"The night belongs to women too," says Rituparna Dey, a makeup artist from Medinipur who joined a protest march in her village against the rape and murder at RG Kar Medical College and Hospital in Kolkata. On August 23, for the second time, the women of Basantpur and Sultanpur, near Kharagpur in Paschim Medinipur, West Bengal, gathered in solidarity with ongoing protests.
While the incident in Kolkata has stirred national outrage, these women, far from the urban epicentre, are staging their own protests— quieter, less visible, yet no less significant. Over 300 women, many of whom rarely leave their homes, assembled. “We started with 50 but ended up with over 300. It felt quite empowering,” says a college student from Basantpur who spoke on the condition of anonymity.
Along with Rituparna, we spoke with a housewife who wanted to be referred to as "Abhaya” (meaning ‘fearless’), Shreya Pati, a 19-year-old aspiring nurse, and a college student. These are not women accustomed to taking to the streets, yet here they are, united in their collective grief and fury at what happened.
“Women need to stand up for each other,” says Rituparna. Further, “Abhaya” exclaims, “Call me Abhaya, Abhaya’s sister, Abhaya’s daughter. What happened to that woman can happen to any of us — even a man! Hence, my outrage.”
Who truly gets to reclaim the night?
On August 10, a trainee doctor was raped and murdered within the premises of her workplace, inside a hospital seminar room where she had been resting after a 36-hour shift. Her semi-naked body was discovered the next morning, and a civic volunteer was arrested in connection with the crime. The brutality of this incident has stirred protests across the nation, especially on August 14 at midnight, when women in major cities rallied under the banner of "Reclaim the Night".
But who truly gets to reclaim the night? In Powai, Mumbai, reports emerged that women from the Jai Bhim Nagar slum were denied the opportunity to voice their concerns by protesters of a nearby upscale community. This exclusion reflects that while such acts of violence resonate with all women, they often impact those who are doubly marginalised even more acutely.
So, when we learned that women from the villages of West Bengal were protesting, we wanted to hear their perspectives.
For the women of Basantpur and Sultanpur, this incident isn't just a distant horror; it is a reminder of their own vulnerability and their desire for freedom.
“For the sake of humanity, I had to join the protest. It’s a terrible feeling that women have to live with every day — this constant fear that a man might act inappropriately towards them,” says the 19-year-old Shreya.
Maa Durga and Sita
On the other hand, housewife and mother, "Abhaya", asserts, “I don’t want my children to grow up in fear. I want them to be free. I want all women to be free.” As a Bengali, the first female figure she could think of was Maa Durga. “They have only worshipped Maa Durga, but never really understood her strength,” she exclaims.
But with Maa Durga, there is also Sita, who was blamed for the crimes committed against her because she dared to overstep the boundaries of the Lakshman Rekha. Despite her intentions, she bore the blame for Ravana's actions. Similarly, the victim at RG Kar found no respite, as former principal Dr Sandip Ghosh allegedly blamed her for being in the seminar hall so late at night. The fear of victim-blaming is ingrained in every woman, even in this post-MeToo era.
Rituparna Dey, like many, has faced this firsthand. “I experienced harassment during my college days. I lived in a hostel and often had to travel at night. The lane leading to my hostel was usually deserted, and one night, a few boys on a bike sped past me and hit me in the stomach. I was so shocked that I froze,” she recalls.
Like most women, she couldn’t manage to report or even let her family know of what happened, fearing it would only intensify her trauma. “I didn’t tell my family because they would have blamed me for being out late. I kept thinking I should have done something, but I couldn’t,” she adds.
This overstepping of boundaries is entrenched in our collective consciousness and this conditioning continues to influence contemporary attitudes toward women. Rituparna articulates this clearly, “It isn’t like these boys knew me, but they had to do it nonetheless. Even if a woman wants to live freely, society won’t let her. There’s always a sense that we need to be ‘taught a lesson’ if we dare to claim our freedom.”
Further, the RG Kar incident has once again revealed that no place is safe — not even your workplace or home. “Parents used to say, ‘Call when you reach,’ but now, even reaching your workplace doesn’t guarantee safety,” says Rituparna.
It is because of men
So what is it? Rituparna argues that the problem boils down to men. “Though my home is in Midnapore, I’ve spent a lot of time in Kolkata, so I understand both environments. I also understand workspace and public space, and while these urban people appear to be educated and broad-minded, their actions in a crowded bus or tram reveal their true mindset. My stance is that men will take advantage of women wherever and whenever because they know there will be no repercussions. And it can be any man and every man.”
Incidents in a crowded bus take us to Shreya Pati, the 19-year-old school student, who joined the protest because she is done living in fear. Relating to Rituparna’s example of the bus she narrates her own experience: “One day, I was on a bus, and a middle-aged “bhadralok” (gentleman) sitting next to me started talking to me. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. I was taken aback, but he didn’t stop — he then touched my knee. I called him out, but the experience left me shaken and traumatised. At least I was able to say something, but there are girls who can’t even do that.”
While men are an important factor in the prevalence of rape, studies show that low conviction and reporting rates are even more critical. In rural areas, this fear is further compounded by isolation. The nearest police station is an hour away by bus, making it harder for women to seek help.
Even after reporting, the reluctance of the police to take action further discourages them. Instead, what often happens is that a scene is created, and fingers are pointed at the victims. “The nearest police station is 15 kms away. Even if I end up there there are so many more hurdles. It doesn’t feel like it would be worth it,” says a protester.
However, collectively, the women of Basantpur and Sultanpur are standing together, empowered and hoping for things to change. They are part of a larger movement that insists on being heard. Rituparna states, “Streets are public spaces, and everyone has a right to them. At this point, we need to unite, not divide.”
They know their protests may not make headlines like those in Kolkata, but they are no less important. Within them lies a a vision of freedom for all women who live in fear, whether in a city or a village. And they plan to continue their protest because, as Rituparna says, “The night belongs to women as well.”
