Victim or Criminal?

Victim or Criminal?

I was looking at the beauty of the countryside, the pastures, plants, trees, cattle, farmers and their wives, clear blue sky swarming with birds. The clouds were slowly accompanying us. I could hear co-students debating over petty issues, some academic, legal and judicial officers discussing politics of the country, coupled with the sound of the wind being cut swiftly by the speeding bus. The pace of the wheels below my seat drew my attention to the pace at which our life moves. There is nothing that lasts forever. Our family, friends, wealth, health, body, etc. will leave us when we part from this world and nonetheless these are so precious. How could she, whose file I was holding in my hand, kill her family members? Women are considered to be soft and shy and killing someone needs guts. Killing one’s own family members in a ghastly manner made me conclude that she must be really cruel.

As these thoughts were crossing my mind, a voice interrupted their flow, “Meera! whose file do you have with you?”.

I looked up to find our teacher in charge scribing down the names and case numbers along with students’ names in her record. “Mam, Anamika”.

I saw her writing it down next to my name and move on to other students sitting on the front seats. Her robust health and glowing face made me imagine the physical appearance of ‘Anamika’. She must be robust and dark, with very short hair, thick eye brows, and questioning eyes and full dark lips. Her hands must be coarse and her looks coupled with the way of walking quite masculine. This was the first time that I was trying to visualize a woman whom I had not seen, not spoken to and not even heard of. Her name itself suggested that she did not have any identity. We recognise people by their names and her name meant ‘nameless’ or ‘without a name’. On the contrary, words (nouns) help us identify people and things.

Suddenly, a gust of dust smoldered my face and I realised that we had reached our destination, the Women Cell, where women undertrials and convicts were detained. It had been a long journey and called for some rest but there was paucity of time in which we had to meet our clients, get to know more about the case, research for cases that will help us, prepare our written submissions and oral arguments. I followed the prison officer who was very helpful and instructed us about location of each and everything that we would need. Then she divided us in 10 teams and sent 10 lady constables who had come with us to guide us to the respective cells.

My heart was beating at double pace than normal owing to the excitement that was building within me to see a woman close to my imagination. I noticed on my way the history that walls of the prison premises disclosed. Shrieks, laughter and noise of women prisoners around made me feel very nervous. The lady constable looked at my crossed fingers, smiled and asked, “Are you scared?” I opened my fingers and tried to hide my nervousness and denied. She said, “Don’t worry, she has been here for three years and must have learnt to be disciplined.” ‘Three years’, I thought, and her case was still pending conviction. Would these three years be deducted from the final sentence? Sooner that I expected, I was taken back to the reality from my engrossed state of my mind when the constable called “Anamika!” outside a cell. This made me halt and look inside for response from the woman inside whose back was turned towards us.

She had long hair tied into a bun. She turned her pale face towards us and then her undernourished and lean body walked towards us. “Is she Anamika?” I doubtfully enquired from the lady constable. “Yes” and she walked away. How could she be Anamika? She was so different from my imagination. Her suave wheat like complexion coupled with the eyes that described pain and misery made her look like a saint. She welcomed me with a forlorn smile and said, “I was told some people are coming to help us and thus was expecting you. What is your name? What do you do? Why do you want to help us? Do I need to pay you any money for this? I don’t have relatives, land, wealth or money to pay you any fees…”

I interrupted her by touching her hand which embraced the one of the bars/grill of the cell, cleared my throat and conveyed, “My name is Meera. I am a law student from Faculty of Law. We have come here for our pilot project which is associated with National Legal Service Authority where we render legal aid to the needy free of cost. We have been statutorily allowed under the Legal Service Authority Act, 1987 to argue as legal counsels in the final year of our LL.B programme. We have also been trained in summer vacations for this very purpose to ensure competitive public defence system. We have been assigned cases that are pending for more than 2 years so as to ensure their speedy disposal which would either result in your conviction or acquittal.”

“What is the use of this help from government now? I have lost my only son partly due to jaundice and pneumonia and largely because my presence in prison coupled with the fact that there is no one else to take care of him ensured that he will succumb to the diseases. I have no where to go to – no family, no job due to stigmatization and nothing to do. I can live here for my remaining life”, she gasped with tears flowing down her cheek.

Though she was happily an antithesis to the woman I imagined but at the same time I wanted that she should realise that it was all her mistake. If she had not killed her entire family except her son, she would have been living happily with them and her son would also have received love and affection from her along with a long life. This brought me to the question that had been bothering me from the moment I had read her file, and I asked, “Why did you…”

“You won’t understand. I have gone through a lot. I thought that to suffer in silence was the virtue of an Indian wife. My husband, Rajesh, after few days of our marriage, used to come home drunk late at night and beat me often for not bringing enough dowry. He also used to allege that I had physical relations with men in the locality and the child I was bearing in my womb was not his child and that even I was unaware that from whom I conceived the child. He used to abuse me and say, ‘What would you name him – Benaam or Bebaap’. I swallowed it all silently and consoled myself that once this child comes to the world, it will heal all the wounded relationships. To my surprise, my mother in law and father in law joined my husband in this everyday trial. They used to burn my hand sometimes with a burning hot red iron. I used to wonder whether I will be able to save my child at all.” Her voice faded into tears.

“Why didn’t you go to your parents’ house? Why didn’t you report the matter to police?” I wanted to tell her that there are ways of handling situations and taking life of three persons is not justified.

“My father passed away a month after getting me married and my mother had passed away when I was 10. I had no one to look up to for help. The reason I did not go to police station was that I still thought that things would improve for the better once Chunu comes into our lives”, she sighed. “I did warn them that I’ll report the matter to the police if they treated me like that. The S.P. of the police station in our locality was my husband’s friend and thus they hardly bothered even if I report the matter to the police. Then, Chunu was born to me. The harsh attitude persisted despite the fact that I had given birth to a boy. In fact, they extended this treatment to my son also. Rajesh and his parents used to slap Chunu when he was barely 2 months old. They were monsters.”

By this time, the cruel Anamika had got replaced a meek spectator of anarchy and lawlessness. I was looking at her lifeless eyes which reflected nothing but the meaningless life that she had led. She stepped back and turned her face away from me in order to hide her tears and continued, “One day Rajesh did not return the whole night and came back in the morning with his shirt stained with kumkum and lipstick marks. I grew suspicious and asked him about them. Without listening to me further he started beating me with kicks. Thereafter, he left for his mother’s room. I kept groaning in the pain till evening. I managed to move out of the room around sun set to find no one in the house. Rajesh, his parents and Chunu were missing. I got worried and started waiting for them to return. After a while, the doorbell rang and I rushed to open the door for them. I was surprised to see Rajesh with his three friends. I opened the door and went into kitchen to make tea for them. After serving tea, I proceeded to my room; waiting for them to leave so that I could ask Rajesh about Chunu. The three men entered the room in a flash and caught hold of me. Rajesh came with rope and tied my hands and feet to the bed and put a cloth in my mouth. Then, he left the room. I thought they were going to kill me. The three men raped me one by one. I resisted but my weak body fell inert owing to the extreme pain that I was experiencing. It felt as if the skies above had fallen on my head. The tears had become my adornment now. I could imagine the life that was in store for me. The stigma of being a rape victim haunted me during those hours. Also, I knew that Rajesh and his family would mistreat me all the more after this incident. I had seen him taking money from them while serving them tea but had not understood the reason. I never expected that he will prove to be such a satanic creature. The body ache that he had given me in the morning with his kicks got terrible by the physical, emotional and psychological hurt that he gave me now. After the third man got off, I was on the verge of bleeding to death. I fell unconscious.”

She walked a step further away. I could hear her sighing now. I could understand that it was a painful recollection of worst memories of her life. I wanted to console her but words failed me. For a long time, none of us uttered a word till I felt that some of her strength was restored. I broke the silence, “Did you still not report the matter to the police?”

“One of the three men was his S.P. friend and the other two, the army man and businessman were his relatives. They paid money to Rajesh for their sexual gratification. I used to tolerate when Rajesh used to rape me every night against my wishes because I was his legally wedded wife and I knew that I did not have any legal protection for marital rape. But this time, I wanted to kill him. His parents had aided his programme by preventing their stay at home. They were also planning to get us divorced and then get Rajesh remarried to a wealthy woman in order to get dowry. I overheard their conversation. I realised that I had suffered long enough and silence was no longer a virtue but a vice. Women are trampled under the feet of men because of this very silence. Whom do I call for help? The S.P.? I wanted to teach them a lesson. I wanted to set up an example so that no longer does any man and his parents do this to his wife. Anger had slowly built up to such an extent that it converted into hatred which was directed towards their destruction. This led me to kill them in a ghastly manner”, her voice rose.

“I took Chunu to a distant neighbours’ place on the pretext of getting him medically examined. I told the neighbours that we were to leave that night for our village as there was a death in the family. I left him there. Then, I returned back and spent the time in daily chores. All this while, as I had expected, my husband taunted me and called me a slut. His parents called me a witch who had ruined their sons’ life. I went to my room and thought what I would say if they ask me about Chunu. But none seemed bothered. Chunu was an additional burden to them. It had been hours that I was thinking about things that had transpired in my life. Everything was against my happiness. I did not remember when was I last content and happy. Born in a poor family, I lost my mother at young age and thus had to skip school to handle household chores. Being poorly educated, I could not take up a good job. All I knew was household chores. I could not take up the job of a house maid as I conceived within one month of my marriage when I was 16. My menstrual cycle had barely become regular then. Doctors told me that I was anemic and needed to take extra care. No one bothered for me or for the child in my womb. They had hated us from the core of their heart. I had tried enough to please them by handling the household, making good food for them, cleaning their utensils, washing their clothes, going miles to get clean water and what not. Still, they mistreated us. Wasn’t my mother in law a woman? Why did she extend such treatment to me? Why did my husband marry me? Was it all for money and sex? I felt a wave rushing to my head. It was a wave that inspired me to put an end to this endless and constant suffering. Everybody had slept. I went outside and bolted the doors from the outside. Then, I set the house on fire. By the time, people cam for their rescue, they had already been roasted.”

I could see a spark of victory in her eye. She earnestly felt that she had set up an example for other women who were suffering in Indian households. When Rani Jhansi could be a bold woman, why couldn’t she be? What would I argue for her now? I thought that ‘battered woman syndrome’ argument may hold good but I had no medical evidence. And, in any case R. v. Aluwalia may not be followed by Indian Courts. While I was contemplating various arguments that I could take, she interrupted and asked, “Have I done anything wrong? No body came to my rescue when I needed. Where were state machinery, law and justice? Where were you? I have gone through a lot of pain. You tell me, am I victim or a criminal? What would you have done if you were in my place?”

I gravely wished that I should never be in her shoes. She had taken a bold step which I thought was right but illegal. Justice demands state to control crime and punishments but here the state machinery partook in the crime.

Her eyes were probing mine for an answer. I was speechless.