from-ratnakar-to-valmiki-a-call-for-fairness-amidst-chaos

What began as a thundercloud of corruption warnings has now erupted into a full-blown storm, uprooting livelihoods, shattering dignity and shaking the very foundation of the state’s education system.

 

The recent Supreme Court verdict that annulled the entire 2016 SSC teacher recruitment panel has cast an unforgiving shadow over the lives of 25,753 teachers and non-teaching workers and their families.

 

While the ruling may appear to be a necessary step toward cleansing systemic corruption, the indiscriminate nature of its execution has unleashed unprecedented suffering. The innocent have been bracketed with the guilty, honest educators penalised alongside those who manipulated the process.

 

And in the aftermath of this legal earthquake, the spectacle unfolding is nothing short of unsettling: the very architects of this crisis are scrambling to reinvent themselves as paragons of virtue, turning from bandit Ratnakar to sage Valmiki, their newfound righteousness as hollow as their past deeds were damaging.

 

Those who once wielded power—those who sanctioned, benefited from, or were complicit in the deep rot of this recruitment scam—now either dodge accountability or shamelessly point fingers at whistleblowers, legal advocates, and political dissenters.

 

In a strategic and emotional outreach to the terminated but "untainted" teachers impacted by the SSC recruitment controversy, Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee addressed a gathering at Netaji Indoor Stadium in Kolkata three days ago. In her speech, she pledged unwavering support, declaring that she would stand by the dismissed teachers “as long as I am alive”—even if it meant going to jail for them.

 

Steering clear of acknowledging any wrongdoing in the recruitment process, Mamata instead turned her focus on political adversaries. Framing the situation as a larger conspiracy, she claimed a “dirty game” was underway to destabilise the state's education system. “People must identify the real faces behind the masks,” she said, hinting at hidden political motives without taking names directly.

 

Taking a veiled dig at senior advocate and CPI(M) leader Bikash Ranjan Bhattacharya—who played a key role in the legal proceedings that led to the Supreme Court’s cancellation of the appointments—Mamata accused him of triggering a chain of events that has now jeopardised thousands of careers. Her comments marked a clear attempt to shift public discourse from alleged corruption to political victimisation.

 

However, Mamata refrained from announcing any legal action against those identified as “tainted” by the SSC—individuals who allegedly secured teaching jobs through bribes, with backing from influential figures within the ruling TMC. The CBI had submitted a list of such candidates, based on SSC records, to the Supreme Court.

 

Instead of condemning or pledging accountability for these irregular appointments, Mamata appeared to offer tacit sympathy toward them, whose actions ultimately led to the dismissal of the entire 2016 panel.

 

“I also have a plan for the tainted teachers,” she said. “I want to examine the grounds on which some have been labelled as tainted. I will review the documents submitted by the investigating agency. If those documents clearly prove misconduct, I may not be able to help them keep their jobs,” she added—stopping short of committing to the legal consequences that such offences typically warrant.

 

The investigating agency, despite uncovering evidence implicating a handful, has failed to conclusively establish the innocence or guilt of the remaining majority. Yet, the burden of proof seems to have been cruelly transferred onto the shoulders of the victims—the teachers themselves.

 

The role of the SSC, accused of erasing OMR sheets and failing to preserve crucial mirror images, is equally suspect. Despite repeated submissions in court, neither SSC nor CBI has confidently declared the innocence of those not named in their findings. And still, no institutional remorse has been forthcoming. The silence is deafening, the indifference chilling.

 

In the digital age, the injustice does not end with job termination. Social media has become a battleground where the innocent, too, are being relentlessly vilified, as if their mere association with the 2016 panel renders them complicit. For many, this public shaming is a second, perhaps even more brutal, punishment.

 

Adding to this moral quagmire is the troubling inconsistency in the apex court's judgment. While it accepted the CBI’s evidence against those conclusively proven guilty—ordering them to return their salaries and banning them from reappearing for future exams—it also cancelled the appointments of all others, against whom no such evidence has been produced. By implication, the verdict appears to conflate guilt with association, a dangerous precedent in any democratic justice system. The principle that "a hundred guilty may go free, but one innocent must not be punished" seems to have been tragically inverted.

 

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Yet, even in this dire scenario, the court has left open a narrow passage to redemption—a fresh competitive examination within three months. But this too, for many, is an impractical solution. Teachers who have spent the past seven to eight years in classrooms are no longer attuned to the rigours of general competitive exams. Their age, their disconnection from broader syllabi, and the psychological toll of looming unemployment make this test less a measure of merit and more a cruel gauntlet.

 

So, the pressing question is: Is there a fairer alternative?

 

History offers a potential answer. In the 1980s, the West Bengal government conducted several editions of a ‘limited’ WBCS examination—exclusively for lower-rank government employees with substantial experience—to enable internal elevation to higher posts. Even now, such ‘limited’ examinations exist for certain government services, reserved for those already serving with a specified tenure and pay scale. These are entirely separate from the open examinations and are conducted under a different set of criteria.

 

Educationists are suggesting a similar model can be devised for the recently disqualified teachers. Given their years of service and experience, the state government can explore the feasibility of a ‘limited’ subject-based examination—one that would be restricted to those not found guilty by investigation and with adequate classroom experience. A predetermined cut-off score could ensure rigor and transparency. Those who qualify would be reinstated with dignity; those who fall short could be absorbed as para-teachers to prevent total displacement. This model ensures both a fair trial of merit and a humane response to a crisis of employment and identity.

 

Furthermore, this approach could help resolve the acute teacher shortage that now threatens to paralyse schools. Purifying the profession through such a filtered process would restore public trust, protect student learning, and re-establish the dignity of the teaching community. If a fresh court order is required, the state must act swiftly, guided by legal counsel, to initiate this process.

 

Mamata has vowed steadfast support for the unemployed teachers—but now, that promise must take the shape of concrete policy. Safeguarding the futures of innocent, capable educators is more than an employment issue; it is a question of moral responsibility. Upholding their rights means preserving not only livelihoods, but also the integrity of education system, the essence of natural justice and the vital belief that honesty should never pay the price for institutional failure.

 

By Pranab Mondal