On August 16, 2025, exactly seventy-nine years to the day after Direct Action Day (August 16, 1946), Vivek Ranjan Agnihotri walked into Kolkata’s ITC Royal Bengal to unveil the trailer of his new feature, The Bengal Files. Minutes later, the launch descended into chaos. Organisers alleged wires had been cut; the event was halted. The Kolkata Police later said the public screening had no permission. The filmmaker called it “total dictatorship.” The ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC) called the movie a “political project.” The clash ricocheted across television studios and social media feeds, transforming a trailer launch into a national talking point.
By the evening of August 18, a second attempt to screen the trailer in the city was also stopped, with senior police officials again citing a lack of authorisation. Agnihotri and his team called it a gag on creative freedom; state officials pointed to procedure and public order. The film was now indelibly stamped with a political narrative before most viewers had even seen a full scene.
The Bengal Files is slated to open in Kolkata on September 5, 2025, with tickets listed on major platforms and a synopsis foregrounding the 1946 Great Calcutta Killings (Direct Action Day) and the Noakhali violence as a “hidden history.” The production boasts a familiar ensemble from Agnihotri’s earlier work: Mithun Chakraborty, Anupam Kher, Pallavi Joshi, Darshan Kumaar, Saswata Chatterjee, Rajesh Khera, and others.
The premise is explosive; the political context is combustible. But the legal tinder arrived from an unexpected place: the family of Gopal Chandra Mukherjee, better known as “Gopal Patha/Pattha,” a legendary figure in Kolkata’s 1946 communal tumult. His grandson, Santanu Mukherjee, has filed police complaints and served legal notice, alleging the film’s depiction “belittles, dehumanises, and demonises” an important historical figure, and insists Gopal was no “Muslim-hating kasai (butcher).”
This article traces what the row is about; what The Bengal Files purports to depict; how it is being received across India and among diaspora circles; why cases are piling up in courts; what the makers and the West Bengal government are arguing; whether politics is the prime mover; and how controversy itself functions as marketing. Along the way, it situates the debate in the broader history of 1946 Bengal, a year when Calcutta bled and Noakhali burned.
What’s the Row Behind The Bengal Files?
The ITC Royal Bengal Flashpoint
At the heart of the controversy is the August 16 trailer event at ITC Royal Bengal. Agnihotri says wires were cut and authorities pressured the venue; the Kolkata Police say the organisers never secured the requisite permissions for a public screening. On August 18, another attempt also collapsed, with police again invoking procedural lapses. The back-and-forth fed duelling narratives: a filmmaker claiming state suppression and a state pointing to process and crowd-control obligations.
Pallavi Joshi, actor and producer, framed the stoppage as an “assault on democracy,” connecting it to a longer arc of their team’s work on sensitive subjects. The optics of a trailer shutdown—particularly on the Direct Action Day anniversary—magnified the episode.
The War of Words With TMC
TMC voices responded that The Bengal Files is timed and designed as a “political video,” a pre-election assignment masquerading as cinema. Agnihotri accused TMC figures of “blackmail” via multiple FIRs and said the ruling party has “a problem with the word ‘Hindu’.” In interviews and posts, he framed the pushback as an attempt to bury what he calls an “untold story.” The state government’s counter is more bureaucratic: permissions, law and order, and communal sensitivity, while party rhetoric casts the film as propaganda.
The Gopal Patha Dispute
The sharpest edge of the row involves Gopal Chandra Mukherjee (“Gopal Patha/Pattha”), a central Calcutta organiser who led Hindu defence during the Direct Action Day violence. His descendants allege that the film reduces him to a bloodthirsty caricature. Santanu Mukherjee says the portrayal ignores testimony that Gopal sheltered Muslims, forbade harm to innocents, and acted as a protector of neighbourhoods, not a sectarian executioner. He has filed complaints and sent a legal notice; more FIRs, he suggests, may follow. For the family, the issue is historical dignity, not electoral politics.
The Times of India, India Today, and The Indian Express have all reported on the notice and complaints, as well as the family’s contention that Gopal’s social service record and role in preventing atrocities have been erased by a sensationalist depiction. The allegation is simple and devastating: the film, they say, slanders a “defender” as a “butcher.”
What Does the Movie Aim to Depict?
The Bengal Files dramatises two linked histories from 1946 Bengal:
Direct Action Day (August 16–19, 1946), also known as the Great Calcutta Killings, when clashes between Hindu and Muslim groups, under the shadow of competing political mobilisations, left thousands dead and many more wounded.
The Noakhali atrocities (October–November 1946), a wave of assault, arson, and forced conversions against Hindus in the districts of eastern Bengal, which prompted Mahatma Gandhi to camp in the region for months in a peace mission.
The official synopsis on ticketing platforms presents the film as a corrective to “suppressed” history, explicitly using terms like “Hindu genocide” and positioning the project as the “most researched and painful” work by the team. Casting lists and marketing materials lean on prominent names to signal gravitas and draw audiences already familiar with Agnihotri’s earlier films.
The trailer, however, is what lit the fuse. While the police focused on permissions, the public debate immediately migrated to content: line readings, characterisations, editing, and an overall tone that critics say risks inflaming communal passions while flattening complex histories. Supporters counter that selected quotes or visuals are being ripped from context and that the full film delivers nuance and painful truths that mainstream histories have elided. (Formal reviews are still pending at the time of writing, as the film has not yet been released commercially.)
Historical Context: 1946, When Bengal Shook
Direct Action Day
On July 29, 1946, Muhammad Ali Jinnah called for Direct Action to press the demand for Pakistan. In Bengal, the Muslim League-led government under H. S. Suhrawardy declared a public holiday for August 16. The day saw mass rallies, counter-mobilisations, and rapidly spiralling violence in Calcutta. The toll is debated; scholarly estimates for the four days vary from 5,000 to 10,000 dead and about 15,000 wounded. The riots marked a savage turning point, hardening communal lines just a year before independence.
Noakhali
In October–November 1946, parts of Noakhali and Tipperah districts witnessed coordinated attacks on Hindu communities, killings, sexual violence, forced conversions, and widespread looting. Gandhi’s prolonged sojourn there, walking village to village, remains one of the most morally resonant (and politically anguished) episodes of the late freedom struggle. Debates over numbers and responsibility persist, but the events are not in dispute; their trauma shaped migration patterns and community memory well into the 1950s.
Gopal Chandra Mukherjee (Gopal Patha/Pattha)
Within Kolkata’s urban lore, Gopal Patha is remembered as a neighbourhood organiser who mobilised Hindu defences when the city convulsed. Accounts vary in tone—from celebratory to critical—but even unsympathetic narratives acknowledge that he wielded influence over local youth and sought to push back against assaults. Family narratives and some journalistic reconstructions emphasise that he sheltered Muslims and warned followers not to harm innocents. The challenge for any dramatisation is to avoid sanctifying myth or defamatory demonisation, and to honestly grapple with the ugly reciprocity of communal violence.
This is the tightrope The Bengal Files claims to walk.
How Has the Film Been Received So Far Across India and Abroad?
Because the theatrical release is set for September 5, 2025, there are no complete, mainstream critical reviews yet. What we do have are signals:
In West Bengal: The trailer fracas has defined reception. Coverage emphasises the stoppages, the permission row, and the political posturing. The conversation among Kolkata’s cultural class mixes scepticism about historical flattening with fatigue over the state’s recurring role as censorious gatekeeper. Actor Saswata Chatterjee, who appears in the film, publicly distanced himself from debates about historical accuracy, stating, “I’m not a historian,” which many read as an attempt to sidestep the crossfire.
Nationally: Television panels and portals have treated the event stoppage as a freedom-of-expression story and the Gopal Patha notice as a fact-checking story. In Delhi and Mumbai, the argument has quickly polarised along familiar lines: is this historical truth-telling or political propaganda? The filmmaker has leveraged national media to insist the film will release as planned and to warn of legal action if blocked in West Bengal.
Diaspora & abroad: Formal festival slots or foreign press reviews have not been reported yet. However, diaspora-oriented outlets and social reels show pre-release promotional events and audience-reaction clips, particularly in the U.S., suggesting organised community outreach and curiosity. As with Agnihotri’s The Kashmir Files, one can expect word-of-mouth within diaspora associations to play a role once the film opens. For now, what exists are attention markers rather than verifiable critical appraisals.
In short, reception is embryonic but intense. The lack of screenings has not prevented talk; if anything, the stoppages amplified it.
Is TMC Right? Is the Film a Pre-Election “Political Assignment”?
This is the central accusation: that The Bengal Files is timed and calibrated to polarise, harvest grievance, and mobilise votes.
The case for the TMC claim:
Timing. An early-September Kolkata bow, weeks before a high-stakes electoral season, is not accidental. The film harnesses anniversaries and memory politics to foreground a communal flashpoint from Bengal’s past precisely when political passions are rising. This timing, paired with a launch day chosen to echo Direct Action Day, naturally invites suspicion.
Auteur history. Agnihotri’s The Kashmir Files became a lodestar for a certain political constituency; its exhibition ecology included state endorsements and tax incentives in some regions. Sceptics argue that his films function as narrative assets within a broader ideological project.
Messaging. The synopsis frames the story as “hidden history” and “Hindu genocide.” Critics say this rhetorical posture pre-codes audience response, nudging viewers toward a particular political reading, especially amid present-day anxieties about illegal migration and communal incidents in the state.
Campaign ecosystem. The trail of TV debates, influencer reactions, and party-political jousts produces a persuasion environment akin to campaigning, even if not formally coordinated.
The case against the TMC claim:
The subject is undeniably historical. Direct Action Day and Noakhali are real and raw. Making a film about them is not inherently electioneering.
Procedural grounds aren’t censorship. The police line—“no permission”—is bureaucratic, not ideological. Unless evidence emerges of selective application, the stoppages can be read as risk-averse administration rather than a political muzzle.
The Mukherjee family’s challenge is not partisan. Santanu Mukherjee’s legal action centres on legacy and accuracy, not party propaganda. He explicitly says the family is protecting history, not doing the bidding of any political camp.
The maker’s counter-frame. Agnihotri argues he is fighting to tell a buried story and has threatened his own legal action if the state blocks release—hardly a sign of coordination with power. Instead, the film is presented as challenging the Bengal establishment.
Bottom line: The release calendar and messaging certainly enable political readings; but “assignment” implies direct orchestration that has not been demonstrated publicly. The evidence to date supports a more nuanced conclusion: The Bengal Files is a politically consequential film whose timing heightens electoral resonance, yet the core disputes (permissions, portrayal, and legacy) can also be parsed without presuming a formal pre-election contract.
What Do the Makers Say in Response?
Team Bengal Files advances several claims:
Freedom of expression: Shutting down a CBFC-cleared trailer launch amounts to harassment and prior restraint; artists should not need political blessings to screen lawful content. (Authorities counter: public exhibition requires venue permissions regardless of CBFC status.)
Historical duty: The film, they say, spotlights a suppressed tragedy. The “Hindu genocide” framing, in their telling, names a wound that polite history refuses to acknowledge.
Political pressure: Agnihotri alleges that TMC figures and allied groups are trying to “blackmail” the team through FIRs and venue pressure. He says he will take the state to court if it obstructs the release.
On Gopal Patha: The implicit defence is that the film is a dramatisation of a chaotic moment, not a documentary. Characters are drawn from life but filtered through narrative needs. The family’s notice forces more delicate calibration; what the final cut shows—and how a court reads it—will be decisive.
Why Are So Many Cases Being Filed Against Its Release?
There are three broad legal vectors in play:
Defamation and misrepresentation. Santanu Mukherjee alleges that the film maligns Gopal Mukherjee by depicting him as a communal butcher, tarnishing a freedom-era figure’s reputation.
Public order and communal harmony. Authorities may invoke provisions relating to incitement or breach of peace if they believe an exhibition risks immediate disturbance.
Certification vs. exhibition. A CBFC certificate covers content, not every public showing. Trailer launches inside hotel ballrooms still require event permissions. The Kolkata stoppages are textbook cases of this grey zone.
Agnihotri claims multiple complaints, some allegedly from TMC members, are a coordinated tactic to silence him. That claim itself is now part of the film’s publicity arc.
The Santanu Mukherjee Legal Notice
The Mukherjee family’s action cuts through partisan noise because it is rooted in familial memory and historical stake. Santanu insists Gopal Patha was a protector who saved lives—including Muslims—and forbade his followers from attacking innocents.
Contemporary accounts of Direct Action Day acknowledge both predatory violence and defensive organisation. In such a field, one man can be remembered as a saviour by some, a thug by others. A film that flattens this tension risks doing injury to the record—even when it sincerely intends to honour victims.
Pro and Anti Arguments: A Structured Debate
- The Case For The Bengal Files
- Recovering painful history
- Artistic freedom in a democracy
- Counter-narrative to elite consensus
- Catalyst for new scholarship
- Victim-centric storytelling
- The Case Against The Bengal Files
- Over-simplification of a complex riot
- Defamation of real people
- Election-season deployment
- Permission theatre vs. persecution narrative
- Echo-chamber amplification
- Ethical Storytelling and the 1946 Problem
Responsible cinematic history is not about neutrality but complexity: showing how grievances, rumours, and opportunists loop into escalating cycles. Direct Action Day and Noakhali are precisely the sort of events that call for this ethics.
How Might Courts See It?
Indian courts generally avoid bans once a film has CBFC certification. But when identifiable individuals are depicted as monstrous, courts sometimes demand edits or disclaimers. Santanu’s case hinges on whether Gopal is clearly recognisable and maliciously misrepresented.
Does Conflict Promote the Film?
Almost certainly. Marketing calls it the “forbidden fruit effect”: once viewers sense a film is obstructed, curiosity spikes. The Bengal Files now carries the aura of a movie the establishment fears—often a box-office boost.
The Bengal Files as a Mirror
The larger story is not box office but India’s quarrel with its past. To depict 1946 is to argue about 2025. To defend a historical figure is to stake one’s claim on the present.
What Next?
When September 5 arrives, Kolkata’s theatres may open under police watch, legal notices unresolved, and slogans echoing outside. The question is not only what the film shows but how audiences read it—as history reclaimed, propaganda disguised, or tragedy exploited.
Perhaps that is the paradox of films like this: their destiny is to be argued over more than watched. And in that sense, whatever its cinematic quality, The Bengal Files has already secured a place in India’s ongoing quarrel with its past—a quarrel less about reels than about memory, power, and the stories a nation chooses to tell itself.