On the evening of October 12th, many beautifully dressed women were preparing for Sindur Khela on the eve of Subha Bijaya Dashami, and others were celebrating the final day of Durga Puja with red strokes of sindur on their reddish cheeks. All seemed so happy and safe in their world.
At that time many of you were probably watching the news about Abhaya on television or scrolling through it during your routine virtual world tour on your phone. In just 60 days, the weight of such stories may have left you fatigued. By now, you may have moved on to posting selfies at your local pandal or from some vibrant tourist locations commemorating the festivities.
At this same time, at the heart of the city in Dharmatala, students were ‘fasting till death,’ critically ill, praying for some acknowledgment from the guardians of the state. Some of their friends are fighting for their lives in ICU. A similar scene was unfolding miles away at North Bengal Medical College in Siliguri. Their health is deteriorating with each passing hour, but as more people from all walks of life gather, the sound of their slogans grows louder. Support is pouring in from across the country and even from as far as Toronto. But sadly, the cries have seemingly failed to stir the conscience of those who should have shown compassion. The very leaders who ought to have been by the students’ side, offering comfort and support, instead remain cold, distant, and unmoved.
On this evening, a few of us—a team of doctors from the West Bengal Doctors Forum (WBDF)—visited the home where Abhaya, our true Durga, once lived. From there, she used to commute daily to the hospital where she worked, a place that should have been her sanctuary. Tragically, the demons lurked there, transforming her workplace into the site of her murder. The mourning site, set up near her home, was filled with mourners silently grieving the heartbreaking loss of someone so beloved.
We waited for several minutes to find a space to enter the sacred place. When we finally spoke to her parents, we realized they were living a second life—one devoid of joy. Their faces bore the signs of dried-up tears, but there was a shining light in their eyes. With heavy hearts, we had come to offer them comfort, but instead, they were the ones who comforted us with their short but resolute words. Despite their grief, they even inquired about the health of the fasting and protesting students. Their empathy in the midst of their own suffering left me speechless. They hadn’t given up hope. With remarkable clarity, they asked about the next court hearing and discussed the implications of the delayed proceedings.
As we stood there, a large candle burned brightly, its flickering flame seemed to whisper, “I am burning, and I will not rest until justice is served.”
Written by: Dr. Nilendu Sharma
