A day in the life of constables on prisoner escort duty: ‘Daudte jao, haanfte aao’

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As they are provided the document to get the undertrial from jail, Ram Babu asks, laughing, “Where is my travel pass?” Everyone smiles. There is no “travel pass (or conveyance money)”, they all know.

It’s been less than a fortnight since the shootout inside a police van in Delhi led to the death of three prisoners, and a couple of days since 11 policemen got suspended for taking a prisoner shopping in a Gurgaon mall, while escorting him back from a court hearing. However, procedure, such as it is, has shown no change.

The three constables head to the ammunition room, where Kumar and Shiv Milan get two INSAS rifles, and Ram Babu two handcuffs with a long rope. At the transport section, they are told the vehicle that will take them to Lucknow Jail has no petrol. As they wait, their impatience grows. Shiv Milan checks the timings of trains to Faizabad on his phone.

The Howrah-bound Dehradun Howrah Express is to arrive around 8.30 am at the Charbagh railway station. The jail is 20 km away in the other direction. They plead with the driver, also a constable, to hurry. Finally, they leave five minutes before 7 am.

“Once we have the inmate, it is our duty to ensure he appears in court. Once we reached for a hearing by 5 pm, and the magistrate had left. If we do not make it on time, we face action,” says Ram Babu.

The driver speeds up but, ignoring the pleadings of his passengers, slows down to taunt a friend who is carrying water on a motorbike and next to buy a garland for the photo of a saint in his car.

It’s 7.45 am by the time they reach Lucknow Jail. Shiv Milan tells Ram Babu, “Daudte huye jao aur haanfte huye aao (Go running and come back panting).”

Ram Babu emerges 15 minutes later, Abdul Qadir in tow. Qadir has to appear before the additional civil judge (senior division) in connection with a case of theft in Faizabad. Lodged in jail for the past one month, he is also booked for a theft at the Charbagh GRP Station in Lucknow.

As they rush to the Charbagh station, Ram Babu tightens his grip on the rope tied to a handcuff around Qadir’s hand. At the platform, they walk past a few coaches of the Dehradun Howrah Express before taking a vacant seat in a sleeper coach. “There is no point taking a ticket,” dismisses Ram Babu. “There is no space in the general coach and we cannot get ticket for sleeper. This is how we manage.”

The constables are reimbursed for their travels but, as they point out, the rates were fixed long back and barely cover the expenses.

All three joined the UP Police as constables in 2011, and have been at the police line since 2012. This is a job not many like. Escorting undertrials comprises a large part of their duties. They admit they are nervous doing so on public transport; most days the train coaches too are crowded. Policemen are often attacked by opponents of the inmate or his associates. If not that, the inmate can escape, inviting the policemen on escort duty sure suspension.

They admit “problematic inmates” are a handful. Thankfully, Qadir does not seem to be one of them. Still, as the train takes off — on time — Ram Babu wraps the rope attached to Qadir’s handcuff around his wrist.

Ram Babu hails from Maharajpur area of Kanpur, where his wife and two-year-old son stay. He can’t afford to keep them in Lucknow. At the police line accommodation, all the constables have space for is a bed and an iron box with their belongings.

Shiv Milan, 30, from Ghatampur in Kanpur, and Kumar, 27, from Sareni in Rae Bareli, are also married, with children. Their families live at their native places too.

“The police line building is so old, it should be declared condemned. Its roof leaks,” Ram Babu says.

As the train crosses Barabanki, Shiv Milan moves to an upper berth for a nap. Never able to get into bed before midnight, they all treasure sleep. “There is no surety of a holiday,” remarks Ram Babu. “If we have to wash our uniforms, we have to do so at night because there are no offs.”

By 11.30 am, they are at Faizabad. Qadir, who has been sitting silent and glum, suddenly chirps up, requesting the policemen to let him talk to his wife and sister, who are waiting outside. Two burqa-clad women, here from Gorakhpur, are waiting near the ticket hall. As the police party leaves for the court, 2 km away, they follow.

“We are not permitted to let family members talk or meet, but what can we do? We are also humans,” says Kumar.

Ram Babu has to ask around for the correct court room. Before entering the court — the other two constables stand outside — he puts on his cap. Qadir’s handcuffs are taken off.

The judge, Parul Attri, hears some other cases for around an hour before turning to Qadir. His “appearance” lasts barely 2 minutes, before he gets the next hearing date, for September 17.

Qadir is cuffed again. By 1.15 pm, they turn back towards the railway station. Qadir’s wife and sister are still waiting for him, with a large tiffin. The constables are hungry too, having had no breakfast either. Qadir requests Kumar to let him eat with his family. Kumar declines.

The police team heads to a dhaba. Qadir’s wife and sister follow them inside. The constables give in, letting them eat on a nearby table.

The constables’ order, of dal-fry and chapati, turns out to be half-cooked and watery. But no one is complaining, their eye on the clock. The train back to Lucknow, the Doon Express, leaves at 2.45 pm.

But when they reach the Faizabad station at 2 pm, they realise the train is late by two hours. Qadir’s wife and sister wait with them, his wife never far from tears. Ram Babu looks the other way as Qadir comforts her. She hands over a bag with his clothes.
At 4.15 pm, they board the train.

Chewing pan masala, “to keep awake”, Ram Babu talks about how he had been trying for medical entrance in 2009 when he applied for the constable’s job. “All my friends have better jobs now. Earlier I used to feel frustrated. But now I am at peace with all this indefinite routine,” he says.

However, “with no promotion in sight”, he is also doing his BA, long-distance. He is waiting for final-year results.

As it starts getting dark, Ram Babu calls up friends at the police line and tells them to keep food for them. “The mess closes at 8 pm,” he explains.

Two young co-passengers strike a conversation with him, about everything from his job and corruption to A P J Abdul Kalam and US President Barack Obama. He has something to say on all topics. A co-passenger remarks that his thinking is above that of a constable; Ram Babu smiles.

At the Charbagh railway station, where the train rolls in around 8 pm, they wait for an hour for a car to take them to jail. Once Qadir is deposited safely back, they complete a few more formalities before heading to police line. They must return their guns and find out about the next day’s duties before getting into bed.

“Three people went to Faizabad and spent all day there. And all the undertrial had to do was stand there a while. Can’t all this be done over a simple video-conference? What is technology for?” says Ram Babu, before turning in.