NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE
Anjali Deshpande
42
His steps began to falter even when he was outside the building. It was not as if he had not been here. They all had to visit this place off and on. Then he used to be in uniform. People used to smile at him, they would look at each other with smiling eyes, they would greet each other, would climb the stairs with confidence. It was the same building. The same metal detector. The very same officers. Today he was not in uniform. Today his steps hesitated. The whole perspective had changed. He crossed the metal detector quietly. By the time he reached the Deputy Commissioner’s office upstairs he had begun to find every room unfamiliar. It did not seem like he had any friend here. He could only see walls. Among the men seated on chairs behind these alien walls was not one person who would listen to him, understand him, would show him a way to get out of this mess, would hold his hand and walk with him.
The ears of these stranger walls were not made to respond to his groans, they were there to be filled against him, to such an extent that they would explode like a bomb on his existence. He began to find his file weighing down on him. It felt very heavy. These few sheets of paper had the strength to change the direction of his life. They could change the future of his son. To decide what he would get on his plate and what he would not. Whatever he had done toil today, whatever he had earned everything could be buried under these few sheets. The significance of the few words marked on these papers was higher than his standing, his record.
By the time he reached the single member enquiry committee of Shriman Dilip Singh Kashyap his alienation was so complete that he felt he was not inside his body at all. This out of body experience persisted. He felt as if a stranger sat here, and what happens to that stranger did not matter to him.
“Never tell them the truth,” Nitesh had said.
“Deny everything,” Pushpa had said.
“Let them prove,” was the advice of the lawyer who charged him 25 grand.
“Tell them only what is necessary. Your first duty is to yourself, to protect yourself,” his mind said wearily.
“That day you were on leave?”
“No Sir. I was before that day. I had taken a week’s leave. I joined early.”
“Why?” the DCP asked. Enquiry Committee. Personified. One member only. Brief questions. To the point. He is not giving him any chance to say much or explain anything.
“I thought I will save the leave for alter.”
“is this your writing?” the daily diary was palced before him.
“Looks like it Sir.”
“is it your handwriting or not?”
Whom could he blame? That SHO who was of equal rank. Who had gone to court early in the morning. All the others were subordinates. Whom would he sacrifice? He could deny it was his writing but then whom would he point his finger at? He is speechless.
“Is it your writing or not?”
“It is, Sir, it is.”
Now the matter had been decided. What is the need for more questions? What is the use? He has dug his own grave. Then why do they have to ask more questions? All they have to do is throw mud on him. He laughed.
“Why did you mark your attendance like this squeezed between two names?”
Adhirath looked at the face of the DCP. There was not a single line of sympathy anywhere on that face. A callous face, expressionless.
“I had forgotten to mark my attendance. I did that later.”
“Your application for leave? Did you take it out of the file?”
Adhirath swallowed air. It was bitter.
“Sir, the truth is…”
The DCP’s hand came up to stop him.
“I know the facts. I only have to check whatever is on record, why it is so. Why such a record? I have superiors above me. Complaints can be file d against me also. SO let us confine ourselves to these documents. Did you take out the leave application form the file?”
“Yes I had.”
“Why?”
“I thought I would write an application for only three days leave and put it in there. Those who had sanctioned my leave would understand my compulsions.”
“Ok. That is enough. Now my next question.”
“Sir, how can that be enough? My compulsions are the department’s compulsions. This department will have to understand and acknowledge my compulsions.”
“In this diary is written that you went to the Bargadiya gali for a round. Dalchand hawaldar was with you. did you write this?”
“Yes. I wrote this.” Adhirath recalled that day. How he had rushed to the thana having disengaged Pushpa’s fingers from his shirt. How much loss he had suffered for living close to the thana. Had his house been far away he would have not been able to reach it so soon. There had been no officer in the police station. And without sparing a moment’s thought he had made all those notings to save Dalchand. He had realized it rather late in the day that in this department nobody is for anybody. Those who had handed over Dalchand despite detailed plans to the court, why would they let him go? All of them were busy saving their own uniforms. At a moment’s notice they had announced to the newspapers that they will dismiss the hawaldar whose role is suspect. Those who handed him a country made pistol, told him what to do, and planned his alibi, none of them had to suffer, nobody touched them, and they were all in the clear, still in their uniforms. What a job! If you show fidelity to the law, people won’t be with you. If you take care of those who make the lives of ordinary citizens hell the law will not be with you. his eyes grew moist.
email: anjalides@gmail.com
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