On August 9, 2025, the streets of Kolkata and neighboring Howrah district became the stage for a confrontation that has gripped West Bengal’s political and civil society. The day marked the first anniversary of the rape and murder of Abhaya, a junior woman doctor at RG Kar Hospital—a tragedy that shocked the state and continues to ignite demands for justice. On this somber occasion, Abhaya’s parents, joined by opposition leaders and hundreds of supporters, set out on a protest march to the Nabanna state secretariat, seeking accountability and remembrance for their daughter. What followed was a cascade of violence, accusations, and heartbreak that has sparked fierce debate across the region.
The demonstration, known as the "Nabanna Abhijan," was organized by Abhaya’s parents, who called upon all political parties except the ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC) to join their demand for justice. According to IANS, the march began at Dorina Crossing, with the victim’s parents accompanied by BJP legislators, including the Leader of the Opposition in West Bengal Assembly, Suvendu Adhikari. Their destination: Nabanna, the administrative heart of the state, located at Madirtala in Howrah district.
As the procession advanced, the city braced for unrest. Security was dramatically heightened in Kolkata and Howrah, as reported by NewsBytes. Concrete and steel barricades lined the streets, major traffic restrictions were imposed, and water cannons as well as containers stood ready to block the protesters’ advance. The authorities’ resolve was clear: the march would not reach Nabanna without resistance.
The confrontation reached its first flashpoint at the Park Street–Jawaharlal Nehru Road crossing. Here, the large police contingent halted the procession. According to SocialNews.XYZ, as BJP workers attempted to breach the barricades, a scuffle erupted between protesters and police. The situation escalated rapidly, with police resorting to baton-charges to disperse the crowd. The air filled with shouts, the sound of batons, and, soon, the cries of the injured.
Among those allegedly assaulted were Abhaya's own parents. The victim’s mother later spoke out, her voice trembling with emotion: "We were unarmed. Still, the police stopped us. Why are they scared of us? The police beat me and broke my Sankha-Pola. They threw me on the road and kicked me." For many in Bengal, the breaking of the Sankha-Pola—the sacred shell-bangle symbolizing a married woman—was a deeply symbolic and painful act, compounding the day’s sense of injustice and outrage.
Abhaya’s father echoed the anguish, insisting, “What is our crime? We will go to Nabanna. They cannot stop us.” The determination in his words reflected the broader mood among protesters, who refused to be cowed by police action.
As the news of the violence spread, tension mounted in other parts of the city and adjacent districts. In the Santragachi area of Howrah, protesters clashed with police, hurling bricks and water bottles in defiance. The standoff quickly spiraled, with both sides sustaining injuries and the atmosphere growing ever more volatile.
Leader of Opposition Suvendu Adhikari, a central figure in the day’s events, did not mince words. According to NewsBytes, he claimed, "Abhaya's parents were beaten up. Mamata Banerjee will be destroyed due to this sin. She will be removed from power." Adhikari also alleged that BJP MLAs were attacked during what he described as a peaceful demonstration, and that the violence was not limited to rank-and-file protesters. "Abhaya's parents were also beaten. The police also beat me with sticks. More than a hundred people were injured. BJP MLAs were beaten. They even tore the national flag," he asserted, as reported by SocialNews.XYZ.
In the wake of the police action, Adhikari and other BJP legislators, including Agnimitra Paul, staged a sit-in on the road. Their protest, marked by resolute silence and visible bruises, became a symbol of the day’s turmoil. The sit-in drew attention not only to the violence itself but also to the broader questions of accountability, state power, and the right to protest.
Meanwhile, the government’s response was both forceful and defensive. Security forces maintained their positions, determined to prevent further escalation. Barricades remained in place, and water cannons stood at the ready. The administration’s message was clear: order would be maintained, even at the cost of public outrage.
Yet, the legal backdrop to the day’s events is significant. According to NewsBytes, the Calcutta High Court had allowed for peaceful protests and expressed empathy for Abhaya’s parents. This judicial endorsement underscored the protesters’ right to assemble and demand justice, even as the day’s violence suggested a widening gulf between citizens and the state apparatus.
The events of August 9 did not unfold in a vacuum. They are rooted in the unresolved trauma of Abhaya’s death—a case that, one year on, continues to haunt Bengal’s collective conscience. The protest was not merely about a single act of violence, but about a perceived pattern of injustice, impunity, and official indifference. The involvement of political leaders from the BJP, and the exclusion of the TMC, added a sharp partisan edge to the day’s drama, reflecting the deepening polarization in West Bengal’s political landscape.
For many, the images of Abhaya’s parents—bloodied, defiant, and grieving—became a rallying cry. Social media platforms lit up with messages of support, anger, and calls for accountability. Civil society organizations, student groups, and ordinary citizens weighed in, some condemning the police action, others emphasizing the need for law and order. The day’s events also revived debates over police conduct, women’s safety, and the state’s responsibility to protect both its citizens and their fundamental rights.
It is perhaps the words of Abhaya’s mother that capture the day’s raw emotion and enduring significance: "We were unarmed. Still, the police stopped us. Why are they scared of us?" In that question lies a challenge not only to the authorities but to the conscience of an entire state. As the dust settles on a day of violence and protest, the demand for justice—for Abhaya, for her parents, and for all victims of violence—remains as urgent as ever.
The events of August 9, 2025, will not soon be forgotten in West Bengal. Whether they mark a turning point in the fight for justice or simply another chapter in a long struggle remains to be seen. But for those who marched, who were beaten, and who still mourn, the call for accountability rings louder than ever.
