The Night Remains Unclaimed: A Cry for Women's Freedom

Night has a beauty of its own—a distinct identity! Poetry pours down in the night. One of my friends once told me, “Anyone who has never experienced the beauty of night can never become a true poet or artist.” Then he turned to me with this warning: “You are a girl—always remember that…”

When I read Shakti Chattopadhyay’s poem—Footpaths transform under the midnight sky..., I already knew the ways of the night. At night, moonlight blossoms. Cool breezes drift in, carrying the fragrance of many flowers. Midnight—a magical word, a pivotal moment! A fresh day begins, yet the world hushes. The street before our house quiets, its black asphalt now serene, free from the day’s clamour. Beneath a full moon, soft rays dance on the road’s surface. Body and mind, worn from the day’s trials, find solace in the moon’s glow. So many tales to share, gathered through the hours! One by one, they’ll unfold. In dreams, they’ll weave.

When we lived in the village, nights were even more beautiful and enchanting. Mangoes fell from the trees at night. Countless stars could be seen. At night, I felt as though the whole world were a dream—a place where stories are born, where countless ideas, images, metaphors, myths, sorrows, and fears take shape.

Fear, yes, fear! Endless fear! That is why my father’s strict order was: be back home before seven in the evening!

But why?

When I returned to town at night with my father, I would gaze at the night along the way. Silent roads, silent rivers, silent forests, and desolate… endlessly desolate. Such desolation, I was told, was not right for a girl.

But why?

In the summer months, when everyone in the village slept outside in the open or on rooftops, my sister and I were never allowed to. For girls, sleeping under an open sky was not considered proper. “This is the night,” they said, “and it is unsafe.”

But why?

Why is the night unsafe?

Why is the night considered so bad, so dangerous—for women?

When my brothers came home late at night from birthday parties, no one said anything to them. When they went out for group studies at night, our parents gave them permission. But I—no matter how urgent the work—could not step out of the house. Because night…

But why?

Why can't a woman observe and experience the beauty of the night? Why is the night not ours? Why does society look at women seen outside at night as though they were criminals? Why, if something happens to them at night, does society immediately consider them the guilty ones? Whether it is rape or sexual harassment, who bears the responsibility and blame afterwards?

The women themselves?

But why?

“She should not have gone out at night…”

“Why did she go?”

“Oh, but you are a girl!”

Is being a girl the same as inviting rape, sexual harassment, and exploitation?

There are many reasons women are raped. In our country, and in the United States during the 1970s, people thought along similar lines. Some said it was because of women’s clothing. Some said it was because of women’s character. Others argued it was because the crime scene was deserted… and so it happened.

But why?

In the northeast corner of our house lived Haridada with his family. The village nights were full of mystery—silent, desolate. So many different sounds floated through the night air. Many kinds of voices! Half-asleep, I would hear Haridada’s wife weeping. The sound of her crying! As if the very body of night was being torn apart by that lament! I could never understand why she wept like that every night in the darkness.

One day, I asked her. She stayed quiet for a while, then said, “Night is terrifying! I am afraid of its dense darkness!”

Besides the sound of Hariboudi’s crying, I heard another sound: the sound of a flute. That sound was unbearably beautiful! I felt an urge to run straight away, to see who played the flute so enchantingly.

Whenever I shared such thoughts with my mother, she would shrink back. Her eyes would widen, and she would say,

“You are a girl! The night is not safe for you!”

Later, when I began living in the city, the power of night grew even stronger. By seven in the evening, we had to return to our hostel—no matter how important the work was! Because of that rule, I couldn’t attend extra Physics classes. I couldn’t celebrate birthdays at night. Nor could I create those precious teenage memories people later recall with fondness. Only fear after fear! Darkness meant fear! Night meant fear! Evening meant fear!

Yet none of these fears bound my brothers. They returned from the movies at eleven at night. They spent entire nights at folk-theatre performances. At dawn, they came home, brimming with stories of the night’s adventures. And I would sit wide-eyed, listening to those stories, silently wondering—when will I ever have the right to such nights?

After so many years of independence, where is women’s freedom? Why can’t they walk alone? Why can’t they see the night as night?

Patriarchal society has laid down these rules: women should not go out at night, should not be in open spaces, and should keep themselves covered. In response, American women said, “Let’s reclaim the night and be seen in it…” Thus, the Take Back the Night movement began. They formed groups. They marched through streets, lanes, and harbours at midnight. They sang songs. They shouted slogans. They wanted to train their eyes to become accustomed to the night—eyes that had never known a free night. Their message was clear:

“Fortunately, I am outside—which means I am not unsafe…”

In India, too, women have begun to push back with similar courage. From college campuses to city streets, candlelight marches have become symbols of defiance. Girls in small towns and villages are learning martial arts, carrying whistles, and finding solidarity in groups—tiny steps toward reclaiming their right to move without fear.

After the Nirbhaya case in Delhi in the winter of 2012, and following the Verma Committee’s recommendations, the rape law was amended in 2013. Yet rules remain rules, and fear remains fear. Women still do not have the right to freely experience the night.

But why?

If a girl goes to meet her lover and is raped, is it somehow her fault? If her lover himself commits the assault, is it her fault?

A year has passed since the Abhaya incident. Where are we now? Where will we be a year from now? Will women’s demands and aspirations slowly turn into nothing more than entries in a historical timeline, mere facts?

On August 9, 2024, after the incident at R.G. Kar Medical College in Kolkata, women across West Bengal—and indeed across the world—raised their voices to demand the right to the night. On the eve of Independence Day, August 14, women all over the globe came together to assert that right. Will that, too, remain nothing but a dream? Even in this twenty-first century, as citizens of a free country, must women still fear the darkness? The night? Will the beauty of the night remain reserved only for men?

We speak of Digital India, Smart Cities, Chandrayaan reaching the moon—but even in these achievements, half the population is excluded from the simplest freedom: walking under the stars without fear. What progress is this, if the darkness of night remains a cage for women?

And in 2025, must a newborn girl still be told: Be back home by seven in the evening. Don’t step outside at night. You absolutely cannot sleep on the rooftop! You are a girl—understand this!

But why?

Here, a crucial question arises: Does such a place even exist in this society where girls can truly work and live freely? Is there really no space for women to move about, to pursue and fulfil their dreams?

The irony is bitter: women are worshipped as goddesses during festivals, but the same society strips them of safety and dignity in real life. The night that belongs to Kali, to Durga, to Chandi—is denied to ordinary women. Why this hypocrisy?

In a country where men snatch away women’s freedom, where they treat and turn them into sex slaves, are only men free in such a land? Is it only men who can satisfy their desires at will? From Nirbhaya and Asifa to Unnao, Hathras, and now Moumita—rapes continue, one after another, without end!

Can we really claim that India is a free country? Perhaps only half-free… because women here are still not fully free! That is why it has become necessary for women to reclaim their right to the night—so that they can make this society understand for themselves!

Come, let us go—come to the office at night, go to work at night!

Come, let us pass through the night! Let us look at the night! Let us feel the night within us!

Come, let us walk at night! Be free! Enjoy the night!

Let us create a future where mothers no longer warn their daughters against the night, but instead say with pride: “Go, see the moon, breathe the air, live your freedom.”

Let this society understand—we, too, must live in this night…

Baby Shaw is an author, poet and independent researcher based in Jamshedpur, Jharkhand.