“In this case, the man’s brain haemorrhage is not just a medical crisis; it is a moral one. It challenges the core idea of a democratic state where every citizen, no matter their alleged offence, has the right to life and dignity. A police station is meant to be a space of law enforcement, not lawlessness. If injuries of this magnitude can occur there, then the system has failed in its most basic duty.
The standard police defence in such cases—non-cooperation by the accused, sudden collapse, self-inflicted injury—has become a familiar script. What it reveals is not transparency but institutional defensiveness. True accountability means allowing independent oversight, not internal policing of the police. The inquiry must be handled by an external authority, ideally led by a retired judge or an independent commission. Only then can the findings carry public credibility.”
A man in Goa is lying in hospital with a brain haemorrhage after sustaining a head injury while in police custody. The official explanation is that he “lost his balance and fell.” His family insists he was assaulted inside the police station. Between these two versions lies a disturbing truth: a citizen who was supposed to be protected by the state suffered a life-threatening injury while under its watch.
The police have suspended a sub-inspector and launched an internal inquiry. But this gesture, though procedurally correct, falls far short of accountability. Every time a person is hurt or dies in custody, it exposes a chronic weakness in India’s policing system, the belief that power over an accused person is absolute, and that any harm that happens behind closed doors can be explained away as an “accident.”
When someone is in custody, their liberty is already taken. Their safety becomes entirely the state’s responsibility. There is no justification, moral or legal, for a detainee to leave police custody with a severe brain injury. The moment that happens, the burden of proof is on the police to show how and why it occurred, with transparency and evidence. The simple explanation that he fell is not good enough, especially when the family alleges a beating.
Custodial abuse is not new in India. Reports of detainees being assaulted, humiliated or even killed have surfaced repeatedly, often ending in quiet departmental inquiries that yield little more than suspensions or transfers. These are administrative actions, not justice. What they do is allow the cycle of violence to continue, eroding public faith in the police and the rule of law.
In this case, the man’s brain haemorrhage is not just a medical crisis; it is a moral one. It challenges the core idea of a democratic state where every citizen, no matter their alleged offence, has the right to life and dignity. A police station is meant to be a space of law enforcement, not lawlessness. If injuries of this magnitude can occur there, then the system has failed in its most basic duty.
The standard police defence in such cases—non-cooperation by the accused, sudden collapse, self-inflicted injury—has become a familiar script. What it reveals is not transparency but institutional defensiveness. True accountability means allowing independent oversight, not internal policing of the police. The inquiry must be handled by an external authority, ideally led by a retired judge or an independent commission. Only then can the findings carry public credibility.
The case also raises questions about police culture. In many stations, especially in smaller towns, interrogation still leans on intimidation rather than procedure. Training often focuses on enforcement, not empathy. Supervisory oversight is weak, and CCTV cameras, where they exist, are either non-functional or poorly monitored. Unless these structural flaws are corrected, custodial abuse will remain a recurring national shame.
Policing is one of the most difficult public duties. Officers face stress, pressure and public hostility. But that cannot excuse brutality or neglect. The measure of a professional police force lies not in how many arrests it makes, but in how it treats those it arrests. A person in custody is powerless; that power imbalance demands the highest ethical restraint, not the lowest human impulse.
This incident should prompt deeper reform. Goa’s government must ensure a transparent inquiry, criminal accountability if wrongdoing is proved, and clear policy changes to prevent such incidents in the future. There should be mandatory medical checks at every stage of custody, functioning surveillance inside police stations, and legal recourse that families can access swiftly if a detainee is harmed.
Justice, in this case, is not only about punishing one officer. It is about restoring the public’s trust that the law protects even those accused of breaking it. If a man can enter police custody and emerge with a fractured skull, then no citizen is truly safe from the system meant to safeguard them.
The real test for Goa’s authorities will be whether this incident is buried in bureaucratic files or becomes a turning point for genuine accountability. Because when the walls of a police station conceal violence, it is not just one man’s head that is broken—it is the spine of justice itself.
