Bail, Broke, and Buried: India’s Justice System Holds the Poor Hostage in Legal Limbo

In the land that chants “Satyamev Jayate” and waves its Constitution like a moral compass, liberty has quietly become a luxury good. On the books, bail is a right — an extension of Article 21, where freedom isn’t just sacred but non-negotiable. In practice? It’s a cruel joke, whispered through iron bars to people who can’t afford the punchline. The Indian bail system doesn’t just discriminate; it criminalizes poverty, turning legal limbo into a long, slow punishment for being broke.

The data hits like a slap. Nearly 70% of India’s prison population are undertrials — human beings legally presumed innocent, but imprisoned anyway, waiting endlessly while clogged courts shuffle paper like bureaucratic origami. And who are these undertrials? In Maharashtra, a study revealed 85% earned less than ₹10,000 a month, 90% had insecure jobs, and over 60% had no family support. Translation: they weren’t locked up for what they did, but for who they are — poor, powerless, and invisible.

Take the hypothetical (read: very real) case of a daily-wage mason granted bail on a ₹25,000 bond. Sounds generous, until you realize that’s two months’ income, and no one he knows has that kind of money sitting idle. So, despite being “granted” bail, he stays caged. Now imagine being a migrant worker — already branded an outsider — trying to find a “local surety” to vouch for your release in a city that barely tolerates your existence. That’s not a legal requirement; that’s an obstacle course. It gets worse. In communally charged cases, even sympathetic neighbours won’t dare sign a bond for someone from “the other side.” The result is a Kafkaesque maze where the accused remains imprisoned, not for lack of innocence, but lack of paperwork and popularity. You don’t just need money; you need connections, credibility, and a lawyer who doesn’t disappear after filing a five-line bail plea on recycled paper. Legal aid? Often a cruel parody of justice. Overworked and underpaid legal aid lawyers shuffle from court to court, unable to prepare or argue bail with any conviction. Many undertrials don’t even know they’ve been granted bail because the message gets lost somewhere between a judge’s desk and a jail warden’s coffee break. In July 2023, the Supreme Court acknowledged that over 5,000 undertrials were still in jail despite bail orders, suffocating in the bureaucratic quicksand of lost forms and forgotten affidavits.

Meanwhile, tech solutions like ePrison portals and undertrial review committees were launched with digital fireworks but fizzled in execution. Success depends entirely on local officials who may or may not care, may or may not act, and often don’t.  This isn’t just a procedural problem. It’s a human catastrophe. A man denied heart surgery while in jail becomes paralyzed. A mother misses years of her child’s life. A teenager grows up learning that justice is just a word — not a reality. All this without a single conviction. All this while the rich accused waltz out of lock-ups in hours, cash in hand, lawyers in tow, press releases ready.

The Supreme Court has shouted itself hoarse. From Motiram vs. State of M.P. in 1978 to Satender Kumar Antil vs. CBI in 2022, the message has been clear: bail isn’t a favor, it’s a right. Economic disability should not mean continued detention. And yet, here we are, decades later, still debating whether the poor deserve to sleep outside jail while their innocence is being considered.

Government efforts? A few promising sparks in a dark tunnel. In 2023, a central scheme was announced to help poor prisoners pay bail. The result? Maharashtra released just 11 people in one year. Eleven. In a state with thousands of eligible undertrials. You’d have more luck escaping jail through a tunnel than through government assistance.

Still, some local and grassroots efforts shine. Delhi’s Legal Services Committee has para-legal volunteers in courts helping connect undertrials to bail lawyers instantly. Undertrial Review Committees, mandated by the Supreme Court, are making slow but real progress identifying prisoners eligible for release. NGOs like Project 39A at NLU Delhi are using tech to track undertrial cases and push legal aid into motion. And yet, these are still exceptions — patches on a sinking ship.

What India needs is nothing short of a bail revolution. Eliminate monetary bonds for petty offences. Replace them with risk-based assessments and non-monetary conditions: check-ins, GPS tracking, community service, or personal recognizance. Equip judges to see beyond the courtroom — to understand that a man with no shoes can’t produce a surety. Overhaul legal aid with funding, accountability, and specialization. And above all, fix the timelines. Bail hearings can’t happen months apart. Every day inside is a constitutional crime if you’re innocent until proven guilty.

Liberty isn’t a perk. It’s the foundation. And yet, our system sells it to the highest bidder, while the poor barter dignity for freedom they may never see. This isn’t just injustice. It’s a betrayal.

Until the rules change, “bail is the rule, jail the exception” will remain just another courtroom cliché — the legal equivalent of “thoughts and prayers.”

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