Forced Abortion
“Forced Abortion” immediately brings to mind the dark era of Sanjay Gandhi’s sterilization drive—when government officials roamed villages enforcing quotas, and doctors operated under immense pressure in temporary camps. That campaign rested on the belief that strict, sometimes brutal, measures were essential to curb population growth.
This narrative unfolds after those harsh days. Although outright coercion had ended, subtler pressures lingered.
I first met Shyam, a young advocate at the Rajasthan High Court, through my work as a medico-legal activist. Having given up my medical license to practice law (I hold an LLB), I’d been filing public interest litigations on healthcare matters. One such PIL dealt with the Dangerous Machines (Regulation) Act, 1983—a law designed to oversee the manufacture and use of hazardous machinery, protect laborers, and ensure compensation for injuries or deaths caused by these machines.
Because Rajasthan never implemented the Act’s safety provisions, countless farm workers were maimed by unguarded threshers and cutters. My job was to document these cases as evidence for our petition.
Shyam ran his practice out of a spare room in his modest home. Whenever we discussed case details, we’d sit in the living room over tea, kindly poured by his soft-spoken wife. Their daughters—aged six and four—would hover nearby: the eldest balancing snacks on a plate, the youngest greeting me with a bright “Namaste, Uncle.”
One afternoon, Shyam gently asked the girls to play elsewhere. His wife sat waiting, her expression heavy.
The younger girl was reluctant to leave, clutched at her mother’s sari. Her elder sister, after a quick glance at Shyam’s face, virtually dragged her away. I could sense that the girls had some premonition. I felt uneasy.
He confessed she was pregnant again and asked me to facilitate an abortion under the Medical Termination of Pregnancy Act. The government rule barring those with more than two children from public-service exams threatened his dream of joining the judiciary.
With tearful eyes, Shyam’s wife slipped away.
The pregnancy was well within MTP norms. The termination proceeded without incident, yet when she later came to serve us tea, her usual warmth was gone. She set the cups down, avoided my gaze, and left. Shyam told me she was gripped by guilt and trauma. He asked if I could counsel her.
During our talk, she sat silently, eyes cast downward, offering me the snack plate before retreating. It was only then I realized their daughters were nowhere to be seen. The silence in the house felt heavy with unspoken blame—and I was overwhelmed by my own sense of guilt.
By compelling individuals to relinquish reproductive choice, forced abortions inflict lasting harm—physical, psychological, and societal—that reverberates across families and communities.
That night, I tumbled through a restless dread, haunted by Mrs. Shyam’s downcast eyes and her two little girls huddled in silence, their bright wonder shuttered behind blank, frightened faces. My chest tightened with the weight of Shyam’s shame—and my own—because all the lofty talk of bodily autonomy and reproductive rights rang hollow when the state’s iron fist and a silent bench steamrolled them.
Shyam, the advocate, had opted for abortion of his third child to keep his eligibility for judicial job live. Imagery of Shyam seated in his judicial robes, I felt a cold betrayal sink in, as if justice itself had turned its back on us.
Postscript
Disincentives under two child norms are still in force in Rajasthan: Ineligibility for state Government jobs: Individuals with more than two children would also be deemed ineligible for State government jobs. Individuals would also be disqualified from contesting elections to the local authority or any local self-government body.
Written By: Dr Shri Gopal Kabra
MBBS, LLB, MSc, MS(Anatomy). MS(Surgery)
Email: [email protected] Mobile: 8003516198
