I woke up this morning to the noise of rumbling tanks and armoured vehicles. An excited Ritwik had enthusiastically put the telly on high volume. "It's Republic Day, Rajan" he announced grandly, as I tried to focus my half-opened eyes on him.
Behind him, I could see on the television screen, a huge artillery piece mounted on the back of an open truck, chugging along Rajpath. It was a long-range cannon that could auto-select targets and hurl its lethal shells with devastating effect and unerring accuracy, a commentator informed gleefully. Looking at the long and ugly snout, I was left in no doubt about its reach and ability to cause damage.
Over the years, there has been a fierce debate on whether there is any need of such pomp and pageantry to mark the country's Republic Day and if the money and preparation that goes behind holding such an event can be spent in the welfare of poor people of the society. The argument has certain merit in a country where a third of its people still can't afford two square meals a day.
I have had an ambivalent stand on the issue. As a school kid, I remember I used to be very excited about the Republic Day. In the early seventies, choice of entertainment was limited. So it was both fun and a matter of prestige that my Dad, as a bureaucrat, would often get an invite to attend the Republic Day parade and would take me with him to see the parade.
So, as I lay on bed and watched and heard Ritwik go on animatedly about the Republic Day parade, I could completely understand his excitement. My mind, though, lay elsewhere. I re-read the SMS from my brother in Guwahati. "Machang Lalung is dead. He died on December 26."
That is, exactly a month ago. I wonder what Machang Lalung would have made of the Republic Day parade. Would he have made anything of it at all? In all likelihood, no. I remembered when I had first met him it was difficult to get a word out of him, let alone an opinion.
When I met Machang Lalung in August 2005, he had been just released from prison after spending 54 years in wrongful confinement. In 1951, Machang Lalung had been arrested on the charge of attacking another villager. The case never came to trial, the charge was never proved. Despite his pleas of innocence he remained behind bars. For 54 long years.
Behind him, I could see on the television screen, a huge artillery piece mounted on the back of an open truck, chugging along Rajpath. It was a long-range cannon that could auto-select targets and hurl its lethal shells with devastating effect and unerring accuracy, a commentator informed gleefully. Looking at the long and ugly snout, I was left in no doubt about its reach and ability to cause damage.
Over the years, there has been a fierce debate on whether there is any need of such pomp and pageantry to mark the country's Republic Day and if the money and preparation that goes behind holding such an event can be spent in the welfare of poor people of the society. The argument has certain merit in a country where a third of its people still can't afford two square meals a day.
I have had an ambivalent stand on the issue. As a school kid, I remember I used to be very excited about the Republic Day. In the early seventies, choice of entertainment was limited. So it was both fun and a matter of prestige that my Dad, as a bureaucrat, would often get an invite to attend the Republic Day parade and would take me with him to see the parade.
So, as I lay on bed and watched and heard Ritwik go on animatedly about the Republic Day parade, I could completely understand his excitement. My mind, though, lay elsewhere. I re-read the SMS from my brother in Guwahati. "Machang Lalung is dead. He died on December 26."
That is, exactly a month ago. I wonder what Machang Lalung would have made of the Republic Day parade. Would he have made anything of it at all? In all likelihood, no. I remembered when I had first met him it was difficult to get a word out of him, let alone an opinion.
When I met Machang Lalung in August 2005, he had been just released from prison after spending 54 years in wrongful confinement. In 1951, Machang Lalung had been arrested on the charge of attacking another villager. The case never came to trial, the charge was never proved. Despite his pleas of innocence he remained behind bars. For 54 long years.
I had been commissioned by BBC World Service Radio for a story on Machang Lalung. As part of my brief, I was asked to find out the extent of Mr. Lalung's grief and anger over his illegal detention for over half a century.
It was one of the first questions I asked him. He gave me a blank look, as if he didn't understand the question. I repeated my query. This time, he said haltingly : "They used to give me vegetables and chicken to eat at the lunatic asylum." During the four hours that I was there, that's all I got out of him. To most other questions, he didn't offer any answer. His relatives crowded around him. They said, he was heard of hearing, and possibly mentally not quite there as well.
I wonder if I should tell my four-year-old son how this great republic of ours treats its citizens. Well, at least some of its citizens. It was a travesty of justice that saw Machang Lalung spend 54 years behind bars for a crime that he wasn't even tried for. What was worse, when he was finally released, no one from the government offered a word of apology. No one ever visited him in his village to find out how he was, or if he needed any medical attention. There wasn't even a cursory attempt to fix responsibility for the abject failure of the justice delivery system.
To add a lot of insult to considerable injury, a sum of Rs.300,000 was awarded as compensation by the Indian Supreme Court. Given that the man spent 54 years in prison, that works out to a neat Rs.20 for each day that Lalung spent behind bars. If the question "what price freedom?" ever bothers you, you can dwell upon that figure. That's the amount India's highest court fixed for over half a century of illegal incarceration.
We would like to believe Machang Lalung is an exception in an otherwise efficient system. Not quite.
In January 2006, Shankar Dayal, a resident of Unnao district near Varanasi in the north Indian state of Uttar Pradesh was released from Unnao district jail after 45 years. In 1961, Dayal had been sentenced to three years of rigorous imprisonment. He suffered from mental illness and was shifted for a while to a hospital specialising in psychiatric disorders. A magistrate cited Dayal's failure to furnish his bail bonds as reason to extend his incarceration. It got extended to 45 long years.
Even human rights groups can't give an accurate figure about the number of people languishing in Indian jails while still awaiting trial. It is feared the number runs into thousands.
About ten years ago I read a very disturbing book, called Honnomaan (Dignity Robbed) written by the noted Bengali poet Joya Mitra. It is a collection of Mitra's experiences when she spent five years in different jails of Bengal for her leftwing activities. The book is not about Mitra, though. Rather, it is a horrific account of the plight of common women prisoners whom she came to know during her stay in prison. The terrible living conditions inside the prisons and the often flimsy grounds on the basis of which a large number of these women found themselves in jail made most disturbing reading.
Subsequently, I came across several Bangla books which are part of what is known as Kaara Sahitya (Prison Literature). Most of these books carry graphic details of horror stories inside Bengal jails.
Over the years, as a journalist, I have traveled to different parts of the country where I have heard tales of people spending years in prison without trial, others who have died behind bars because of the inhuman conditions inside the jails.
Once, while shooting for a TV story inside Delhi's Tihar Jail, supposedly Asia's most populated jail, me and the rest of the crew were approached by a bespectacled young man who said he had been held in jail without trial for four years and if we could help him. Before we could find out more, he was whisked away by the guards. Despite repeated queries to jail officials, we couldn't get any information about the young man. I can still see his face, a terrified, helpless look on his face, but I don't even know his name.
On January 26, 1950, "We, the People of India", in the Preamble to the Constitution of India, made a solemn resolve to constitute India into a Sovereign Socialist Democratic Republic, and secure to all its citizens social, economic and political justice, liberty of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship, and equality of status and opportunity.
India has come a long way since. We have opened several centres of academic excellence, Indian doctors, engineers and scientists have made a name for themselves worldwide, we have sent satellites to space and scientific teams to Antarctica, defended ourselves from external aggression.
There are enough reasons to be very proud of being an Indian, and celebrate this cherished landmark in the history of our country. While we are at it, perhaps we can spare a thought, observe a minute's silence, or even light a candle for Machang Lalung and thousands like him who continue to rot in our jails, denied the justice and liberty that we had so solemnly resolved to give ourselves exactly 58 years ago, to this day.
Jai Hind.
It was one of the first questions I asked him. He gave me a blank look, as if he didn't understand the question. I repeated my query. This time, he said haltingly : "They used to give me vegetables and chicken to eat at the lunatic asylum." During the four hours that I was there, that's all I got out of him. To most other questions, he didn't offer any answer. His relatives crowded around him. They said, he was heard of hearing, and possibly mentally not quite there as well.
I wonder if I should tell my four-year-old son how this great republic of ours treats its citizens. Well, at least some of its citizens. It was a travesty of justice that saw Machang Lalung spend 54 years behind bars for a crime that he wasn't even tried for. What was worse, when he was finally released, no one from the government offered a word of apology. No one ever visited him in his village to find out how he was, or if he needed any medical attention. There wasn't even a cursory attempt to fix responsibility for the abject failure of the justice delivery system.
To add a lot of insult to considerable injury, a sum of Rs.300,000 was awarded as compensation by the Indian Supreme Court. Given that the man spent 54 years in prison, that works out to a neat Rs.20 for each day that Lalung spent behind bars. If the question "what price freedom?" ever bothers you, you can dwell upon that figure. That's the amount India's highest court fixed for over half a century of illegal incarceration.
We would like to believe Machang Lalung is an exception in an otherwise efficient system. Not quite.
In January 2006, Shankar Dayal, a resident of Unnao district near Varanasi in the north Indian state of Uttar Pradesh was released from Unnao district jail after 45 years. In 1961, Dayal had been sentenced to three years of rigorous imprisonment. He suffered from mental illness and was shifted for a while to a hospital specialising in psychiatric disorders. A magistrate cited Dayal's failure to furnish his bail bonds as reason to extend his incarceration. It got extended to 45 long years.
Even human rights groups can't give an accurate figure about the number of people languishing in Indian jails while still awaiting trial. It is feared the number runs into thousands.
About ten years ago I read a very disturbing book, called Honnomaan (Dignity Robbed) written by the noted Bengali poet Joya Mitra. It is a collection of Mitra's experiences when she spent five years in different jails of Bengal for her leftwing activities. The book is not about Mitra, though. Rather, it is a horrific account of the plight of common women prisoners whom she came to know during her stay in prison. The terrible living conditions inside the prisons and the often flimsy grounds on the basis of which a large number of these women found themselves in jail made most disturbing reading.
Subsequently, I came across several Bangla books which are part of what is known as Kaara Sahitya (Prison Literature). Most of these books carry graphic details of horror stories inside Bengal jails.
Over the years, as a journalist, I have traveled to different parts of the country where I have heard tales of people spending years in prison without trial, others who have died behind bars because of the inhuman conditions inside the jails.
Once, while shooting for a TV story inside Delhi's Tihar Jail, supposedly Asia's most populated jail, me and the rest of the crew were approached by a bespectacled young man who said he had been held in jail without trial for four years and if we could help him. Before we could find out more, he was whisked away by the guards. Despite repeated queries to jail officials, we couldn't get any information about the young man. I can still see his face, a terrified, helpless look on his face, but I don't even know his name.
On January 26, 1950, "We, the People of India", in the Preamble to the Constitution of India, made a solemn resolve to constitute India into a Sovereign Socialist Democratic Republic, and secure to all its citizens social, economic and political justice, liberty of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship, and equality of status and opportunity.
India has come a long way since. We have opened several centres of academic excellence, Indian doctors, engineers and scientists have made a name for themselves worldwide, we have sent satellites to space and scientific teams to Antarctica, defended ourselves from external aggression.
There are enough reasons to be very proud of being an Indian, and celebrate this cherished landmark in the history of our country. While we are at it, perhaps we can spare a thought, observe a minute's silence, or even light a candle for Machang Lalung and thousands like him who continue to rot in our jails, denied the justice and liberty that we had so solemnly resolved to give ourselves exactly 58 years ago, to this day.
Jai Hind.
7 comments:
Very interesting piece, Rajan, and very well written. Poor Machang Lalung, he looks so lost and helpless. 54 years in jail, without trial, no wonder the man lost his mind.
I have seen a documentary on Machang Lalung. His story is so, so sad. I never knew he was dead. Such news never make the headlines. I am glad you have featured him in your blog.
i had never heard of Machang Lalung. I had to google him to believe what I read in this blog. It is unbelievable that someone is put away behind bars for over 50 years, without even a trial. Even more difficult to believe that the authorities didn't even care to say sorry.I have never been to India, but I have read a lot about India. It is one of the countries I hope to travel to. Lalung should have sued the government, but I guess he wouldn't have known how.
It was interesting, and very sad, to read about Machang Lalung. I had never even heard of him. I doubt if Delhi newspapers even carried a story about him, when he was released from prison or when he died. Lalung is from Assam, and India's north-east is definitely off the national press radar. I am glad that you have chosen to write about him on the occasion of Republic Day.
Hi Rajan,
Don't know if you remember me: Kanika, Moon and Sangeeta's friend.
Ever since moon directed me to it, I read your blog fairly regularly.
Wanted to ask if I can use one or two of your entries, the one on dalits, and on Machang Lalung for my class.
If you're not comfortable with it, please don't hesitate to say so.
Kudos for the fine socially conscious writing!
Kanika
Hi Kanika,
It was great to hear from you. I, of course, remember you.
I am glad you follow the blog (now I owe Renuka a thanks). And thanks for the nice things you have said. Never seen myself as a socially conscious writer. I write on issues that interest me or bother me. Once you meet people like Machang Lalung and Bhaiyalal Bhotmange, you feel the need to write about them. To let the world know of the tragedies that visited them, and for no fault of theirs.
Please feel free to use any of the blog posts you want to for your class. Where are you teaching these days? I am just curious how you plan to use them.
And yes keep posting comments. The feedback is invaluable.
Chaks,
Just wanted to tell you -- top story. I so wish the national media highlighted stories like these. Did BBC ever do a TV story on Machang Lalung? I can't remember seeing anything.
Post a Comment