Life Denied

The death of a seven-month-pregnant woman in Pune after allegedly being denied emergency care by the prestigious Deenanath Mangeshkar Hospital (DMH) is a blistering indictment of how even charitable healthcare institutions established in memory of icons can falter in their most basic moral duty to save lives without prejudice or precondition.

Suffering from pregnancy-related complications, the deceased was taken to DMH by her husband, who claims the hospital demanded a Rs. 10 lakh deposit before initiating treatment. Despite his immediate offer of Rs. 2.5 lakh, the hospital allegedly refused to act. The delay in treatment set off a desperate hunt for a facility that would accept her. Eventually, the 26-year-old lady delivered premature twin girls at another hospital only to succumb to postnatal complications days later.

That this occurred at DMH, a hospital founded by the family of Lata Mangeshkar, a beloved national figure, is especially jarring. It was intended to embody service and care for all, not to become a cautionary tale of profit over principle.

The hospital, while claiming that misleading reports about the incident are circulating in the media, maintains that the deceased did not require emergency care at the time of examination and that she was advised to be admitted for observation. The DMH claims that the patient had allegedly left without informing hospital staff. Moreover, DMH asserts that it had supported the deceased in the past in providing partial charity for a surgery in 2022 and had warned her repeatedly about the risks associated with her high-risk pregnancy.

Even if all this were true, the broader ethical question remains: when a patient in visible distress arrives at your doorstep, do you default to protocol or to humanity?

Emergency rooms are not billing counters. When institutions demand astronomical sums before even beginning treatment, they effectively filter patients by wallet size, not medical urgency. Even in the private sector, this approach is increasingly untenable. In a charitable hospital, it is unconscionable. The claim that the deceased was “stable” and that no one approached the administration for charity assistance sounds less like a medical judgment and more like bureaucratic buck-passing.

Public outrage has been swift and sustained in the aftermath of the tragedy. Political leaders, sensing an emotive flashpoint, have promised justice. But systemic reform is harder to promise and even harder to deliver.

There is an urgent need for enforceable legislation that compels all hospitals, especially those with charitable status, to provide stabilising emergency care without demanding upfront payments. Charitable institutions, after all, enjoy tax exemptions and public goodwill based on a presumed ethos of service. That social contract must be honoured, not exploited.

This tragedy should prompt a national reckoning with the commodification of healthcare in India. It should not disappear into yet another file. It should haunt policymakers, regulators and healthcare administrators until they deliver a system where no one is denied the right to live because they could not pay in time.