'Act Before We Disappear': Letters from Survivors of Child Labour, Trafficking

'40,000 children were freed from slavery, debt bondage, trafficking and prostitution from April 2024 to March 2025.'

At least 40,000 children were trafficked to a brothel, sold off for marriage to an older man, sold many times by criminal networks that exploit them in hazardous factories, pushed into a placement agency, or made to work without pay in the last year.

(Image: The Quint/@Vibhushita Singh)

Every year, thousands of children go missing in India. 47,000 children—of whom 71 percent were girls—were reported missing as per National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data from 2023.

A recent report by India Child Protection (ICP) revealed even more shocking facts. The report stated that of the 44,902 children rescued by Just Rights for Children (a network of 250 NGOs), 90 percent were rescued from the worst forms of child labour.

This includes all forms of slavery, sale and trafficking of children, debt bondage, forced labour, the use of children for prostitution or pornography, and their involvement in illicit activities, especially the production and trafficking of drugs. 

These children are not merely missing. In fact, they were never just missing.

In all likelihood, they were trafficked to a brothel, sold off for marriage to an older man, sold many times by criminal networks that exploit them in hazardous factories, pushed into a placement agency, or made to work without pay in an upper-middle-class family living in a posh high-rise in metro cities such as Gurugram or Mumbai. Ironically, while a missing child’s options end abruptly, the ways in which they are exploited multiply endlessly. 

Below are letters from three such children, who were trafficked but later rescued by NGOs. These children are now safe in child care institutions or with their families, and their legal rehabilitation is underway, but the trauma they have endured remains a deep scar.

While the stories of these children are true, their names have been changed to conceal their identities. 

'Tricked on the Pretext of Marriage; Got Pregnant and Blamed for It': A 14-Year-Old's Letter  

Dear Society, 

My name is Sumitra Hembram. I’m 14 years old. I used to live with my mother and nani (maternal grandmother) in East Singhbhum, Jharkhand. We didn’t have much, but I went to school. I was in class 7 and I thought that was the world I belonged to.  

And then one day, I vanished or “ran away” as everyone in my village said about me.

But no, I was taken. He said he liked me. That he would marry me. That I wouldn’t have to live a hard life. I had never been talked to so lovingly, and no one had ever bothered to help me dream. Also, no one had ever explained what danger looks like, or that a loving hand could also mean danger.  

He took me with him. Four days later, he left me at a railway station. Alone. No money. No name. Just promises that vanished as fast as he did. I sat there, watching trains go by. Wondering if this was what “marriage” meant. Wondering if I was to blame for the fear in my stomach and the silence in my throat. I didn’t even know where I was. 

A woman saw me and helped. She let me stay at her house in Adra, West Bengal. That’s where I called my uncle. That’s how I came back. When the police asked me questions, I told them what happened. That I didn’t know where I was going, only that someone had said they’d take care of me. Instead, they left me behind.

When one didi from an NGO ‘Adarsh Seva Sansthan’ came and talked to me, I realized that it was not my mistake. For the first time in so many months, I felt I wasn't alone. And then I found out I was pregnant. At 14. 

Everyone blamed me for “running away” with the wrong guy. But why didn’t anyone tell me the difference between right and wrong when I was there?

A child of 14 and yet somehow everyone stopped looking at me as a child.  When someone led me away, why did no one notice? I now know that what happened to me isn’t an exception but a norm.

I’m home now. But I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel seen. I carry more than just a wound. I carry questions that no one around me wants to answer. 

Didi tells me that that I should go back to school. I want to, but I don’t even know if I belong there anymore. 

You keep saying girls should speak up. We do. In our own ways. When we go silent. When we disappear. When we cry without a sound. But you only listen when it’s too late. 

So I’m writing this now. Not for your sympathy, but your accountability. Please don’t look away the next time you see a young girl suddenly missing from class. 

Ask. Notice. Act. Because sometimes, the most dangerous things don’t happen in dark alleys. They happen in the hearts of people who say, "She went willingly." 

– Sumitra 

'Didn't Choose Exploitation, Only Survived It': 13-Year-Old's Letter

Dear Society, 

My name is Arjun and I live in a village in Jhalawar district of Rajasthan. I grew up thinking childhood was the time of your life when you live yearning for something, in scarcity and with struggles. In my world, responsibility arrived before real shoes did. 

School happened for a while. But my mind wandered and unlike other boys my age, it did not rush to toys or cricket, but to machines. I wanted to know what made a motorbike move. I wanted to make things, fix things. I thought that meant I was ready to work. Wasn’t that what my other friends did? 

By the time I was thirteen, I had dropped out. Someone in the village told me that Sanjay bhaiya from our village had opened a shop. My father talked to him and soon I started working in his shop, with machines.

I wiped grease, held tools, skipped meals, and smiled every time I was handed a fifty-rupee note. I thought I was growing up. I didn’t know I was being used. You walked past. You saw me. And you said nothing.

And then one day, people from an NGO Gram Rajya Vikas Evam Prashikshan Sansthan came and rescued me.

The day I was rescued, I didn’t understand why people were asking questions. Why they were angry. Why I was being pulled away. I kept saying, “I chose this. I wanted to learn.” But now I know. Children don’t choose exploitation. They only survive it. 

At the shelter home, I learned the word “trafficking.” I learned that children like me are placed in harm’s way, wrapped in the excuse of opportunity. I was lucky. Others never make it out.  

Today I’m back in school. I still love machines. But now I understand them through science, not suffering. I still want to build things but this time, I’ll build with dignity, not desperation. 

So I’m writing to ask you: Why did no one stop me before? Why did my silence feel so convenient to you? Why is it always the police or activists who rescue us and never the neighbours, never the teachers, never the men who drink chai beside us while we scrub floors? 

You see us. You know what’s happening. And still, you turn away. If you truly care, don’t wait for the rescue van. Don’t wait for the news report. Don’t wait for us to be broken beyond repair. All we ask is notice us before we disappear. 

– Arjun 

'Had to Feed Others Even When I Was Famished': 12-Year-Old's Letter

Dear Society, 

My name is Piyush. I am 12 years old. For a long time, I worked in a small roadside hotel in Gopalganj, Bihar. I cleaned plates, served food, and stood for hours. I was always hungry. Even when I was famished, I had to feed the others first. My mother and siblings depended on me to work. 

Sometimes, I saw families come and eat together. I would carry their plates and force a smile, even if my own stomach was empty. One day, a father and his little son came to eat. They laughed and shared food, and something about that moment broke me. That night, I cried. I thought maybe I would never have a life like that. Maybe I would never feel full, or safe, or happy. Since my father’s death it was the first time I missed him so much. 

But then something changed. During a field visit, a few people saw me at work. They asked questions and looked concerned. They were from an organisation called Narayani Seva Sansthan. They didn't forget me. They returned with a rescue team and took me out of that place. 

They gave me food, clothes, and medical care. They took me to the Child Welfare Committee and made sure I was protected. They also spoke to my mother and helped her understand that I needed school, not work. They supported us in getting money from the hotel owner and helped us access government schemes. 

Today, I go to school again. I eat before serving anyone else. And sometimes, when I walk past that old hotel, I remember the boy I used to be. I remember the pain, but I also remember the people who chose to help. There are many children like me. All it takes is one step from someone who cares. Your voice, your time, your courage can change our lives. 

With hope,

Piyush 

'Longer We Wait, More Children We Lose'

While each of these three stories are individual stories, they are also a reflection of the thousands of children who are forced to walk this harrowing journey.

Talking about the vicious cycle of trafficking and poverty, Ravi Kant, National Convenor of Just Rights for Children, said:

“Families from marginalised communities often believe that sending their children to work will ease their burden. They think more earning hands and fewer mouths to feed will improve their lives. But the truth is, child labour does not reduce poverty. It makes it worse."

A trafficked child will never have the chance to grow and flourish unless we act urgently.

"This is not just a crime, it is an organised system that keeps changing its methods and spreading its tentacles. The longer we stay silent, the more children we lose," Kant added. 

Swaty Prakash is a writer and communication strategist with a strong inclination towards child rights, mental health, and social impact storytelling. With a background in journalism at Press Trust of India, The Indian Express, The Statesman, and Hindustan Times, she now creates content for NGOs working on child protection and child rights.

The views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint is not responsible for the same.