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Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 9:59:04 pm

Fatal Negligence

Newborns dying in a fire inside a government hospital is a devastating indictment of a system that is supposed to protect its most vulnerable patients. The Amravati District Women’s Hospital tragedy, where a blaze killed three infants, joins a long list of preventable institutional failures. Thirty-nine babies were inside the three-compartment facility when the fire erupted after a ventilator in the neonatal unit caught fire. Thirty-six were eventually rescued. Parents and eyewitnesses have...

Fatal Negligence

Newborns dying in a fire inside a government hospital is a devastating indictment of a system that is supposed to protect its most vulnerable patients. The Amravati District Women’s Hospital tragedy, where a blaze killed three infants, joins a long list of preventable institutional failures. Thirty-nine babies were inside the three-compartment facility when the fire erupted after a ventilator in the neonatal unit caught fire. Thirty-six were eventually rescued. Parents and eyewitnesses have alleged that the fire alarms did not sound and the automatic sprinklers failed to activate even as the district administration has said the hospital underwent regular fire audits and had applied for this year’s audit. An audit is meaningful only if it establishes that equipment works when lives depend on it. Maharashtra has already witnessed the deadly consequences of fire-safety failures in public hospitals. In 2021, eleven Covid-19 patients died in a fire at the Ahmednagar district hospital even though a fire audit conducted months earlier had recommended a firefighting system. The Amravati tragedy demands more than the familiar ritual of a high-level inquiry, compensation and promises of “strictest action”. The announcement of ex gratia payments cannot compensate parents who have lost a child they had barely begun to know. The investigation must establish not merely what ignited the fire, but why it was allowed to become fatal. Was the ventilator properly maintained? Were electrical and medical devices routinely inspected? Did alarms function? Were sprinklers operational? Was the NICU appropriately located and equipped for evacuation? Were staff trained and drills conducted? And most importantly, who was responsible for ensuring that every safeguard worked? There is another troubling detail: the neonatal unit was reportedly housed on the third floor, rather than at ground level, and questions have arisen over whether the unit was part of the building’s original plan. The state has built an elaborate architecture of laws and child-protection standards which seldom matches the situation on ground. Whether in government hospitals, schools or anganwadis, safety has become a box to be ticked rather than a responsibility to be lived. The most vulnerable children are consequently left dependent not on systems, but on the vigilance and heroism of individual staff members. That is an appalling way to run the childcare infrastructure of one India’s most developed states. A NICU is perhaps the worst possible place for institutional complacency: its patients are immobile, medically dependent and extraordinarily vulnerable to smoke, heat and even brief disruption of life-support equipment. The government must ensure that the Amravati deaths do not become another entry in the grim ledger of hospital tragedies followed by inquiries, outrage and forgetting. The real test will be whether the state can prevent the next newborn from dying in a hospital that was supposed to save him.

The Keeper of Lord Ram’s Ledger

For decades Champat Rai was the quiet custodian of Hinduism’s most consequential movement in recent times. Now the man who helped build the Ram Mandir finds himself confronting questions about the temple’s accounts.

If Ayodhya has a living archive, it is probably Champat Rai. For decades, the bespectacled Hindu nationalist leader has been a fixture in the temple town, a man whose memory of obscure land records, court filings and forgotten episodes during the Ram Janmabhoomi movement had earned him a reputation as the “encyclopaedia of Ayodhya.” To his admirers, Rai has earned a deserved reputation as a tireless organiser. And yet today, at the age of 80, he finds himself at the centre of an uncomfortable controversy involving financial irregularities and mismanagement of the Ram Mandir donation funds.


The Uttar Pradesh government’s Special Investigation Team (SIT) recently questioned Rai, who is the general secretary of the Shri Ram Janmabhoomi Teerth Kshetra Trust, over allegations involving donation theft and financial mismanagement at the Ram Mandir.


While the allegations have yet to result in a police case, several complaints seeking the registration of a First Information Report (FIR) have been lodged though none has so far been acted upon.


Nevertheless, the spectacle of investigators examining the finances of Hinduism’s most politically significant shrine has cast a shadow over an institution that only recently stood as the crowning achievement of a decades-long movement.


Rai is no ordinary temple administrator. His story mirrors the rise of the Hindu nationalist movement itself. Born Champat Rai Bansal in Bijnor district of Uttar Pradesh in 1946, he was drawn to the ideology of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) at an early age. Unlike many firebrand leaders associated with the temple agitation, his beginnings were distinctly academic. He taught chemistry at RSM Degree College in Bijnor and appeared destined for a conventional career in education.


During the Emergency imposed by Indira Gandhi in 1975, he was arrested because of his links with the RSS. Police officers reportedly arrived at his college to detain him while he was teaching. Urban lore has it that Rai asked them to wait until he finished the lecture. They did so.


He spent 18 months in prison, an experience which was to prove transformatory. Upon his release, he abandoned academia and dedicated himself full-time to the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) that would become the principal spearhead of the Ram temple campaign.


For the next four decades, Rai immersed himself in the movement, organising cadres, cultivating networks among activists and developing an encyclopaedic grasp of Ayodhya’s labyrinthine history. Lawyers representing the Hindu side in the Ram Janmabhoomi dispute frequently relied on his knowledge of documentary evidence, land records and historical claims.


His credentials within the movement were cemented on December 6, 1992, when he participated in the kar seva that culminated in the demolition of the Babri Masjid. To supporters, that day represented the removal of a historical injustice. This marked a turning point in modern Indian politics and Rai was present at its epicentre.


When the Supreme Court’s 2019 verdict cleared the way for construction of the Ram Mandir, few individuals were better positioned to oversee the project. As general secretary of the newly formed Shri Ram Janmabhoomi Teerth Kshetra Trust, he became the chief manager of one of the most ambitious religious construction projects in modern India.


From the bhoomi pujan ceremony attended by Prime Minister Narendra Modi in August 2020 to the temple’s consecration, Rai was involved in virtually every aspect of the undertaking. He supervised logistics, coordinated construction and managed the constant flow of donations that poured into Ayodhya from devotees across India and abroad. In a way, he became the temple’s chief executive.


While the current allegations against him may ultimately amount to nothing, the SIT’s investigation itself is significant. The Ram Mandir is no longer merely a movement now but an institution handling enormous sums of money and carrying immense symbolic weight.


For Rai, the challenge is far larger than personal reputation. Throughout his life, he functioned as what admirers call the “record-keeper of Ram Lalla” - a meticulous guardian of documents, memories and claims. The irony is hard to miss. The man who spent decades defending the legitimacy of the Ram temple project is now being asked to account for the legitimacy of its finances. For a movement that sought to reclaim a sacred past, this may prove to be its most modern test.

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