Sentenced for life

His words pricked the conscience and I could feel some bits fall. My cheeks were all bedew8217;d as thoughts froze at three words: quot;A great story.quot; Is that the end of it? Am I not cashing in on someone8217;s misery? I grappled with questions which flooded in, but I saw no answers. All I could do was stand there in the hope of regaining poise. Peace, however, kept eluding me. This was one of the many moments when I have been pained with the difference between what things are andwhat they ought to be.

I detested the thought that my routine might just desensitise me someday and I was not still prepared to take immunity to whatever little human element8217; was left in me. I yearned for an escape from the rut but I knew there wasn8217;t any. Here in the courts many convictions came by and I had to report each one of them turning a blind eye to the very-human aspect of the so-called quot;human interest storyquot;. I had to trust the man in the Chair. But how was I to get over the fact that he, after all, could be an erring mortal!I was restive, not so much for myself as for the woman who stood in a corner of the courtroom, struggling hard to fight tears which were so quot;meaninglessquot; in that room where quot;justice was dispensedquot;. I thought about the intensity of her forbearance. I wondered over how she managed a heart that could bear those contemptuous looks which seemed to declare: quot;Not just your man, you are condemned tooquot;. The woman seemed unfazed by the world around; her eyes wandering in the skiesabove and finally getting stuck on her man.

Her man who was doomed before death. There was nil evidence in his favour. All witnesses had deposed against him and the judgment was sure to be in favour of the prosecution. As I looked at the man who bowed as low as his fragile bearing could allow, I was reminded of a couplet from Playing with Pebbles: In the Court of Supreme never ask for justice because you may be hanged. Pray only for mercy.

He was doing the right thing. Perhaps in that moment he could not have done anything better. The last hope, of course, was prayer. And with the two of them, I too was praying8230; praying that justice be done.

As the Judge turned leaves of the case file I wondered over what must he be going through. quot;How difficult it must be to sit in that chair and to be asked to dispense justice. It8217;s not an easy job, at least not for a man of consciencequot;. While I was still lost in thought, the Judge began the pronouncement: quot;The prosecution has proved the charge beyond a shadow ofreasonable doubt. The accused stands convicted under Section 302 IPC and is sentenced to life imprisonmentquot;.

Soon after, the crowds dispersed as if a show had met its climax. The court adjourned for the day. The only one left in the room was that woman, in the corner, still trying hard to gather bits of fractured hope. I made efforts to reach out to her but my senses failed me. It was a moment of endurance, as much for me as it was for her. After all, I had lived a part of her pain.In that moment, I turned to one of Socrates8217; verses for solace: Face death with a good hope, and know for certain that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.

Believing that the man was good, I drove to office, only to find that my list of day8217;s stories was weak. I had chosen to jump a quot;major story of the dayquot;.