Society

The Death Wish

He is 70, jobless. His daughters are disabled, helpless. His plea has kicked up a furore.

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The Death Wish
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For nearly 40 years, Abdul Rauf and his wife Ansara Bibi have nursed their two daughters, both 95 per cent disabled with polio since childhood. A month ago, Rauf finally wrote to the chief minister seeking the state's permission to kill both girls. Rauf is tired, hungry and worried that once he and his wife die there'd be nobody in this dusty village of Mulukgram Dakhin Para, a half-hour's drive from Tagore's Shantiniketan, to take care of their daughters.

Till two years ago, Rauf, 70, earned enough as a bus driver to support his family. But then he lost his job. And except for a brief interlude 20 years ago, when he married off his eldest daughter, Tanjila Bibi, life has centred around his two disabled daughters. Fatima, 40, and Regina Khatun, 36, were infants when they were afflicted with polio. "Both were normal and very beautiful when they were born," recalls Ansara Begum as she fans away the flies in their hot two-room shack. "In those days there was no pulse polio drive as we see today. Once the disease crippled them, we had to do everything for them."

For Fatima and Regina, the world became a blur since the disease. With their flesh wasting away, both shrunk in size and have lived in a twilight zone. Today, Rauf has taken to begging. Sometimes a neighbour sends some food but such days, Rauf says, don't come too often. "Friends, neighbours have been very nice but how long can we depend on others? I still have a driver's licence but can't work because of my eyesight. Who's going to look after them after we're gone?" To him, mercy killing seems the only option: "What can I do? I have no income and can't send them away as we've always looked after them."

Birbhum is one of West Bengal's poorest districts, and has a staggering 2.28 lakh families officially living below the poverty line. Once Rauf lost his job, his family became another statistic for the district administration, clutching onto their bpl card for survival.

District magistrate Khalil Ahmed was taken by surprise when news of Rauf's request for the mercy killings hit the local papers. The district administration reacted by going into overdrive; sending out medical and administrative teams. What emerged wasn't only the family's poverty, but also that the girls weren't even getting the measly Rs 500 disabled pension they are entitled to. "We are inquiring into the matter, but have already received offers of help from some private quarters," says Ahmed.

Ironically, the media attention also became an event for the administration. With reporters from local dailies flooding the office, many sniffed opportunities for fame as do-gooders. Says a senior official: "We've undertaken many measures to help Rauf's family. We're also inaugurating a neo-natal centre to prevent such recurrences." Unfortunately for Rauf, while promises, some helpful and some untenable, have poured in, little else has come his way. He has been doing rounds at the block development office to find employment to support his family.

Ahmed also sent a team from the nearby Rampurhat Spastic and Disabled Society. When Nazrul Islam, secretary of the spastic society, and his team arrived at Mulukgram, they were appalled at the family's condition: "They're very poor, have no means of support. Sadly, they aren't keen on sending the daughters to our home plan as long as they are alive." Mother Ansara Bibi was the first to reject the offer: "We've managed to look after the girls for so many years, and will continue to do so till we're alive."

For the family, the sudden media attention has served as a double-edged sword. Eldest daughter Tanjila, who lives nearby, rushes home every time journalists visit Mulukgram. Breathlessly rattling off reasons why she's unable to tend to her sisters, yet promising that she will have time to look after them "if the government gives her husband a regular job".

For now, the government is in a quandary. Rauf's petition is illegal and they've rejected it. But failure to intervene would mean condemning the family. Caught in the middle of this dilemma are Fatima and Regina, for whom the world continues to be an incomprehensible blur.

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