As the skeleton behind TMC student-wing leader Monojit Mishra’s reign of terror and deep-rooted political connections begin to surface following the shocking gangrape incident at South Calcutta Law College, another victim has found the courage to break her silence. A victim of Monojit’s lust two years ago, she has now come forward to share her traumatic ordeal — shattering the silence that once protected an ‘untouchable’ figure within the institution.
Her testimony, shared with the NAI, comes not only as a cry for justice but also as a haunting reflection on the silence that followed her own assault. She believes that if she had filed a police complaint back then, the recent gangrape victim might have been spared.
This is her story, in her words.
It’s 2025 now, but the horror of that day in 2023 still follows me like a shadow I can't shake off.
Back then, I was just starting my law degree — full of hopes, nerves and excitement. When the seniors organised a picnic for the juniors in a garden house in the buzzing southern suburbs of Budge Budge, they said it would be a good way to mingle and bond. I believed them. I went with an open heart and good intentions. I had no idea that by the end of that day, something inside me would break.
There were two rooms — one for girls, one for boys. Around noon, some of the senior boys, led by Monojit Mishra, started drinking downstairs. We stayed in our room. At some point, my father called. Since the boys’ room was empty, I went in there to talk in peace. There was a balcony just next to it. I stood there, phone in hand, trying to hear my father's voice over the noise from the sound box blaring below where the boys were drinking.
That’s when it happened.
Out of nowhere, Monojit appeared behind me. Before I could even react, he pounced on me. He hugged me tightly, forcefully and began groping me — his hands everywhere. I was in ripped jeans that day and he made sure to touch even there. I froze. My voice caught in my throat. For a few seconds, I felt numb, powerless.
But then instinct took over. I kicked him — hard — between the legs. As he stumbled back, I bolted from the room and ran downstairs. I found a bench in the garden and sat there, trying to breathe, splashing water on my face. My ear was bleeding. I covered it with my hair so no one would notice.
Also read: Kolkata gangrape planned 48 hours in advance: Kolkata Police
But he wasn’t done.
Monojit came again. From behind. Like some demon. I couldn’t escape. He shoved his hand into my underwear. I pushed him with all my strength and ran again. This time, I didn’t stop until I was far away from him.
When we left the picnic spot, autorickshaws had been arranged. Initially, Monojit got into mine. I was still in shock, but the others noticed I was uncomfortable. So they moved him to another auto. Later, I found out he had assaulted another senior student that day — shoved his hand inside her shirt. When the auto stopped, I saw her face. She was more shattered than I was.
Even the train ride back was not safe. He tried again. This time, on the crowded train. I’d had enough. I slapped him hard. Right there, in front of everyone.
The next day, that senior student and I decided we would file a complaint — both with the college and the police. But Monojit’s gang found out. They began threatening me, digging into my personal life. They knew my father was a businessman in Siliguri. They knew I had a younger sister. They said, “Dada has a lot of power. It’ll take him one minute to finish off your family. You live so far from home, if someone throws acid on you, you won’t even survive!”
I was terrified. I stopped going to college for days.
And the threats didn’t stop there. For weeks, they called me on WhatsApp past midnight — abusing me, threatening me, making sure I stayed silent. Eventually, it faded. But the fear didn’t. Neither did the guilt.
Now, when I see Monojit’s name in the news, linked to another horrific incident — I can’t breathe.
I should have spoken up. I should have gone to the police. Maybe if I had gathered the courage to file that complaint, that junior girl wouldn’t be suffering today. Maybe someone would have taken action.
But I stayed silent out of fear. And that silence is something I carry with me every day.
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