Features: Magazine | Literary Review | Life | Metro Plus | Open Page | Education Plus | Book Review | Business | SciTech | NXg | Friday Review | Cinema Plus | Young World | Property Plus | Quest |

Why suffer in silence?

Photo: AP

A basic right: Violence-free homes…

When she read about the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act (PWDVA), 2005, Chaitra thought she had finally found a legislation that addressed all her problems. The law exactly dealt with the physical, psychological and financial abuse this Bangalore-based software engineer suffered at the hands of her husband. What’s more, it promised relief within 60 days. Chaitra, who had filed for divorce before the Family Court in 2007, filed a case under PWDVA in April, 2008, in the magistrate court.

The first relief did indeed come quickly. She got a residence and protection order, which provided her access to the flat earlier taken over by the husband. However, he got violent the minute the government-appointed protection officer turned his back, forcing her to rent a separate flat in the interest of her safety.

Chaitra and her aged father have attended 83 hearings since the case was filed, what with her husband resorting to every delaying tactic possible. Recently he appealed to the Karnataka High Court to quash proceedings against him under PWDVA. The court refused to do so, reviving her hopes. But Chaitra knows that it will be a long haul in court before she can put her traumatic past behind her and start afresh.

*

In Mumbai, Kamala, a domestic help, filed a case under the Act when the police refused to do anything despite her filing cases of harassment, sexual violence and abuse against her alcoholic husband, who is also HIV Positive. All she wanted was redemption from sexual violence and she was not even too keen on getting maintenance.

Kamala got an order from the magistrate restraining her husband from stalking her or visiting her, but he still follows her around and threatens her. Her lawyers have got an arrest warrant issued, but the police claim they cannot find him. Kamala is happy that she does not have to live with her husband. But she won’t feel entirely safe until he is behind bars.

The two cases reflect both the hopes and frustrations associated with PWDVA, which, when it came into force in October 2006, became the first legislation to have defined domestic violence within the Indian legal discourse. The Act made a radical departure from older legislations by not only addressing gender-based violence within intimate relationships, including non-marital relationships, but bringing all form of violence within its scope. Significantly, this civil law pinned the responsibility of providing the abused woman access to support systems on the Central and State Governments.

Two-and-a-half years into the implementation of the Act, women activists and complainants are realising that even the most progressive legislations like PWDVA are no magic wands. There are yawning gaps between the promise in print and the situation on ground.

Though activists and lawyers across the country are happy that they have got some good orders under the Act, poor infrastructure and funding, lack of co-ordination between departments and judicial delay are proving big deterrents. The second annual evaluation report of the Act by Women’s Rights Initiative of Lawyers’ Collective, which has been associated with the legislation since its inception, also points to huge disparities in implementation between States.

Ujwala Kadrekar and Aileen Marques of Lawyer’s Collective in Mumbai, who are happy with the quickness with which some orders have been passed, agree that there are major lacunae such as the governments not appointing Protection Officers (POs) with independent charge and not orienting all the stakeholders in creating awareness and implementing it. The same concerns are voiced by B.N. Usha of Hengasara Hakkina Sangha and Donna Fernandes of Vimochana in Bangalore.

While States like Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh have put aside a dedicated annual allocation of Rs 1 crore for implementation of the Act, most others are yet to do so. Appointment of POs, who have the crucial responsibility of liaisoning between the victim and the courts and support structure, has been arbitrary. While Maharashtra has appointed 3,687 Protection Officers, Assam has 27 and Gujarat 25. Barring in States like Andhra Pradesh and Delhi, most POs handle this responsibility as an additional charge and have little infrastructural support. Not surprisingly, States that invested in implementation of the Act, report the highest number of cases. Maharashtra filed 2,274 cases between July 2007 and August 2008 while Orissa filed 64.

The Tamil Nadu experience shows that the commitment of POs can make a huge difference to the handling of a case. In the State, where a total of 920 cases have been disposed of and 549 cases are pending, districts where POs show enthusiasm have a better record. A semi-urban district like Vellore has registered the most number of cases, 586, and has only 22 listed as pending. One of the first cases under the Act in Tamil Nadu was, in fact, in Vellore where a woman and her two children were thrown out of the house by her ex-serviceman husband. Saroja Thiruvengadam, a district social welfare officer who was also PO, took the case to court. The judge passed residence and maintenance orders, and the three now live in the same house and are supported by the ex-serviceman.

A PO in Karnataka, whose primary work as a Child Development Protection Officer keeps him on his toes, shows his crammed office and a table creaking under the weight of files and asks: “How do you expect me to make time for a woman in distress or make her feel safe and comfortable here?” There have been instances of POs being assaulted. In September last, Parmesh Tokas was locked up and beaten by five members of a family in Kishan Garh in Delhi when she went to serve summons.

“Governments seem more willing to pass laws than invest in infrastructure to make sure it is implemented,” says Usha. “On the other hand, except in States like Andhra Pradesh, the police are completely indifferent to the Act because it is a civil law.”

Another source of frustration for women accessing this Act is what is common to all legal remedies: inordinate delays that almost amount to denial of justice. This is the reality even in States like Andhra Pradesh, which is seen as a model as far as putting in place infrastructure to implement the Act is concerned and has been commended by the National Commission for Women.

Chaitra, the software engineer, quit her job in the IT company and does freelance work now since applying for leave for every court hearing is out of question. “I am carrying on because I am determined and my father is a great pillar of support. But in all the time I have spent in the court room, I have seen scores of women giving up and compromising because they can’t deal with the delays, especially when they have children and no help from parents or friends,” says Chaitra. Twenty-six-year-old Parimal, waiting endlessly at Mahila Court in Patiala House in Delhi, feels bitter after a two-year wait for justice. “The law seems helpful only to those who are rich enough to afford a high profile lawyer who gets your case disposed off quickly.” She had herself filed a case against her abusive husband and was given a government lawyer because she could not afford one.

Sheela Ramanathan of Human Rights Law Network in Bangalore says that a large number of cases get stuck at the level of appeals in higher courts. “Unless there is a time frame for appeals in high courts to be settled, access to justice will remain elusive,” she says. What adds to the delay is the mindset in magistrate courts that focus primarily on criminal cases. “Many magistrates are not aware of the spirit of this law whose focus is giving immediate relief to women and insist on the same long-winded procedures of evidence,” says Basavaraj M. Kubakatti, a lawyer who has filed many cases under the Act in Bagalkot district in north Karnataka. “This is a legislation that has come from the women’s movement and has the best intentions. But it is also getting caught in the same rigmarole,” says Donna.

*

Even as women are struggling to access law and use it as a tool of empowerment, there has been a hue and cry over what is described as “misuse” of the law. This is nothing new to women-related laws, given the history of protests against Dowry-related laws.

All laws are, of course, open to abuse. But singling out laws that seek to empower women reflects entrenched prejudices. An exhausted Chaitra responds to this with a wry smile. “Those who say these things should come to the magistrate court and take a look at the hapless faces of women waiting there endlessly, with only a faint glimmer of hope.”

(Names of women complainants have been changed.)

With inputs from: Ramya Kannan in Chennai, Meena Menon and
Siddhesh Inamdar in Mumbai, Manisha Jha in Delhi and

M.L. Melly Maitreyi, in Hyderabad.