By Riddhima Das
8th grade | Kamiakin Middle School | Washington
Finalist, Global Health category
With lines from “How India’s Public Health System Can Reach Rural Women Suffering Domestic Abuse” by Mahima Jain, a Pulitzer Center reporting project
Part I: Hetal's Ordeal
In shadows she suffered, her voice hushed,
swollen hands, breathless, her agony brushed.
A life dimmed by cruelty's ruthless shackles,
her womb a battleground, her child at risk's shackles.
An ASHA's [Accredited Social Health Activist] keen eyes pierced that veil of fear,
saw the truth her frail frame struggled to veer.
A life of abuse, her pain unrevealed,
to the Women's Help Centre she was gently led.
Counselors tending with care's tender grasp,
hope's flicker rekindled in their steadfast clasp.
A village's weight pressed on calloused ears,
to heed the doctors' words, allay their fears.
While cruelty's shackles held her at its brisk,
her child's frail life hung in that cruel risk.
Yet in those corridors, a chain was forged
of care and courage, violence disgorged.
Part II: The Grassroots Network
From grassroots to hospitals, a vigil kept,
watchful eyes ensuring no cries inept.
Unshackling her health from that brutal bind,
a journey of healing, her voice to find.
The ASHAs, those angels robed in human guise,
saw past the lies, the wounds she could not disguise.
With counseling's balm, they soothed her wounded soul,
guided her steps towards that hard-fought goal.
From sub-centers to cities, that chain extended.
No door was closed, no path unattended.
COVID's dark clouds could not stem this tide,
the counselors came at her village's side.
Part III: A Revolution Borne
In numbers they grew, those brave, battling voices:
no more silent cries, they made their choices.
To break the cycle, to claim their rights,
emerging from shadows into the light.
A clarion call, a movement's rise,
no more unheard cries, no more stifled lives.
From Hetal's first steps, a revolution borne,
shattering the shackles that women had worn.
The ASHAs, those warriors in human form,
fought to transform, through violence's storm.
Geeta's own ordeal gave her strength to guide
survivors like her, no longer to hide.
At village sub-centers, that chain was hewn,
a safe space blossomed where hope was strewn.
From stress and sickness, from white discharge's blight,
the counselors' presence brought women light.
No burden added to the ASHAs' toil,
but a way to make their efforts into fertile soil.
For if a woman's health is ignored at home,
no nutrition, no care, her spirit is torn.
Part IV: The Continuum of Care
Up from the grassroots, that chain ascended
to sub-district hospitals where more care was tended.
Those who fled homes saw a sanctuary there,
a chance to restart, free from brutal snare.
Yet some still endured, amidst that storm's eye,
the tertiary hospitals tended those cries.
From suicide's brink, from burns and broken bones,
they nurtured survivors, no longer alone.
A continuum of care, from villages to cities,
addressing each stage that violence's vise pities.
From just being identified, to finally being free,
a chain unbreakable for all to see.
যারা তাদের কঠিন সময়ে নারীদের সাহায্য করে তারা সকলেই আশীর্বাদপ্রাপ্ত হোক।
[May all those who help women through their hardest times be blessed.]
Riddhima is a rising ninth grader living in the Greater Seattle area. She writes poetry in four languages—primarily in Bengali. (The last line of her poem is in Bengali!) Riddhima enjoys running and has run over 2600 logged miles. She primarily runs in the early morning, especially in rainy weather (and has also twisted her ankles over 150 times). She's grateful for the support of her teacher, Ms. Laurin Mendelsohn, friend Tanushi K., Fortuosity & friends, and the inspiration sparked by Mahima Jain's beautifully-crafted article that is the basis of her poem.
Read more winning entries from the 2024 Fighting Words Poetry Contest.