A teacher at a Delhi University college was assaulted – inside the principal’s office, in full public view. For this, the accused Deepika Jha has been suspended for two months. She is no ordinary student. Deepika Jha is a member of the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), and an office-bearer of the Delhi University Students’ Union (DUSU). After the administration announced its decision, the campus has slipped into a strange quiet. Yet you can sense restlessness in a section of teachers that refuses to settle.

The unease comes from a feeling that the administration has merely performed a ritual, that the punishment is symbolic, a gesture meant to show that a punitive measure has been taken. What does a two-month suspension really amount to? Many say that the offence committed is far graver, and the penalty trivial by comparison. For the teacher who was attacked, in fact, this so-called punishment is even more insulting. And we cannot forget that the assault was not the whole story. 

Once news of it spread, Deepika attempted to justify her actions by levelling allegations against the teacher–allegations that verge on sexual misconduct on his part. More accusations were added, perhaps in the hope that some supposed “moral failing” of the teacher could be invoked to explain away the violence. She, and a colleague in the students’ union, attacked the teacher’s character blatantly. So we are not merely dealing with a physical assault; there is also the public crime of character assassination or defamation. What punishment is appropriate for that? Deepika belongs to a powerful students’ organisation. Even teachers sympathetic to her lent their voices to this campaign. Does the teacher now have to turn to the courts for dignity?

This incident brought to my memory an incident that happened decades ago, far from Delhi, in Siwan’s DAV College. My father taught botany there. He was attacked on campus by the goons of Shahabuddin. The story behind the attack is long and not relevant here. What matters is that it took place inside the college. The administration did not even give him first aid. He came home alone drenched in blood. The college refused to register an FIR. After Deepika’s attack as well, the administration filed no police complaint.

There is, of course, a difference between the two events. My father was struck on the head with the butt of a pistol. They did not intend to kill him. Still, the wound was deep; his clothes were soaked in blood. The idea was to terrorise the teachers. In the present case, no blood was shed. Only a hand was raised. The teacher suffered no grave physical injury. So what, then, should be the proportionate punishment?

In moments like this, teachers find themselves in a moral dilemma. Are they so cruel that they would lodge a police report against a student? Are students their equals? Should teachers be the ones to destroy a young person’s future? Does Deepika not deserve some leniency?

All these questions have merit. Few teachers, if any, would like to hand students over to punitive systems. They hope that the student will reflect, that the violence within her will be addressed. Punishment rarely nurtures such reflection. Universities are expected to offer students the tools for self-examination. Can punishment do that work?

All that is fine. Yet, in this particular case, can we even describe it as a matter between a teacher and a student? Deepika is not this teacher’s student. Not even a student of that college. And her power far exceeds his. She is an office-bearer of the students’ union, and her alignment with the ruling party’s student wing grants her an additional power. The leniency shown by the college and university administrations, many teachers believe, flows from this affiliation. Here, the teacher is the one who is weaker.

Whether or not one speaks of police reports or harsher disciplinary action, the university administration needed to say, clearly, that such conduct cannot be tolerated. How should that message have been conveyed? The signal sent thus far inspires little confidence. More troubling, however, is the division it has revealed among teachers. Those aligned with the RSS seem to believe the matter is not serious – that calling it a crime is itself an exaggeration. What can other teachers do except swallow their anger?

The teachers’ association has registered its protest. But many feel that since its leadership stands ideologically close to the current students’ union, it will not go beyond the formality of expressing its displeasure. In the campus, as a result, you can feel that there is unease. I am reminded again of DAV College. Even then, the Bihar teachers’ association refused to take a firm stand against violence directed at teachers. After the attack on my father, the college shut down for six weeks. When it reopened, it was no longer the same institution.

But it is business as usual in Delhi University.

Apoorvanand teaches Hindi at Delhi University.

This piece was first published on The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire – and has been updated and republished here. To subscribe to The India Cable, click here.

This article went live on November twenty-sixth, two thousand twenty five, at forty-three minutes past twelve at noon.

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