The news of Ila Sharma’s sudden cardiac arrest (on July 13) sent a wave of shock through me. I felt restless and uneasy. My heartbeat quickened inexplicably. Why did it affect me so deeply?
I had never met her. Never even seen her. I wasn’t interested in politics, and I knew little about her background or social standing. What I did know, however, was that she had a genuine and compassionate heart. That very heart betrayed her.
Though we never met in person, the resonance of her kindness had somehow reached me. I could feel the tenderness, love, and compassion that radiated from her. That’s why I felt connected to Ila Ma’am, why I could sense her spirit, understand her passion and dedication.
Just a week ago, she had messaged me:
“Shivaji, are you around? It would be great to meet in person.”
There was an Animal Nepal event at Hotel Everest that day, which I couldn’t attend. I explained my situation in reply. She responded:
“Alright, let’s meet soon—Prabhat Rimal, Pramada Shah, you, and me.”
But that meeting was never meant to happen.
She left us before we could meet.
And now, the realisation that “we will never meet” fills me with a deep sense of guilt and grief.
She had wanted to meet. She had things to say—perhaps many things. Not about herself, but about the voiceless beings she cared so deeply for: animals subjected to cruelty, violence, and neglect. That suffering likely weighed heavily on her heart, perhaps even brought her to tears.
Last winter, in Sanepa, someone brutally beat a street dog, shattering its legs. Ila Ma’am messaged me:
“That 7-year-old dog, born and raised here, was badly injured today. In this cold, it’s fighting for its life. What harm did it ever do to anyone?”
She did everything she could to get the dog treatment and justice.
With a master’s degree in international public law and human rights, Ila Ma’am had once been a powerful public figure—a former Election Commissioner, legal expert, and journalist. But when it came to fighting for animals, she often found herself powerless. And it pained her.
Perhaps she feared selfish and cruel people—those who could inflict pain on animals without remorse. That fear often emerged in her restlessness.
One day, over the phone, she asked me:
“How did you start loving animals?”
When I shared my story, she said with excitement, “That’s exactly how it happened for me too! It was because of my daughters. They can’t stand to see animals suffer. They love and respect them deeply.”
In the later years of her life, Ila Ma’am had everything wealth, social prestige, influence. She could have chosen a peaceful, comfortable life. But her peace was disturbed by one thing: human cruelty especially towards animals.
Could something be done for the voiceless? That question consumed her.
That’s why she spoke out against animal cruelty, advocated for justice, and provided financial support to feed and treat injured animals. She gave everything she could—not for praise or recognition—but from a place of pure love.
In one interview, she said:
“My dream for the later part of my life is to create a community model where we live in harmony with other creatures and nature. A model village with traditional farming, permaculture, food forests, and a shelter for unwanted community animals.”
But time didn’t wait for her.
