Ranaghat locality shuts itself in fear, NCW shocked by Nadia rape data

RANAGHAT: Even eight days after the barbaric assault on an elderly nun, National Women’s Commission (NCW) members could sense the shock and horror when they visited Ranaghat on Saturday. They discovered that an average of 17 rape cases are registered in Nadia every month and there is such fear stalking the town after the police case on those who blocked Mamata Banerjee’s convoy that doors are shut and no one dares talk to outsiders.
The three-member NCW team visited the convent, talked to the sisters, and then headed out to meet police. It is while digging through police records that they discovered the huge number of rapes the district records every month. The 2012 National Crime Records Bureau data puts Nadia (146) in third position in number of rapes after South 24-Parganas (224) and Murshidabad (174).
The women activists could not understand why police hadn’t been able to arrest the culprits. “I wonder why police couldn’t round up the culprits when their pictures are on camera. It is a serious lapse on the part of the administration,” said Shamima Shafique, the NCW team leader. They asked Ranaghat police to depute an officer to send regular updates on the probe to the commission. A CID team was busy inside the convent when the NCW team met the sisters.
When they stepped out into Don Bosco para (the locality adjoining the convent), there was more shock in store for the NCW members. They couldn’t find a single person they could talk to. Families bolted their doors. The streets were deserted as though the area was under naka-bandi. The open field beside the convent, where Ranaghat Christiyo Sevak Samity was holding its annual religious festival, had very few visitors. “Such is the scare after the police case on those who held up the CM’s convoy that most of our members have given this annual programme a miss,” rued a woman participant.
“This is the day when Christian believers from North 24-Parganas and Nadia assemble for the religious congregation. Today, there are few,” said Samity secretary Tonu Haldar. The organization made repeated announcements on loudspeakers that those who had gathered should wear black badges supplied by the samity. When asked if it was a mark of protest against the sexual assault on the nun, Haldar said, “Not at all. Why should we ask our brothers to put on black badges during our annual festival? This is an arrangement made in consultation with police so that they can identify those who have come to this programme.”
A man with a stubble, and a jhola hanging from his shoulder, introduced himself as Nirupam Bhattacharya, a “drama activist” and one of the organizers of Ranaghat Protibadi Mancha. The makeshift stage where the mancha acted out plays in protest against the gang rape had vanished on Saturday. Nirupam said police had visited his home on Friday evening. “Yes, I have a drama group — Srijak Natya Gosthi. We performed street plays as a mark of protest. When I returned home at night, my mother told me that some policemen came to our house. They told my mom to ask me to come to Ranaghat police station. I fear they may brand me a Maoist, just as they did to the Midnapore farmer,” said Nirupam.
Protest posters pasted on the convent gate were torn and the streets filled with plainclothes policemen, keeping an eye on the locality. So much so that one of the homemakers who threw open her doors to the media all these days refused to even speak to journalists on Saturday. Among the few people still out on the street was Suman Majumdar, who has tonsured his head in shame. “The gang rape of the elderly sister is a shame on us. I have been to Kamduni, Bamungachhi and Park Street to sing protest songs. I have never come across such panic,” Suman said, strumming his guitar and singing: “Aar koto jolbe mombati/ bondhu tumi ki ashbe amar sathe/rajpathe (how long will the candle burn. Come on my friend. Will you come along with me on the streets?) A young boy walked up to join Suman. A plainclothes policeman on a motorbike started waving desperately to ask the boy, his relative, to leave the singer.