“Those responsible, whether baalik or nabaalik (adult or minor), must not be let off.”

The bereaved father's burst of anguish draws murmurs of assent from a group gathered in the tiny courtyard of his two-room house in southwest Delhi. The neta who has come to visit the family of the late “bus rape” victim mumbles something about a stringent law being in the offing.

“If an 18-year-old is an adult, a 17-year-old is no different,” the 23-year-old gangape victim’s father counters (while some sections of the media, especially in her native Ballia, in Uttar Pradesh, have begun naming the victim after her death, Governance Now has taken a stand against naming her to deter invasion of privacy and allow the courts to decide whether she could be named in future).

Apart from that one outburst, he is composed, a stoic and stiff-necked man who expects nothing more — or less — than justice for his only daughter. The other men are equally stoic; only the younger of the victim’s two brothers displays visible emotion, wiping away tears every now and then. Her mother is not at home, having been hospitalised shortly after the hush-hush cremation early Sunday morning. Having not eaten for five days, her blood pressure had fallen to the point where she collapsed.

A CAT scan and glucose transfusion later, doctors have pronounced her fit to be released.

Few netas have braved the garbage-strewn rubble track that passes for a road to reach the victim’s home, in what is little better than an urban slum. Just as well, for the simmering resentment among the colony’s residents against visiting VIPs is palpable.

Sporadically, arguments break out between the nervous policemen, conditioned to protect the VIPs and the neighbours, who resent being chased away simply because a neta is coming to visit. The area MP, Mahabal Mishra, has been the interface between her family and the government. His men attempt to clear the road of people because a “big neta” is coming, but meet with anger.

“Your daughter has not left us. She is in all our hearts,” says Lok Sabha Speaker Meira Kumar, one of the few politicians who visited the miniscule basement, perhaps seven by five feet, where guests are received. She perches on the only chair, hastily borrowed from a neighbour. The lesser netas occupy the wooden takht, while the victim's father and uncle insist on standing.

Meira Kumar is empathetic without being emotional, warmly embracing the younger sibling. An aide clicks photographs in rapid succession, vitiating the intimacy of the moment.

Just another family from the 'hinterland'

“This family is typical of Ballia. They are great fighters and they never ask anyone for anything,” says HN Sharma, once political secretary to former Prime Minister Chandra Shekhar, the then MP from Ballia. “Your daughter has done us proud. She represents the spirit of Ballia,” he tells the father, who bows his head.

The braveheart’s family is no different from millions of others, one generation removed from land. Her father migrated to Delhi “the year before Indira Gandhi died”, as full of hope and aspirations for his offsprings as any other migrant. To that end, he invested heavily in his children's education. He sold off land in Ballia to finance his only daughter's education in Dehradun.

In six months, she would have been fully qualified and in a position to contribute to the family’s finances.

He has equally high hopes for his boys. The older one is preparing for entrance examination to an engineering college. They are good boys, clearly brought up to respect tradition, greeting every visitor with a namaste and by touching the feet of the elderly.

The family, says their father, still owns “kheti” (farmland) in Ballia. All 10 members who are in Delhi at present will leave for for Ballia on new year's eve. The remaining last rites will be observed there, including the “doodh lagaana” (milk ceremony). Her tervi, observed on the 13th day after death, will be held there as well.

The victim’s eldest uncle, who had arrived in Delhi soon after the savage assault on his 23-year-old niece, is clearly in charge. He, too, has a daughter. She is married and has presented him with a grandchild, he says, as the victim’s father looks away.

Early Sunday morning, the victim’s body was flown in from Singapore and received at IGI airport by a contingent including Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and Congress president Sonia Gandhi. She was taken to her home and then to a small crematorium that once served two villages in southwest Delhi.

“It was so dark... we could barely see a thing,” says a relative.

The victim’s parents were opposed to the move to take her to Singapore but had been persuaded to go along with the doctors' advice.
What can we do for you, the netas ask her father. “What can I ask for? Everything is already being done,” he responds politely.

By Monday, all the dramtis personae would have departed from Delhi. The victim’s home will be locked, as are those of her assailants, currently lodged in Tihar jail. Lutyens’ Delhi will continue to island off the ruling elite from the rest of the country. And the media, the government hopes, will be distracted by the next big sensation.