Illustration by Suman Choudhury

To many in Rajarampur village, the sounds of screams and beatings that rent the silence of the nights were a normal, routine affair. After all, the neighbours reasoned, these were private quarrels between husband and wife over a burnt dinner or the delay by in-laws to provide money for a shop. But there was one woman in the village who simply refused to accept that family violence was a private affair. She responded to every cry for help even if it was past midnight. “If there was a sound of a woman crying, be sure Supriya will be knocking on her door to enquire,” said a retired schoolmaster.

Supriya’s fellow villagers love to narrate stories about her. Such as the tale about how she and her friend, Runu, had searched without an address for Runu’s husband in a strange neighbourhood and had traced him by the smell of his body, or the one about how she ticked off teachers in a local school for physically abusing children.

Young girls spoke about how she inspired them to step out of the home to learn skills to earn a living. “There was so much resistance initially from my family and there were rumours galore about my leaving home to work,” said Kakoli. “But Supriya aunty said to me, if you want to live, be fearless.” Runu, victim of a violent marriage, stressed that it was only because of Supriya’s support that she had survived. “I can never lose if she is with me.”

It was in the office of Jeevika, a local NGO working with village women that I finally met up with Supriya a few days ago. She glowed as she spoke about Alor Disha, a group she helped to set up two years ago in Bishnupur thana. It was a group with a difference, a major difference in these times when the mantra of no-money-no-love-for-thy-neighbour is more the rule than an exception. Members give voluntary time to help women, especially victims of domestic violence, to arbitrate with their husbands or accompany them to the police station or courts in the city.

The birth of the group was equally significant. A woman in labour in the village had no means of transport to reach the nearest health centre. When a neighbour failed to flag down even a single auto-rickshaw, the local women felt they had had enough. They got together and stopped all the autos plying on the road till the pregnant woman could be taken to the doctor. “It was a big lesson for us,” said Supriya. “Only when we women got together did we succeed. That’s how we thought of the need for Alor Disha.”

Success has meant more confidence for the local women not only in taking on local bullies who harass young girls on their way to work, but also in convincing the police to file cases against abusers. Earlier, unsuspecting members were intimidated by officialdom and legalese and were forced to spend large sums on touts who offered to write complaints on their behalf for a fee of several thousand rupees. “Wherever we went, we would get cheated or intimidated,” said Supriya. Not any more.

The wife of an unemployed factory worker of a small unit and mother of two growing boys, there was never a hint of complaint or bitterness in Supriya’s voice while we chatted. “Though my husband is a good man, my biggest mistake was to get married when I was 14,” she said. Involved with the women thronging the room, needless to say, 35-year-old Supriya stood out as a natural leader with her vivacious smile and infectious energy.

Just before taking her leave, I realised with a start why she wore a cheap brown wig and was keen to return home before dark. She had lost her hair and was practically blind, for she had blood cancer and had almost died due to delayed medical treatment. “I am grateful to be alive when I would have been dead long ago,” she said quietly. “So many people helped to keep me alive, perhaps this is a profound message for me to do my utmost for others... we need each other to survive.” For Supriya, cancer is just another battle to be fought. And won, it goes without saying.