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LAW’S LABOUR LOST

The quietness of the night crept out of the dimly lit room, giving space to

the rhythmic breathing of the satisfied well-fed man, warmed up by the fighting

fire on the wet wood. The condescending moon smiled down through the torn

black clouds, envying the happiness of the man. The roots of the disfigured trees

choking the very earth supporting it, snapped under his wary advance towards

the window.

The blood-shot eyes, the dishevelled hair, the emaciated body were in

quite a contrast to the man snoring away. Sleep - honeydew sleep - was unknown

to him. The comforting notes of silence had always defied him with the constant

wailing of his two hungry babies. But now even that sound from his life was

gone as he did not have money or he was too honest to earn it by other means.

He crept into the room. The shadows were dancing with the wild fire - almost an

exotic dance. The knife in his hands gleamed in the moonlight, enticing him,

provoking him to do the unwanted. His conscience screamed and his heart

stopped; his soul was almost torn apart; but then the soft purr of the cat reminded

him of his cuddled up babies. A strange sensation of anger and anxiety overcame

him when he saw the contentedly sleeping man who had taken away his last

dime, even after his long years of servitude towards him. The master had taken

everything away from the servant, simply because the servant could not pay up
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his debts. His children had died out of hunger and his wife had left him even

before that.

The memory of the silent babies and the conjoint breathing of the man irritated

him, drove him crazy, and above everything else, filled him with absolute anger.

Then in a flash, he jumped on the bed and stabbed the man. The man shouted,

but the silence of his dead babies was too loud. The blood splattered everywhere;

on the Victorian tapestries, Oriental wall hangings and the expensive carpet. But

it did not matter. When vengeance meets death, nothing else matters. The guards

and the other family members banged on the robust well-spent doors.

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The door banged open and two well dressed gentlemen entered the cabin,

trying to keep their balance on the yacht, which was getting tossed by the

swelling sea. The foaming slur and the anger of the dark monster, against the

dark sky was enough to make the heart of a seasoned explorer sink. But the

Captain of the well equipped yacht, made its course through the darkness. It was

almost as if the yacht was a jockey riding a mad bull. The two gentlemen tried to

settle in the cabin, while their stomachs kept on bouncing and churning in the

momentum of the ship. The two gentlemen were good friends and both

extremely well off. One of the gentlemen lit a cigar, and tried to drain off his

tension by puffing away smoke into the night, while the other strangely saw a

striking similarity between the burning cigar and the dimming lights which were

turning on and off in the cabin.

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“So did you hear about Mohandas….the pompous fool was killed in his sleep by

one of his men;” said the gentleman with the cigar, trying to pick-up a

conversation to torch up some light in the drooping and dark atmosphere. But the

other gentleman, knowing his friend’s appetite for gossip retorted abruptly,”

Yes.” He had found the smoke emanating from the torched up cigar too

depressing, like the death of a person in a howling storm, in which one was

clinging on to his life to a small boat, which the gentleman frankly thought was

going to get smashed.

“The man who killed was a labourer, he has been awarded the death sentence”;

poked the gentleman, taking a deep puff from his cigar making the tobacco

crackle, “serves him right, if you don’t teach these servants they get on to your

nerves.” The other gentleman looked at his friend through the dark sheet of

smoke, which the expensive cigar was making, and reflected on the comment,

his friend had made about death sentence. He agreed with the idea of death

sentence, but the rationale, put up by his friend was too crude for his taste, just

like his one of his Cuban cigars.

“For imposing death penalty, there should be special reasons, and it must relate,

not to the crime as such but to the criminal. The crime may be shocking and yet

the criminal may not deserve death penalty. The extreme penalty, can be invoked

only in extreme situations”; reiterated the gentleman from some book he had

read, the name the gentleman could not place. “There you go again with your

law, Rajendra”; exclaimed the gentleman, “But, I’ll tell you what? Law is
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vindictive by nature. How else can you explain a provision established by law, to

empower some human being to do the very same thing to dispense justice to a

person having been killed by some accused?”

Rajendra reflected on this sound thought of his cigar loving friend, who he

thought was condemning himself to death, by burning away those rotten sticks at

the other end of his mouth.

But he strongly believed in the death sentence, as the Court only gave it in the

rarest of the rare cases, in public interest. Also, normally the judges draw up a

balance sheet of aggravating and mitigating circumstances.

“Death sentence is not vindictive justice, my friend, but it is a right of the state to

deprive a person of his life and personal liberty, in accordance with the just and

reasonable procedure established by law”; said Rajendra, with a little drama in

his voice and showing the tendency of bragging his bookish knowledge.

“But it strikes at the very heart of personal liberty”; drawing in another puff, but

maintaining his cool, unlike Rajendra, “and how are the judges so well equipped

to decide whether a particular act is extremely aggravating.” Rajendra again

nodded with appreciation at his robustly built friends argument, but like a

cobbler hammering at his kiln, reiterated his words from his earlier argument and

said that, “it is a right of the State to deprive a person of his life and personal

liberty, and personal liberty of every man is subject to state adjudication.”

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“True but in the case of death sentence the deciding factor is the judiciary, and

the judiciary is, maybe two or three well fed judges, who I tell you, with no

offence listen to two lying well fed lawyers, and decide over a cup of coffee and

freshly baked cookies, the fate of a malnutritioned desperate man. The very

procedure is faulty, I tell you. It is both impersonal and lacks dignity, which is an

important feature of life and personal liberty.”

Rajendra was a little taken aback, by the forced deliberation of his friend and

reflected that how much an argument can change a man’s view. His friend was

defending the very person, rather zealously; whom he was condemning fifteen

minutes back.

“The Liberty is sinking”; the stout sailor could be heard shouting. “Sirs, the

Captain has asked you to make your way towards the life boat, the yacht has hit a

rock.” Rajendra had first, was immersed in the delegations with his friends. He

found the words of the stout sailor too significant. Personal “Liberty” was

sinking, dying because of a jutting rock. Their fates were getting decided by a

rock. Does public interest really come into play, or are they just black letters on a

white background, conveniently used and forgotten. A disinterested rock was

deciding their fate and the sea was going to be their executioner. Rajendra

wondered, did the helpless labourer, driven by circumstances feel the same way.

The stout sailor and his friend were shaking Rajendra, to jerk some movement

out of him. They were shouting but the silence in his mind was too loud. He
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could not hear anything, except the sound of inevitable crashing death. All that

could be heard that night was the sound of the crashing waves.

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He could hear the wind howling outside and also the sound of the

crashing waves. The sound was slowly eroding away the fear and pain from the

labourer’s heart. After being apprehended by the guards, he was tried by various

courts and he could distinctly remember the judge looking into his eyes and

giving him the death sentence. He was to be hanged to death. He saw his sister

dropping away precious tears, he also found himself crying and surprisingly

cold. The trial had gone on for five years; his lawyer had zealously tried

defending him, but he guessed that both the fat books and his lawyer had run out

of ideas. The young lawyer had also pleaded insanity, on which he had found

himself smiling, no, laughing “Insanity!” he told himself. “Which part of the

world is sane, when a group of people come to decide the life of a person, on

written books and procedures, where a murderer can escape, if the other party

has not filed the papers?”

Insanity is belonging to the world, the sane ones are hanged. Now as he sat in the

darkness of his prison, not very different from the outside night, he could hear

the sound of the crashing waves. He closed his eyes and silence pervaded. The

night stood still. There was a strong sensation of peace, as he could hear death

beckoning him and he found himself playing with his two babies under the

smiling, twinkling moonlight. He could see the frothing of the dark waves. All
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that he could hear in his pacified state of mind was the sound of the crashing

waves.