Kamal Ghorui
Fighting a battle is hardest when the enemy is one of your own. More so when that enemy does not even appear as one. Crimes that cloak themselves in the language of care, duty, religion, and tradition are among the most difficult to confront. Child marriage is one such crime. Despite being punishable by law, for many even today, calling it a crime feels uncomfortable. Almost unfair.
Thirteen-year-old Sneha (name changed) had been living with her maternal uncle since she lost her parents five years ago. When he lost his job and the family slipped into financial distress, Sneha was married off to a man who, they believed, would at least keep her fed and safe. Her 17-year-old cousin was married off as well.
In another case from Chhattisgarh, a 17-year-old boy was married to a 22-year-old woman. His parents, both living with disabilities, struggled to manage the household and hoped that bringing in a daughter-in-law would stabilise their lives.
In Uttar Pradesh,15-year-old Mamta’s life took a different turn. After her elder sister eloped and married outside their community, the family faced social boycott. When the village finally relented, the parents, gripped by fear and fear of stigma, hurriedly arranged Mamta’s marriage to prevent any “repeat”.
Each of these cases does not look like a crime at first glance. They resemble helpless decisions, desperate compromises, even acts of protection. And that is precisely what makes child marriage so difficult to eradicate. It does not arrive with the face of violence, but with the illusion of care.
For those working on the ground to stop such marriages, the challenge is not just logistical. It is deeply moral. There are moments of hesitation. Are they intervening in a crime, or in what families believe is an act of survival? Should there be strict consequences for actions that do not even feel criminal to those committing them?
This moral unease is not limited to families or communities. It extends to those preventing these marriages, those reporting on them, and even those shaping the laws. But the danger lies in allowing this discomfort to blur the line between right and wrong.
Laws cannot function on sympathy alone. They are not designed to absorb justifications, but to protect rights. Every crime carries a story, often layered with helplessness, fear, loss, or social pressure. But if justification begins to dilute the definition of a crime, the very purpose of the law is undermined.
Child marriage, regardless of intent, remains a violation. Not because families do not care, but because care cannot come at the cost of a child’s rights, safety and future.
And perhaps that is the hardest truth to accept. That sometimes, what feels like protection is, in fact, harm. And what feels like interference is, in fact, justice. Justice does not become unjust because it feels uncomfortable. Similarly, child marriage doesn’t become anything less than rape of a child just because it has been an accepted norm for centuries.
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