From thalassaemia to HIV in West Singhbhum

“No one was touching her; everyone kept their distance. Jab doctor sahab aaya to wo bhi haath mein gloves pahan ke, muh dhak ke check kar raha hai [When the doctor came, even he wore gloves and a mask during the examination].”

Sunita Laguri is familiar with hospitals – she has taken her daughter to them more times than she cares to remember.

Her seven-year-old daughter Riya was diagnosed with thalassaemia when she was just five months old. Thalassaemia is a genetic blood disorder, and the type that Riya has requires a treatment of regular and lifelong blood transfusions. So, Sunita is used to bringing her in twice a month and is familiar with the government hospital's staff.

But the visit in September 2025 is one she won’t ever forget.

She had left home hoping to apply for the Rs. 1,000 monthly assistance under the state’s Swami Vivekananda Nishakta Swavlamban Protsahan Yojana. She was told to do extra tests for the application.

Sunita waited and when the results came back, one test changed everything. Her daughter was HIV-positive. She had contracted the human immunodeficiency virus. If untreated, HIV can lead to the dreaded AIDS (acquired immunodeficiency syndrome).

“We had never heard of it. We don’t even know what this illness is,” said Sunita weeks later, still in shock, sitting outside her one-room kuccha house with Riya. Her husband Vijay often migrates for work and was hoping to bring back enough money to rebuild their home this time. The family of five belong to the Ho community, classified as a Scheduled Tribe in Jharkhand.

Riya has always been Sunita’s responsibility. “My husband didn’t want her. He said, ‘I have no job, how will I take care of the children?’ But I decided not to abort.” After Riya’s thalassaemia diagnosis, he accompanied her to the hospital only three times.

Determined to earn for the treatment, Sunita recently bought herself a second-hand sewing machine for Rs. 3,000. “I stitch blouses and do small tailoring work,” she says. “I earn about Rs. 500-600 [per month].”

She had hoped the income would help cover some hospital costs. Each visit takes two to four days and costs at least Rs. 500. The expenses can shoot up to Rs. 5,000, when they need to hire vehicles in an emergency or get urgent tests from private labs.

“She [Riya] had a high fever for three days. No matter what medicine we gave her, it just wouldn’t go down. She told me, ‘Mummy, lag raha hai mera khoon khatam ho gaya’ [Mummy, it feels like I no longer have blood in my body],” Sunita recalls that September 2025 evening.

Acting on her daughter’s dire words, she wasted no time. The following morning, she packed a small lunchbox of rice and curry. And the mother and daughter, residents of Jharkhand’s West Singhbhum district took the bus to Sadar Hospital, Chaibasa. The 90-minute journey is one they have made about twice a month for the last seven years.

As always, Riya’s siblings aged nine and 11 years old were left alone at home with clear instructions: take care of each other until they return. Sunita’s husband Vijay Laguri had left for Gujarat just three days ago to work as a daily wage labourer. “My children understand that Mummy goes to the hospital to get mayiyan [little sister] treated,” says Sunita.

On the bus ride to the district hospital, Riya sits on her mother’s lap to save Rs. 90, the price of one ticket. Sunita describes the regular visits to Chaibasa saying, “Anginat kharcha hota hai [The cost is immeasurable]. I hardly have money for travel.”

But when the lab slips came back that evening, the mother had a new and far bigger issue on hand.

Riya was HIV-positive.

It would have helped if someone explained what HIV-positive meant, she told PARI. But no one in the hospital explained anything. Instead, she had to pick up cues from their paranoid behaviour around her child.

The Human Immunodeficiency Virus and Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (Prevention and Control) Act of 2017 specifies that all HIV tests need the informed consent of the person being tested or their representative. And that people being tested and their representatives will be provided with counselling before and after the test.

None of this happened. The hospital’s immediate response, instead, was to contain the information. A staff member even scolded Sunita saying this had happened because she demanded blood in a hurry. She was fobbed off – told to give her child regular medicines, and all would be fine.

“Hum kya karte? Kis se bolte, kis se puchte? Hum wahi bathroom me jaake khoob roye, bahar baith ke bhi roye [What could I do? Whom could I tell, whom could I ask? I went to the bathroom and cried a lot, sat crying outside too],” recalls Sunita.

A senior healthcare person at the hospital on conditions of anonymity admitted that in cases like Riya’s, where both parents are HIV-negative, a blood transfusion likely gave Riya the dreaded virus.

Unsure and afraid that the infection might spread to her other children, she called her elder brother from the hospital, asking him to take the children to his house. She did not tell him about the HIV, knowing he would worry.

Two days later she returned home with her daughter to an empty house and burst into tears.

When Riya was discharged, she got an HIV card. The seven-year-old was started on an antiretroviral treatment. At discharge, “they gave us all the reports except the HIV report,” says Sunita. There was no counselling provided to the patient or family. “If they hadn’t made that card, we wouldn’t even have received this medicine. Humko daba dete [They would have buried the matter].”

A 2016 report by the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare notes that India has around 1 to 1.5 lakh children with Thalassaemia major – the highest in the world. It requires lifelong blood transfusion. About 10,000-15,000 babies with Thalassaemia major are born every year in the country.

Riya was one of five children who would go on to test HIV-positive after transfusions at the same hospital, all of them thalassaemia patients. Within weeks – starting October 18, 2025 – the media caught on.

Once the scandal broke in the media, the state government was forced to act.

The hospital started testing other thalassaemia patients. A second child tested positive in early October and was provided with medicines, but the final medical file, once again, did not carry the lab report.

Nearly a month after Riya’s diagnosis, in October 2025, Suresh Munda brought his seven-year-old son, also a thalassaemia patient, to the same hospital. When the boy tested positive for HIV, a furious Suresh marched straight to the West Singhbhum Deputy Commissioner’s office alleging that the blood bank had given his son contaminated blood.

Only then did the hospital publicly admit its first case. It would be longer before the previous two cases came to light. On October 26, 2025, Dr. Irfan Ansari, the Minister of Health for Jharkhand, suspended the Civil Surgeon as well as officials and technicians at the blood bank in Chaibasa.

On the same day, Chief Minister Hemant Soren stepped in and announced on X, “The State government will provide financial assistance of Rs. 2 lakh each to the families of affected children and will bear the complete treatment cost of the infected children.”

The Jharkhand High Court also took suo moto cognizance of the issue. Nearly four months after the news first broke, on February 4, 2026, the court ordered the registration of a first information report (FIR) in the case.

Hospital officials say that West Singhbhum district has 56 thalassaemia patients that require regular blood transfusions. Speaking on the condition of anonymity, one of the officials said that the initial probe found that patients had indeed received contaminated blood. “We found some irregularity in blood bank screening and ordered it fixed.”

He added, “Between 2023-2025, 259 people donated blood. We have traced around 70 so far; four of them were reactive. Because of this news, many donors are afraid and are not coming forward for the test.”

Across India, new HIV cases have fallen sharply over the years. Jharkhand has also seen a major decline in new infections. The numbers, however, do not tell the entire story. “In our district, there are 664 people officially recorded as HIV-positive, but the real number is much higher,” says the official from Sadar Hospital. “In a random screening of pregnant women in our hospital last year, we tested 400 women. Five of them were HIV-positive.”

Most hospitals, including this one, use rapid HIV tests. They're quick but can give false positives or miss early infections. Positive samples are sent to the antiretroviral therapy (ART) centre for confirmation. But a negative result doesn’t always rule out infection. The ELISA test is more reliable and detects infection 30–45 days after exposure. The NAT/PCR can catch the virus much sooner, within 12–21 days but is rarely available.

“We’ve been using the ELISA machine for two months,” says the official. “Across the state, NAT tests happen only at three centres, none in our district.”

Even with these methods the risk from transfusion can only be reduced, not eliminated. In December 2025, a similar situation was reported in Madhya Pradesh where six children being treated for thalassaemia were found HIV-positive.

Despite trying to keep it a secret, the news about Riya’s HIV diagnosis spread through the village. At the village pond, a common water source for bathing and washing clothes, Sunita heard the whispers saying Riya should not be allowed to bathe there.

“One day we went to bathe,” she recalls. “[Earlier] everyone used to come and chat. But that day, everyone was on the other side. They kept looking at us and talking among themselves. I understood they were talking about us, so we bathed and left.” The isolation deepened. At the government handpump on their land, villagers didn’t want Riya to draw water, but since the handpump was on their land, it didn’t stick.

“We weren’t living with a broken heart like this,” says Sunita. “Since she got this illness, she has had no peace. Her body weakened. Dark marks appeared all over.”

When Riya went to school, Sunita remained anxious: “I told the teacher she has this illness (thalassaemia) so don’t let her fall and call me if anything happens. I don’t go anywhere. I stay home.”

Riya used to love going to school. She speaks Odia, Ho and Hindi, and was learning English alphabets. “I'm in Class 2,” says the seven-year-old, flashing a victory sign. “Gudi is my best friend. We play football together.” At this, her mother smiles slightly.

But she stopped going. “Humko dar lagta hai, ki isko koi kuch kahega [I fear someone will say something cruel to her]. That will hurt me.”

In November 2025, Riya’s health deteriorated sharply. Sunita dialled 108, the ambulance helpline but no ambulance was available. “We waited through the night.” The next morning, she called again, explaining her daughter's condition and received the same answer.

The hospital told her to arrange for transport herself. She approached a villager offering him Rs. 3,000 to take them to Chaibasa. The man entered his house and shut the door. She approached two others with bikes. They too made excuses.

“These same people used to come to help anytime,” says Sunita. “Not after HIV.”

Desperate, she walked to the bus stop, carrying her half-conscious, fever-ridden daughter in her arms. She waited from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. A few buses passed; none had seats.

“Pura gaon tamasha dekha, lekin koi madad nahi kiya [The whole village saw the show, but nobody came to help],” she recalls, sobbing.

An ambulance finally arrived when a journalist she had reached out to made some calls. “If that bhaiyya [brother] hadn’t spoken up, I don’t know what would have happened to my daughter,” Sunita says.

Back in the village, some taunt her: now that the government had given her Rs. 2 lakhs, they could buy a vehicle themselves! Meanwhile, seven-year-old Riya remains subdued, dealing not just with thalassaemia but also the side effects of antiretrovirals prescribed for the HIV.

“[They] have treated us very poorly. The government gave us 2 lakh rupees to get rid of us. If it were their own child, would they do the same?” Sunita’s anger is sharp, and she is determined to keep fighting for her daughter’s rights.

“Maybe because we’re poor they think they can do this. Is my child’s life worth only two lakh rupees?” she adds.

The names of people in the story have been changed to protect their identity.