Indian dilemmas Part III

This is a sequel to Part I and Part II...
I perused the police woman’s brown eyes. She intentionally drew them away from me, extracting threads of sorrow from my heart. As her doctor, what was my obligation? As a visiting stranger to this society, did that change? Was she my patient, or was it the family, the community? If I opened my mouth, if I tried to change the course of history, if I defended my patient, would I be regarded as an intruder, a foreigner who didn’t understand the social norms? Or as a champion of womens’ rights? Would my impact be positive? And if she remained pregnant, where would she go? Who would accept her?
She could have walked up and left the hospital. She could have refused to come in. But she was a single woman, pregnant out of wedlock, in a small town in rural India. Locked into her place in society by social norms, economic restrictions, familial expectations. She could have walked away from this town, caught a bus to Bombay, given birth to her child. But what is a life disconnected from your family, your love, your village?
A wave of nausea rose from the depths of my gut. Guilt shrouded my skin with a cold, tingling blanket. I swallowed lumps of shame. I squeezed her hand once more and in broken Gujarati, said,
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry they are doing this to you.”
She looked away. Her silence was palpable, like the slowing heartbeats of the fetus inside her.