“For Mandar’s father, Deepak Surlakar, the fight has been particularly painful. He opposed the premature release of the convicts and intervened in the legal proceedings. The very fact that a father has had to continue fighting in court nearly two decades after his son was murdered tells us something about the nature of grief. Some wounds do not heal simply because time passes.
There is a tendency in discussions about premature release to look at numbers. How many years has a convict spent in prison? Was his conduct satisfactory? Has he shown signs of rehabilitation? What does the Sentence Review Board recommend? These are legitimate questions in a justice system that must also recognise the possibility of reform.”
Nineteen years is a very long time for most people. It is enough time for children to grow into adults, careers to be built, families to change and an entire generation to move forward. But for the family of Mandar Surlakar, nineteen years have not meant moving on. They have meant learning to live with a loss that can never be repaired.
Mandar was murdered in 2006. Three men were subsequently convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. The Bombay High Court recently ordered their premature release, prompting the Goa government to approach the Supreme Court against the decision.
Behind this legal battle is a family that has never had the luxury of putting the past behind them.
For Mandar’s father, Deepak Surlakar, the fight has been particularly painful. He opposed the premature release of the convicts and intervened in the legal proceedings. The very fact that a father has had to continue fighting in court nearly two decades after his son was murdered tells us something about the nature of grief. Some wounds do not heal simply because time passes.
There is a tendency in discussions about premature release to look at numbers. How many years has a convict spent in prison? Was his conduct satisfactory? Has he shown signs of rehabilitation? What does the Sentence Review Board recommend? These are legitimate questions in a justice system that must also recognise the possibility of reform.
But there is another question that must never disappear from the conversation.
What about the victim’s family?
A convict can eventually walk out of prison and begin another chapter of life. The victim does not get another chapter. His parents do not get another chance to see him grow older. They cannot celebrate his achievements, hear his voice, seek his advice or simply sit across the table and have an ordinary conversation with him.
That is the cruel imbalance that makes cases like Mandar’s so emotionally difficult.
The law must certainly be allowed to take its course. Courts must decide according to law and evidence, not public emotion. Rehabilitation is an important principle of criminal justice. A democratic society cannot deny a convict every possibility of reform merely because the crime was terrible.
Yet justice cannot become so procedural that the victim disappears from the picture.
The state government’s decision to approach the Supreme Court therefore matters beyond this individual case. It gives the country’s highest court an opportunity to examine not merely whether the convicts qualify for premature release, but whether the interests and pain of the victim’s family have received adequate consideration in the process.
The government must also ensure that Mandar’s family is not made to feel that they are fighting this battle alone. If the state prosecutes a crime in the name of society, then the victim’s family should not be left to carry the emotional and financial burden of pursuing justice year after year.
There is another lesson here for Goa.
Criminal justice is often discussed in terms of the accused, the prosecution and the court. The victim and the family can become footnotes. That needs to change. Families of murder victims deserve timely information, meaningful participation in proceedings and institutional support. Their trauma does not end when a judgment is delivered.
For Mandar’s family, the calendar may say 2026. But emotionally, a part of their lives remains trapped in 2006.
The Supreme Court will now have the final say on the government’s challenge. Whatever the outcome, the system must remember one fundamental truth. The passage of time cannot reduce the value of a life that was lost.
Mandar’s family did not choose this long legal journey. They did not ask to become permanent participants in a courtroom battle. They simply lost a son and have spent years trying to live with that loss.
Perhaps the greatest tribute to Mandar is not merely another legal victory. It is a justice system that remembers him not as a name in a case file, but as a human being whose absence continues to be felt by the people who loved him.
For a family, a life sentence can begin long before a court pronounces one.
