Flash Fiction: The Judge and the Lawyer

 

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Advocate Lalbihari Roy was known as a bail master. He could get bail for any accused arrested and thrown into police or judicial custody. Baina, an active member of Sana pickpocket gang reached Mr. Roy and requested him, “Please get bail for Sana Bhai; we shall see what can be done later. The car festival is nearing; only a week left. As you know, there will be rush in buses and trains. This is our business time. Our business will go astray, if he is not released.”

“What has he done?” asked Mr. Roy

“Pickpocketing…”

“This is nothing. I have obtained bail for persons accused of rape, dacoity, murder. Have you brought money?”

Baina brought rupees five hundred out of his pocket and offered the advocate and said, “Sir, please accept this now. This is not enough, I know. We shall pay you later. I don’t have much money with me now. Sir, you will never lose your fees due to you. Henceforward, our relation will continue and grow up. This is not a kind of one day relationship. Sir, many persons in our profession suggest you are the right person to take up the case; hearing your name from them, I came to you.”

The advocate argued in the court, “Sana Parida is a poor man. A daily wager, he has to work every day to earn his wage; if he misses a day, his family members will starve. There is no evidence he has pickpocketed. This is pure conjecture. Sana Parida was standing behind the person. You know the rush in town buses, people travel as if loaded like potato bags. One cannot stand comfortably in the bus, keeping a distance from one another. Since Sana Parida was standing behind that person, his hand might have touched him, and he has mistaken him to the thief. Once he has told him to be the thief, others travelling in the bus took him to be thief, as pickpocketing is very common in crowded buses. The people beat him and handed over him to the police. Sana Parida is innocent; someone else has committed  the crime, but the police arrested him. He is not well dressed, like an educated well-bred person, and is in a poor attire, hence, looks like a poor fellow, and accused of being a thief. Sana Parida has come from his village to Cuttack for seeking job. The police arrested him since the people mistook him to be the pickpocket. Besides, pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence.”

“What are you saying?” the judge said, “Pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence! So what? They should be hanged. Yesterday, I came from my village; I was travelling by town bus from the bus stand to my res, I was pickpocketed five hundred rupees.”

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The judge’s remark caused murmur among the lawyers present in the court room. A few chuckled.  The lawyers’ reaction irked the judge. He said, “You are laughing at me. A small crime in the eyes of law can land a man in disastrous situation. Leave my case; I have a job; I draw a monthly salary. Take the case of a poor man; his son is in hospital; he needs money for a major operation. He went to village, sold his property to arrange money for his son’s treatment. He is coming to the hospital by the town bus. The pickpockets stole away his money. He could not pay for his son’s operation, his son died and besides, he lost his property also. Who should we blame for this kind of eventuality?”

The judge adjourned the court. He went to his chamber. He had heard, but reserved his judgement. He would give the order next day.

Mr. Roy called upon Baina and said, “Idiots, you even don’t spare the judges!”

Baina stroked his hair and, with a smirk on his lips, said, “Sir, how can we know? The judges don’t travel in the town bus in their prescribed attire; black coat and gown. How can we distinguish between a a judge and a commoner? Besides, we don’t look at the persons, but their pockets.”

The advocate laughed. “Yes, you idiots are disciples of the great Arjun of Mahabharat; you aim at the eyes of the bird; never look at the leaves, branches or fruits of the tree!”

Mr. Roy entered into the chamber of the judge. He brought out a five hundred rupee note from his pocket and offered to the judge and said, “Sir, take back your money. Those bastards did not know you were a judge. They have pickpocketed you.”

Annoyed, the judge said, “Go away. What is this? Get out with your money.”

The lawyer argued, “Sir, when any theft occurred in your house, you lodge FIR with the police. The police, when they recover the theft property and return the goods, you accept. I am giving you back your money. Why should you think I am bribing?”

He placed a five hundred rupee note on his table and came out.

The next day, in the forenoon, the judge passed order; Sana Parida was released on bail.

*****

A Student

 

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I was going to my village. My village was more than one hundred and fifty kms from the place where I was working, and I had to change three buses to reach my village. I started early, reached Cuttack at around 9, in the morning. I entered into a restaurant near the bus stop to have my breakfast. I was eating chhole bhature. I had not yet finished, the restaurant boy served me chhenapod, a sweet dish.

I had not ordered Chhenapod, but I would have. I had a sweet tooth, chhenapod looked fresh and alluring in the morning. I was, perhaps, the first customer they were serving after cutting into pieces the sweet pancake, cooked last night. I thought the boys working in this restaurant, perhaps, could guess the taste of the customers, and to increase the sales of the restaurateur, might be serving before the customer asked for it.

I started chhenapod after chhole bhature.

Before I finished chhenapod, the boy placed sweet curd on my table. I had also not ordered sweet curd, though I liked it also. I asked the boy, “I am not ordering, how do you serve yourself, one dish after another?”

The boy indicated a man sitting two or three tables away from me and said, “The gentleman sitting there is ordering for you.” I looked at the man. He bowed his head to wish me. The man had come to the restaurant before I, and was having his breakfast, enjoying the sweet curd. He finished his breakfast and came to me. He sat on the front chair and asked, “Sir, don’t you recognize me?”

I could not. I was trying to locate where I could have met him. Without giving me much time to think, he said, “I was your student.”

I was teaching in a college for two and half years before I entered into an administrative job. I had already left the college for more than fifteen years. The appearance of the boys changed a lot after they entered into a profession and their worldly life. I was trying to remember, but could not. I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sir, what you once told us we would do, I am doing that. I am a bus conductor.”

I remembered. If the students were doing mischief; irritated, I would scold them by saying, you would become nothing, but bus conductor or amin (land surveyor). I used to say, “When we were students, our parents did not have enough money to spare for our education. With much difficulty we studied with meagre amount our parents could provide. The colleges were in the city, far away from the villages. The number of colleges were also very few. All the students who passed Matriculation could not get seats in the college.  Many good students could not study since the cost of staying in the city and studying in the college were beyond affordability of their parents. Now the colleges have come to the villages. You take your food in your home, walk or ride a cycle from your village to the college. You should take advantage. But your minds are elsewhere, not in studies. You are missing the opportunity. You are destined to be, at best, conductors or amins.”

I said to my former student cum bus conductor, “That was not my purpose. I scolded you since you did not read, but involved in mischief. I wish whatever you may do, you live in peace. One earns to keep living, but one should earn in honest means. Be good human beings, that’s important. You should not have any inferiority complex for the job you are doing.”

I had started sermonizing; a habit I had with me, perhaps, since my teaching days. Old habits had not died.

“No, sir, I don’t mean anything. I was joking. We did not listen to you then, now we realize. Where are you going to?” he asked.

“Going to my village, shall go up to Chandikhole now. From there I shall change a bus.”

 He said, “Then let’s go by my bus. Our bus is going to Balasore.”

My student cum conductor seated me in the conductor’s seat, his seat. He collected fare and issued tickets. He did not accept fare from me. Instead, he presented me with a pack of cigarettes and a match box. He knew I was smoking when I was in the college. Of course, I had not given up the habit.

I had heard this story from a friend. The student of a well-known professor joined Indian Administrative Service (IAS). He was posted as secretary, education department. The professor then was the Director of Public Institutions (DPI). Once, in a meeting, the director who was the former teacher of the secretary, addressed him by his first name. Annoyed, the secretary reprimanded, “You forget, you are speaking to your secretary!” The director immediately corrected himself and said, “Sir…”

The director and the secretary were both well known; two very important persons in the state.

This maybe a rumour. Some persons in the society, out of jealousy, concoct stories about achievers and established personalities; and people, for the same reason, love to believe them. Still, many have this impression; people in administration, particularly in the IAS, are also callous towards love and affection of their subordinates and people below them. They do not understand true feelings.

I believe, had my student been an IAS officer instead of a bus conductor, he would not have behaved as the secretary behaved with his former professor.

I was proud of being a teacher in the college for a few years.

*****