Imagine being trapped in a body that can’t respond, a brain that can’t process, and a life that can’t be lived. Horrific, right? Let me introduce you to Aruna Shanbaug, for whom this was a lived reality for not one, but 42 years of her life.
Aruna Shanbaug was a nurse from Mumbai’s King Edward Memorial Hospital whose life was forever changed in 1973 when a ward boy, Sohanlal Bhartha Valmiki, assaulted her and choked her with a dog chain, cutting off the oxygen to her brain and leaving her blind, deaf, paralyzed, and in a vegetative state. From the day of the assault until her death on May 18, 2015, Aruna survived on mashed food. She couldn’t move her hands or legs, couldn’t utter a word, or perform the basic functions of a human being.
In 1974, Valmiki was charged with attempted murder and robbery for stealing Aruna’s earrings, but get this – he wasn’t charged with rape. The police somehow managed to ignore the fact that she had been sodomised during the attack. A trial court handed him a seven-year sentence, which was later slashed to six because, surprise surprise, he had already spent a year behind bars. Valmiki walked out of jail in 1980 and still insists he didn’t rape Shanbaug.
Decades passed, during which Aruna merely existed, with no hope for recovery. Her body survived, but she, as a person, was taken away from us. All to preserve what, exactly? A hollow concept of ‘sanctity of life’ that, in her case, prioritised the technicality of survival over her dignity and humanity, prolonging her suffering.
Pinki Virani’s involvement with Aruna Shanbaug began when she encountered Aruna’s story through a personal lens. “My introduction to Aruna actually came as a warning. I had always been deemed a ‘wild child’, and then a young woman who runs with the wolves. All I was really doing was working hard, earning my own money, and flexing my independence. But when I started pointlessly bending the boundaries, my social worker mother told me about Aruna as a cautionary tale, ‘No matter how powerful or rich a woman is, there is always this point of vulnerability.’ That was 1982, comparatively naïve times when people equated rape entirely with an adult woman’s vagina.”, reports Femina.
Virani ultimately took on Aruna’s case by filing a petition in the Supreme Court of India in 2011, seeking to secure Aruna’s right to die with dignity – a peaceful end to her suffering. The argument was simple: Aruna’s condition was irreversible, and keeping her alive without any hope of recovery was inhumane. Now, while we’re all aboard the euthanasia rights train, let’s not forget the sceptics standing on the platform, waving their flags. Critics love to throw around the “slippery slope” argument. What if legalising euthanasia endangers the vulnerable – elderly or disabled – due to societal expectations or financial burdens? It’s a fair concern, and we can’t just brush it aside. It’s essential to engage with these perspectives, not to dismiss them outright. After all, finding a balance between compassion for those suffering and safeguarding the vulnerable is no easy feat.
However, as the discussion evolved, the doctrine of sanctity of life showed up like a dusty relic, preserved with reverence but out of touch, refusing to acknowledge that times had changed. When Pinki Virani filed her petition on behalf of Aruna Shanbaug, the Supreme Court of India allowed passive euthanasia under strict conditions but maintained that active euthanasia remains a legal offence under sections 299, 302, and 304 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC). This meant that only life support could be withdrawn – not actively ended. The Court ultimately rejected the petition, transferring authority to Aruna’s ‘family’ – the hospital staff who had cared for her for 36 years – who chose to keep her alive out of their own devotion and commitment. The question of autonomy here was complex and, arguably, skewed; since Aruna could not decide for herself, decisions defaulted to those around her, with no close kin in place to assume the responsibility. Indeed, this raises a crucial issue: who decides for the voiceless, and what if they make a decision against their best interests?
This scenario brings us to the sanctity of life doctrine. It’s deeply embedded in our religious and moral values, insisting that life is sacred and intrinsically valuable. But here comes the catch: it demands the preservation of life at all costs, irrespective of the quality or condition! When an individual finds themselves trapped in a body with no consciousness, no autonomy, and no way to engage with the world around them, can we really call that ‘life’? Or are we simply extending a state of suffering, all while draping it as a moral excuse that doesn’t hold water? But who are we to make such determinations? After all, what gives us the authority to decide when life should end or continue, especially when the individual cannot express their own will?
Traditional views, rooted in figures like Kant and Leon Kass, insist that life is intrinsically valuable and must not be treated as a means to an end. Kass, for example, argues that euthanasia compromises both human dignity and the physician’s duty to heal. His stance is echoed in the Hippocratic Oath, which many argue rules out any form of assisted suicide. However, these moral absolutist positions sometimes overlook the complexities of individual suffering, raising a critical question: should the value of life be defined solely by its continuation, irrespective of quality?
Religion’s take? Life’s sacred – period. Many traditions, from Christianity to Hinduism, see life as a divine gift, with strict “no exit” rules even for suffering souls. Sure, they emphasise compassion and charity, but when it comes to ending life to relieve pain? Hard pass. Suffering’s just another chapter in the spiritual journey, apparently. But while these beliefs uphold the idea of life’s value, they often ignore the very real, personal struggles of people left hanging in lives that lack dignity or control. If life is truly sacred, doesn’t it deserve to be lived with dignity? Aruna Shanbaug’s case throws this contradiction right in our faces. The sanctity of life doctrine, when taken too literally, is less about living and more about keeping the body alive. Let’s be clear: breathing isn’t the point of life, living is!
In 2018, the Supreme Court finally gave us something to cheer about. In the Common Cause case – a petition filed by the registered society Common Cause – the Court was asked to recognize that the right to die with dignity is an essential part of the right to live with dignity under Article 21 of the Indian Constitution. Common Cause argued for the adoption of procedures to allow terminally ill or severely deteriorated individuals to create Advance Medical Directives or living wills, stating they shouldn’t be kept alive by machines against their wishes. Notably, prior to this ruling, Do Not Resuscitate (DNR) orders were not legally recognized in India, but the Court’s decision changed that, giving them legal standing. Expanding on the 2011 ruling, the Court agreed, recognizing the right to die with dignity as integral to the fundamental right to life.
In the wake of Aruna Shanbaug’s heartbreaking story and the landmark Common Cause case, it’s clear: the law needs a serious makeover. Recognizing the right to die with dignity isn’t just a legal win; it’s a moral imperative. The sanctity of life should include the right to decide how and when to end suffering—not just a relentless grip on existence. We must prioritise autonomy and dignity over archaic doctrines. Let’s be real: life’s too short to live it in a state of despair.
If we’re serious about valuing life, we need to ensure that it’s lived with purpose, choice, and, above all, dignity. It’s time for the law to catch up with the realities of human experience. This case remains significant in contemporary discussions, as Chief Justice of India D.Y. Chandrachud referenced the Aruna Shanbaug case in the recent Kolkata Rape Case in August 2024, highlighting its enduring impact on legal thought and societal values. Clinging to outdated views while ignoring the complexities of modern existence is a disservice to those who suffer. Our legal framework should empower individuals, allowing them to reclaim agency over their own lives. The right to choose when and how to die is just as essential as the right to live; both are intertwined in the broader narrative of human dignity.
So, let’s push for a system that recognizes that not all lives are worth living in misery. It’s high time we champion laws that reflect our evolving understanding of life, suffering, and the undeniable right to a dignified exit. Only then can we truly honour the value of life in all its messy, beautiful complexity.