within the Chief Minister’s residence itself. Whether exaggerated or not, such claims reflected a broader erosion of public trust in the neutrality of state institutions.

Further south, in Kerala, a different kind of controversy erupted in 2020. On the eve of assembly elections, a gold-smuggling racket surfaced, drawing uncomfortable attention to links with the Chief Minister’s office. Figures such as M. Sivasankar and Swapna Suresh came under scrutiny, as investigative agencies sought to untangle the network. In a telling move, the then Chief Minister, Pinarayi Vijayan, wrote to the Prime Minister requesting a Central probe.

If these cases hinted at the misuse of access, the events in Chhattisgarh in 2003 were more disturbing. On June 4, in a quiet neighbourhood of Rajpur, gunshots shattered the stillness, leaving Ramavatar Jaggi, treasurer of the Nationalist Congress Party, dead in his car. What initially appeared to be a local crime soon revealed itself as the first major political assassination in the newly formed state.

The subsequent investigation by the Central Bureau of Investigation unearthed allegations that part of the conspiracy had been hatched within the official residence of then Chief Minister Ajit Jogi. Among those implicated was his close associate, Chiman Singh. The suggestion that a chief minister’s residence could serve as the backdrop for such plotting marked a profound breach of democratic norms.

When the Bharatiya Janata Party came to power in the state, the case was handed over to the CBI in 2004. Yet the path to justice proved anything but straightforward. In 2007, a trial court acquitted the accused, citing insufficient evidence. The verdict might well have marked the end of the matter, but for the persistence of the investigating agency and the complainant, both of whom challenged the acquittal in higher courts.

The legal journey took another turn in November 2025, when the Supreme Court of India revived the CBI’s appeal after having earlier dismissed it on technical grounds. The decision restored momentum to a case that had lingered in uncertainty, demonstrating once again how judicial outcomes in India can evolve over time, shaped by procedural reconsiderations as much as by substantive evidence.

Lost amid the legal intricacies is the story of Ramavatar Jaggi himself. Beginning as a bus conductor in the Madhya Pradesh Tourism Department, earning a modest Rs. 800 a month, Jaggi moved on to assist in his father’s bread factory, delivering goods to villages by bicycle. From these unassuming beginnings, he built a business empire, establishing a wooden toys unit and eventually a hardware network that connected more than 350 traders. He became a close associate of senior Congress leader Vidya Charan Shukla and later joined the Nationalist Congress Party as its state treasurer when the party was formed.

But as his influence grew, so too did the unease of rivals. Reports suggest that he faced pressure to join the Congress; when he refused, threats followed. Testimony from witnesses such as Reginald Jeremiah pointed to meetings in which Amit Jogi allegedly discussed eliminating key figures, including Jaggi. The Chhattisgarh High Court would later characterise Amit Jogi as the ‘mastermind,’ noting the considerable influence he wielded as the Chief Minister’s son.

The case’s protracted timeline spanning 23 years, contradictory police reports and an initial acquittal, illustrates both the fragility and the endurance of India’s justice system. That it ultimately resulted in a conviction is, in one sense, a vindication of institutional persistence. The CBI’s refusal to abandon the case, even in the face of setbacks, proved decisive.

The uneasy truth is that the exercise of power in India still operates within informal circuits that resist transparency and accountability. And yet, as the Jaggi case demonstrates, these circuits are not entirely beyond challenge. Investigative agencies, courts and, occasionally, political change itself can disrupt them.

Crimes without Closure

India’s judicial system has undergone significant reform over the past decades. Yet the recurrence of high-profile criminal cases continues to raise an uncomfortable question: do the influential gain an early advantage in the pursuit of justice? Public pressure and judicial oversight have, at times, corrected the course of investigations. But many cases linger as unresolved truths.

The Sheena Bora murder case stands out as a prime example. On April 24, 2012, 25-year-old Sheena Bora went missing in Mumbai. On May 2, a partially burnt body was discovered in Raigad, but it could not be identified at the time. The case resurfaced dramatically in 2015 when driver Shyamvar Rai’s revelations led to the naming of media tycoon Peter Mukerjea, his wife Indrani Mukerjea, and her ex-husband Sanjeev Khanna as accused. The investigation exposed a complex web of concealed identities, family dynamics, and strained relationships. In 2024, the reported disappearance, and subsequent recovery of crucial skeletal evidence raised serious concerns about the credibility of the investigation.

In a similarly tragic case, Sandhya, sister of Bollywood actresses Sulakshana and Vijeyta Pandit, went missing from Navi Mumbai on December 13, 2012. Her skeletal remains were discovered in January 2013 and later confirmed through DNA testing. Suspicion fell on her son, but he was acquitted by the court. In a 2024 interview, Vijeyta revealed that while the family recovered only her remains, Sulakshana still believes Sandhya is alive and living happily in Indore.

Meanwhile, Kannada superstar Darshan Thoogudeepa was accused in 2024 of murdering his fan Renukaswamy. The developments surrounding bail, its cancellation, and the intervention of the Supreme Court highlighted the layered complexity and prolonged nature of judicial processes in such high-profile cases.

The Salman Khan Hit-and-Run Case illustrates how the appellate process can dramatically alter outcomes. After a trial court conviction, the High Court acquitted Salman Khan, highlighting how cases can shift when witnesses turn hostile and evidence is contested.

In the Ajit Sarkar Murder Case, despite a brutal killing involving 107 bullets and an initial conviction, the Patna High Court acquitted former MP Rajesh Ranjan (Pappu Ydav) in 2013, along with co-accused Rajan Tiwari and Anil Kumar Yadav. Following the case, Ajit Sarkar's son, Amit Sarkar, reportedly moved to Austria citing threats to his life.

Meanwhile, in the Navruna Chakravarty Case (Muzaffarpur, Bihar), the abduction and death of a 13-year-old girl remained unresolved. Despite the recovery of skeletal remains, the Central Bureau of Investigation failed to find conclusive evidence, ultimately filing a closure report in 2020.

On 3 July 1999, the partially nude bodies of Shilpi Jain and Gautam Singh were discovered in a car near a quarter on Fraser Road, Patna, eight hours after they went missing. The site was linked to the residence of Sadhu Yadav, while his sister, Rabri Devi, was then the Chief Minister. In a rush that very night, the post-mortem and cremation were carried out without waiting for the families. Questions arose about police actions, the source of information, and the CBI investigation, including the refusal of DNA testing by Sadhu Yadav and alleged mishandling of evidence.

These cases suggest that India’s challenge is not merely the delivery of justice, but the consistency of its process.

The question is not simply whether justice is delivered, but when and at what cost. A verdict, however definitive, cannot fully compensate for years of uncertainty, nor restore faith eroded by procedural lapses.