Our friendly neighbourhood don

Through the ages people have both extolled the glories of the law and rued its blindness. Justice, though often perceived as an inflexible e...

Through the ages people have both extolled the glories of the law and rued its blindness. Justice, though often perceived as an inflexible entity, is, in truth, subject to interpretation and the vagaries of time. Over the last fortnight, Mumbai witnessed a couple of dramatic events that have some bearing on the subject.

One part of this drama was on stage. At the Prithvi theatre festival two of its prestigious productions dealt co-incidentally and in their own individual ways with the concept of fairness. The visiting UK-based troupe Complicite, for one, staged a glitzy version of Measure For Measure. Using video screens and striking sound effects, the group laid bare this Shakespearean plot which revolves around a puritanical arbitrator who has ordered the execution of a young man for the crime of impregnating his lover. The condemned man’s fate is all but sealed till his sister makes an impassioned plea before the intractable arbitrator. And further help arrives in the form of the state’s more humane ruler who, unknown to all, has been traveling anonymously to witness first hand the implementation of justice in his land.

In Vijay Tendulkar’s new play, The Fifth Woman, two friends converse while the mistress of one lies on her death bed. She is a woman he has picked up from the street. He is in the habit of installing destitute women as his mistresses, an arrangement that excludes all emotional involvement. He is boastful of what he sees as his generosity towards these women in providing them shelter and food. He is even more puffed up about his firmness in keeping the relationship within the boundaries of his rigid rules.

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As the conversation progresses, however, his friend, a warm hearted fellow, reveals how he sees his friend’s mistresses: as living, breathing women with their own needs and desires and a capacity to make a good home for him. Gently and diplomatically he cajoles and persuades the bereaved lover to bend his so called rules and principles to give the deceased, nameless woman a respectful cremation.

Both productions, one with its jazzy special effects, the other a more low key enactment, drive home a similar message: that those who purport to uphold the law in the strictest sense, and act in fairness are often hypocritical and tyrannical. That it is the voice of compassion and love that brings about true justice.

Now against this backdrop consider the drama of the return of Abu Salem and Monica Bedi. A victorious cricket team or a top film star might have had reason to envy the tumultuous welcome they received. There were crowds, including busy professionals who had taken time off from work just to catch a glimpse of the duo being hustled out of a police van. The media has been full of pictures and stories about their past lives and not a day has gone by without some new information being put out about the background and current activities of the two.

Society has always been fascinated by criminals so the insatiable curiosity about a high level underworld functionary and his moll is hardly surprising. At the same time it also reflects an ambiguous response to crime noticeable on previous occasions such as the trial of Harshad Mehta, for instance. People seem to accept wholeheartedly the idea that there is crime and that there are people who twist the law for their own benefit. They also acknowledge that there are people who suffer as a result of those crimes. But there is also a great deal of admiration and envy of the lavish lifestyles and escapades of the wrongdoers.

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How does all this affect the execution of the law? An accused in the Mumbai blasts cribbed recently that Salem was being treated very differently from people like himself who were mistreated by the police for months following their arrest. This complaint notwithstanding, it is unlikely that the glamour surrounding Salem and Bedi will soften the sentence they eventually receive. The law will probably take its course.

On the other hand, it cannot be denied that the exhaustive coverage of their activities has had the effect of humanising or rather, over-humanising them. It is hard to retain a sense of horror over the terrible crimes Abu Salem has been accused of when you see his genially smiling countenance in your newspaper every morning or to recall the threats Monica Bedi may have been a party to in the furtherance of her career when you read about her spending her meager resources on buying apples and bananas in jail. It may be inevitable. But is it fair?