The Unspoken Agony of Dr. Moumita Debnath

"Name: Dr. Moumita Debnath, Age: 31, Cause of death: Gang rape and murder." The words floated in the air, mocking the life I had painstakingly built. A skeletal figure draped in black, the Grim Reaper, approached me. Its hollow eyes were brimming with tears, forcing me to question everything. Was this truly the end?

I turned to see my own body—half-naked, bloodied, and bruised. The sight was unbearable. “Why did I have to endure this? Am I merely another statistic, another woman consumed by violence?” My heart shattered with every unanswered question. I had dedicated my life to saving others, but I couldn't save myself.

The nightmare replayed with vivid horror. I had been brutally assaulted, tortured, and raped. My body was marred by over 14 injuries—my head, face, neck, arms, and genitals bearing the marks of relentless cruelty. My nose and jaw were shattered, my lungs hemorrhaged, and my entire being screamed in agony. My legs were forced apart with such violence that my pelvic girdle fractured. Surrounded by these monsters who reveled in my suffering, my eyes stung from broken glass, and my body was scarred with bites. Despite my desperate struggle, their brutality was unyielding—they strangled, smothered, and left me for dead.

I tried to scream, to fight back, hoping my voice could pierce the midnight silence. But their cruelty knew no bounds. My kurta was torn, my trousers gone—my dignity stripped away as they ravaged my body. Blood clots and bruises bore witness to a violent struggle, but my strength fell short. I questioned everything—my life, my choices, my dreams. Was all my hard work and dedication destined to end in such brutality? Would I never see my parents again? Was aspiring to be a doctor my greatest mistake?

“Was my relentless effort in vain? Didn’t I deserve a happier ending?” I thought, spiraling into despair. The 36-hour shifts, the years of sacrifice—was it all meant to culminate in this gruesome death? Was my struggle worth such a horrific end? Was my life truly that insignificant?

Through my tears, I gazed at the Grim Reaper, pleading for answers. “Why have you spared the monsters who committed this atrocity? Did I do something wrong to deserve this fate? Can’t I rewind time, avoid that seminar hall, and change this nightmarish ending? Will I never get the chance to achieve my dreams, make my parents proud, and say goodbye to them? Or could I at least return for a moment to tell my parents the truth and reveal who is responsible for this cruelty? Can you not ensure justice is served to those responsible?”

The Grim Reaper’s voice, heavy with sorrow, responded softly, “I understand your suffering deeply, and you did not deserve this fate. Hell is empty, and the devils now walk the earth, but I promise you, your story will not end in vain. I will pursue justice with relentless determination. The collective voices of doctors, students, and people across the nation will rise in your defense. Those who inflicted this brutality upon you will face the consequences.”

The Grim Reaper’s solemn promise ignited a flicker of hope within my shattered heart. Though my life was taken prematurely, the quest for justice and truth would persist. For me, and for every woman who has suffered in silence, the battle continues. In this promise of accountability and action, I found a fragile sense of peace amidst the darkness.