As Professor Dr. Gadappa drove towards the Obstetrics and Gynecology Unit, the department he had been heading for the past six years, he glanced at his wristwatch. He was 15 minutes late for his 8 o'clock schedule—a rare occurrence in his 20-odd-year career at the Government Medical College in Aurangabad.
Today, his 90-year-old mother had seemed a bit pale and had held his hand longer than usual, he recalled. He didn't have the heart to leave her just then. Pressing her bony fingers reassuringly, he promised to be back soon. Before leaving, he had checked on his 18-year-old daughter, already up and immersed in her books, preparing for her NEET exam, determined to follow in her parents' footsteps. Patting her head, he reminded her to stay alert in case her grandma called out. His 24-year-old MBA graduate son, also an engineer, had worked late last night, so he let him sleep.
In their younger days, both children had seen less of him and his wife, Dr. Sneha, a gynaecologist practising at a private hospital. Dr. Gadappa rued this, wondering if it was one of the reasons their son had chosen management engineering over medicine.
His wife had left early at 2:00 AM that morning to attend to an emergency delivery and had not yet returned. He hoped everything was under control as he hurried towards the hospital, which was gradually filling up with patients, a sight he had been familiar with since joining the College as a medical student in 1993.
As he sprinted up the flight of stairs to his office on the second floor, a WhatsApp message popped up on his phone: "A young girl brought in by her parents and the police, claiming rape."
"Another POCSO (Protection of Children from Sexual Offences) case," sighed Dr. Gadappa. It was already the 16th case of the month. "Everyone, reach Sukun Kaksh," he responded to the WhatsApp group message.
Sukun Kaksh was established five years ago as part of infrastructural measures to support survivors of Gender-based Violence (GBV). It consists of a modest 10 x 12 feet room furnished with pleasant curtains, a table, and a chair on each side for the medical team and the survivor to engage in quiet conversation. Additionally, the room features a bench with a bed covered in clean sheets, providing a comfortable space for the survivor to rest. Visual posters within the department educate visitors on various forms of GBV, women's rights, and the available laws to protect those rights.
Upon entering Sukun Kaksh, survivors who have endured violence and trauma, often inflicted by men known to them, are made to feel secure, explains Dr. Gadappa. The environment is facilitated by a team comprising compassionate doctors, nurses, and social workers, all well-versed in the LIVES (Listen, Inquire, Validate, Enhanced Support, and Support) approach—a method crafted for empathetically addressing Gender-based Violence against Women.
Within this space, the patient receives attentive, non-judgmental listening, fostering an atmosphere where survivors feel safe to gradually disclose their traumatic experiences.
As he entered the Sukun Kaksh, his team—the resident doctor—was already present, pacifying the parents and urging them to remain outside while they spoke to their 13-year-old daughter. The police were requested to accompany the parents and wait until the medical team concluded their part.
The girl was visibly agitated, refusing to meet anyone or even enter the Sukun Kaksh, fearing she would be locked in. "I was not kidnapped; I went with the boy on my own," she insisted between sobs.
Once the parents and the police were out of sight, the medical doctor, along with the social worker, calmed her and explained the need for her physical examination. The parents had accused the 16-year-old boy of kidnapping and rape. Since she was a minor, a physical examination was deemed crucial for her well-being, as the staff nurse explained.
The social worker further clarified that she could record her statement before the magistrate, who would then make a decision. After half an hour of counselling, the girl agreed to undergo a physical examination.
The parents rushed to Dr. Gadappa as he emerged from the room. "The boy has to be punished; kindly report it as rape," insisted the parents. Dr. Gadappa, making it clear that no amount of pressure could sway him, explained, "The MLC report will be handed over to the magistrate in a sealed envelope."
Reflecting on the current case, Dr. Gadappa recollected a previous incident involving the gang rape of a young 13-year-old brought in for an MLC examination a couple of months back. The girl's parents had initially claimed that their daughter was bitten by an animal, until the evident wounds on her body and neck, along with her physical examination, confirmed gang rape.
The girl had to undergo 15 days of regular counselling before she recovered satisfactorily. The parents, too, needed counselling to help their daughter end her ordeal and seek justice. Despite the perpetrators being influential people, they were eventually arrested based on the statements of the girl and her parents.
"Every third day, POCSO cases are referred to the hospital," informed Dr. Gadappa. In November 2022, their unit handled 17 cases of POCSO. The doctor added, they deal with a minimum of three cases of GBV every single day.
A term alien to him until a few years back, Dr. Gadappa was exposed to ‘Gender-based violence (GBV)’ through training in 2011, jointly organised by the Directorate of Medical Education, Mumbai, Centre for Enquiry into Health, and Allied Themes (CEHAT) with support from the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA). "As a gynaecologist, I thought I was treating female patients; what does gender have to do with this?" he wondered back then.
Today, he feels that the training immensely contributed to changing his attitude and brought a completely new perspective to his medical practice.
The door to the Sukun Kaksh opened, and a relatively relaxed and confident girl emerged after spending about two hours inside. The social worker, leading her towards the waiting parents, assured, "She should reach the hospital if she needs any medical support."
As Dr. Gadappa completed his rounds, checking on the condition of the women who had delivered, he glanced at his watch, clocked at 6:30 PM. The morning's worries about his elderly mother had faded into the background hum of his daily routine. He wondered if his wife had returned from the hospital and whether he was responsible for picking up his daughter from tuition later that evening.
While he knew that the day was technically over, any emergency case would have him rushing back to the hospital. He hoped that his mother was awake so he could spend some time sitting next to her.
