by Vish Dhamija
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘Then please continue.’
‘Mr Kumar, could you please tell the court what firearms you and your family own?’
‘I own a Colt Defender and I have the licence to carry it.’
‘Is that all you have?’
‘Yes, to the best of my knowledge.’
‘To the best of your knowledge?’ Jay Singh repeated slowly as if he was musing on the sentence. ‘That’s an interesting statement. So, you reckon, there could be a possibility — however remote — that someone else in your family owns a firearm and you don’t know about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And who could that be, Mr Kumar?’
‘I don’t know what I don’t know.’ There was a strain of hostility building in Kumar’s voice. His mien was changing too.
‘Let me refresh who all live in your house then, Mr Kumar. It’s you, your wife Mrs Rita Kumar and your two children. I wouldn’t expect your underage kids to play with guns. So that leaves us with your wife and you. You, of course, don’t own any other firearm, as you’ve just told the court, so that leaves only your wife. Now, let me simplify the question. Does your wife own any firearm — handgun, pistol, any kind of weapon?’
‘No. She does not have the licence to own any kind of firearms.’
‘See, that is where it gets tricky, Mr Kumar. I didn’t ask you if she had a licence or not. I asked you, does she own a gun?’
‘It’s possible…‘
‘Possible could mean it’s likely and it does not rule out an impossibility, does it?’
‘I guess it doesn’t.’
Everyone in the courtroom looked spellbound now. Jay Singh was playing tough on his own client, which could mean only one thing: that he would, in a minute, spring a real googly on the prosecution. The only thing that the media or the audience could predict about Jay Singh was that he was unpredictable. And that made him a fierce opponent. You couldn’t fight what you didn’t know, he was very much like the Doosra in cricket: unreadable. You fail only because you can›t read which way the bloody thing would turn. They were waiting; some even had their mouths open. It was about time he did a one-eighty-degree.
‘Are you sure, Mr Kumar?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’ Kumar tried to utter in all confidence, but his face was flushed red. The composure seemed to be leaking out of him like water out of a broken bucket.
‘Mr Kumar, are you aware that the Glock in question — the one that fired the fatal shot into Miss Gina Pinto’s body, the one that has been recovered by police this weekend — belongs to your wife, albeit without a licence?’
‘Objection, Janaab,’ Talwar charged. ‘This is something the State has no knowledge of…’
‘That’s all, Your Honour. The defence rests now.’ Jay had a hard time trusting his own voice, but he said it in as calm a voice he could gather.
Talwar looked at Jay in disbelief.
Justice Nair appeared shocked.
Kumar let out a long breath indicating he was fucked. Pure and simple.
It was like Jay had removed the pin and handed the grenade to Talwar. A shark doesn’t need more than a speck of blood to be drawn to its victim. He knew Talwar would, in a moment or two, recover from the premature resting of the defence and realise Jay had handed over the accused to him on the platter. The rest would be easy, as Jay had agreed with Rita that if required she would come to the court for testimony. Jay was confident that Talwar would surely finish the case and bring it to its honest conclusion. It was payback time for Vinay Kumar. And if Rita Kumar had lied to him, Talwar was still the best hound to smell it out. Truth will, in any event, triumph.
More than anything, it was the only true valediction Jay could offer to his mother in heaven.
‘The court shall recess till tomorrow after lunch.’ Even Nair wasn’t stupid. He grasped it too. ‘Mr Talwar, I give you twenty-four hours to do all your searches on the murder weapon and collect any and all evidence you need to conclude the case, now that the defence has no more witnesses. I look forward to the closing statements from both advocates tomorrow evening. Furthermore, I cancel Mr Vinay Kumar’s bail and order that he to be taken into custody with immediate effect— ’
‘But, Your Honour—’ Kumar pleadingly looked at Justice Nair and then at Jay Singh. The membranes in his throat sounded dry like a squeaky door that had suddenly run out of grease. He was royally fucked, if there was any such thing.
‘Mr Kumar, please do not speak when I am talking. I cannot put the entire trial in jeopardy, now Mr Kumar. You are a now clear flight risk from my perspective. You remain under oath and shall be brought in for cross-examination by the State in this court at 1pm tomorrow. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Janaab.’ Talwar couldn’t have sounded any happier. He shared his entire joy with the courtroom.
‘Any objections from you, Mr Singh?’
‘None whatsoever, Your Honour.’
Kumar looked helpless as he saw the bailiff walk towards him to take him away. He turned around and glared at Jay, but didn’t utter anything.
‘You threw away a winning case, Jay,’ Talwar told Jay as the latter was walking out of the court.
‘I saved my soul. Not a bad bargain, is it?’
‘You know you won’t get a single defence case when this thing gets out?’
‘I don’t think I care anymore, Mr Talwar. I trust you to ensure that whoever is guilty gets what they deserve.’
‘You can count on me, Jay.’
‘Thank you, Mr Talwar.’
Evading the media and the crowds, Jay trudged out from the rear of the building. Bhīma was waiting there.
There’s an immense difference between losing a game and throwing it away. Jay Singh had thrown away an inconsequential game. And he was happy. Failure had never tasted so sweet before. But calling it a failure was to take into account merely one dimension in life. Jay had won on several other levels. And it was time for penance. He knew that once conscience grows its legs a defence advocate has to exit the game: even if you have invited both of them at different times of the day, God and the Devil simply won’t dine at the same table.
THIRTY-FOUR
THERE MONTHS LATER:
Yes, it takes a long time to dismantle an empire — however deceitful — you’ve built over the years. I went from being the country’s greatest defence advocate to the chair I had vacated at Tis Hazari courts years ago. Whether I descended or ascended was a matter of moot debate;I gave it all up the day my conscience stirred. Gone were the days of my black suits by a couturier. Now, I prided myself in doing the right thing. Sometimes you define yourself by what you decide in split seconds. As I realised nothing was career-threatening once you decided to give it up of your own volition for your own good.
I spent the last three months doing what I thought was important. First off, I had to protect Yuvraj. I had taken the responsibility of him when I wasn’t a crooked man. It was a promise I made to a dying mother and there was no way I was going to break that. I set up a fool-proof trust for him — I was still a qualified advocate, remember? — that would support him for the rest of his life. His upbringing, all his education till the time he post-graduated or some such. If by then he couldn’t make it, it was his kismet and his problem.
Bahadur decided to retire and return to his country. I, too, couldn’t see what he would do if he had decided to stay with me. I wrote a single cheque that would take care of him even if he decided never to work for a single day of his remaining life. Of course, he could go back to Nepal and spend it in one go on a Blackjack table in a casino. That again, would be his kismet and his problem, though he didn’t look the kind.
My experience has been that often the timing of things you really-really want in life is pure shit. I had really started looking forward to spending time with Manavi, just being with her, had even started to envision spending my entire life with her as my wife. God knows that I loved her and shall do so for the rest of my life. But
, love, like priorities, can change. It was a difficult conversation, but in the end I was successful in explaining it to her. She was young, and had her whole life in front of her. I was winding down, so to speak. She had been through heartbreak before and when she realised I was asking her to leave me, the dam broke. She had stayed at my farmhouse for a week, but I refrained from making love to my girl. I convinced her to follow her dream of going abroad — to the US — to study interior design. If, after she finished the course, she still decided to return I would wait. I knew well that in the three years she spent at New York School of Interior Design studying for an MFA in Interior Design I would be long gone from her memory as a lover. She might still remember me as a benefactor for the rest of her life, someone who paid for her education and made her realise her potential. I would be a good chapter in her life as life moved on and I was happy to support her any which way she wanted later. Except financially, of course, because I would have no money subsequently. I held some of the most prominent personalities by the gonads and made them write the best recommendations they could and got her the admission in the coming fall. I went shopping with her for her clothes all around town. I remember the day Bhīma drove us to IG International Airport to drop her off. It was extremely difficult — almost impossible if you ask me — to let go off someone so beautiful, but I remained strong for her, promised her that I would visit her in the New Year. I knew it was a false promise, but what the heck! This wasn’t the first time I had lied; it would be one of the last times I promised myself.
Passing time has been known to throw dust on memories. At some fucking point your imagination and memories blend so much like the waters of the oceans that it’s hard to discern which is fucking which. Did that really happen or was that something I conjured up? My love for Manavi felt synonymous with fiction now.
Did it ever happen? Was it a dream or did we really make love?
All those things that had once mattered to me seemed frivolous now. I sold off the farmhouse. You’d be surprised that it sold within hours of being advertised. I offered it as-is, didn’t want to remove much chattel from there except my personal stuff, especially my music. No, not the expensive system, I only wanted the music so I ripped all the CDs to fit on my iPod. The Audi was a quick sale too. After paying for Yuvraj, Manavi and Bahadur, I donated all the money to the Jaipur Mental Hospital. They were the ones who had taken care of my mother when I had turned away.
Bhīma was worse than a dog when it came to loyalty. He refused to leave me. After a million conversations I gave up. He told me in as many words that the only way I could get rid of him was to pump bullets into his massive chest. So, in the end, the two stayed on with me: Bhīma and Sheeba. Sheeba: what choice did the poor old girl have? The only two men she ever loved were Bhīma and me. If she was uncomfortable with the destitute life without the air conditioning or the mattress, she never showed it. Our parsimony was acceptable to the old girl. Knowing Bhīma, he was the last man on earth to complain. And I? It was all my doing so I don’t think I had any right to moan or whine.
The three of us lived in the next-door shanty to Akbar Ali and took turns at cooking every night. It was a simple existence. Bhīma was the best cook amongst us. He seemed to have learnt some skills in the army and then later by watching Bahadur.
All four of us went to the Tis Hazari courts every weekday morning without fail. With age having caught up and the traffic in the city becoming unruly by the day, cycling was a forgone thought. It didn’t even occur to us. Plus Sheeba couldn’t ride a bicycle. With my riches denuded, we pooled and bought an old battered Ambassador. It didn’t have air-conditioning and the rattling silencer more than made up for a CD player and the horn.
The best part was that everyone who worked alongside me, when I was a fuck-all nobody, was still there. Stories of my giving up a gold-studded career only enhanced my integrity amongst the community. If they envied me when I was a successful defence advocate, they revered me now. They had no idea what wrongs I had done to get to where I had got. I guess my success covered all the shit. Obviously some laughed at me for giving it all away. No one knew why, and no one bothered. Why should they? We quipped and bantered and laughed like old times.
Some people thought I was crazy, others even said so to my face. You know, sometimes I wondered too. Not sure if you’ve experienced this, but sometimes it takes a while for reality to hit, like in my case. However, when it hit me, it hit real hard. I realised I was just about as important as a speck of superfluous dust; persona non grata Jay Singh. I had been decadent, deceitful, a scoundrel and a legal liar; an outlaw who had been authorised to practise law for a long time, but I was no better than the people I defended — the filthy criminals. It was good that my conscience awoke when it did and I had no regrets. At any rate, if not for my conscience, the alcohol would have got me debarred from being a defence advocate. The end of my career was in a way a relief. The cognitive overload was becoming a burden. I needed a hiatus from running for years, like a marathon runner needs rest after an event.
In some weird sort of way, the game of test cricket is the best metaphor for life. There is a second innings. You get another chance to redeem yourself for all the mistakes you make in the first one. I was playing my final innings. I realised I had become too big an advocate, and it was time to grow and evolve as a human being now. That day in court I had broken a fundamental principle, the one I had lived by as a defence advocate: “Every man has a right to a fair defence and consequently a fair trial”. Something in me told me that was all nonsense and that Vinay Kumar deserved to be incarcerated for the murder of Gina, after having escaped his first murder, which I now believed he had committed;justice had to take place. It was a fallacy that most people believed: that if justice was delayed it was denied. The cliché is fabricated and wrong.
It might have taken a long time, but it had finally clicked. Talwar dug till he got to the evidenced truth. Rita was innocent, as she had confided in me. Kumar got fourteen years in the cell. It wasn’t my way of getting even with Kumar, and I can swear upon God Almighty that I didn’t do it out of spite because he had screwed with me. I merely let it happen because I felt that was the right thing, the honest justice.
Then again, who are we to judge?
My self-aggrandisement was certainly over. My worldly possessions were very few, my needs and wants were even fewer. Simple maths. Material belongings could no longer trap me when I ran out of life. It was no longer important what sound system I listened to the music on; it was important who I listened to with. Led Zeppelin sounded even better in Akbar Ali, Bhīma and Sheeba’s company.
I had spent my whole life so far wishing the nightmarish evening that led to my father’s murder had never occurred; I knew I’d spend the rest of it trying to forget it. The pain wasn’t assuaged, but at least I could see clearly now. A ring of the unknown had been lifted. Not the kind of closure I had expected but a definite closure nevertheless. What changed, however, was I had stopped licking my wounds, I had ceased to feel guilty for what happened almost thirty years ago, reined in being sorry for myself. The pain didn’t vanish. But it ebbed away each day and I was contented… at last. I had spliced my life together. It was now a diorama and not a set of disparate broken pictures.
My biggest challenge, and how it all started in the first place, was to give up alcohol. Reacquainting with a sober life wasn’t easy; it wasn’t impossible either. The day I decided to give up alcohol it felt like an impossible task. In time, it was just another thing to give up. That alcohol was the only intoxication I was suffering from was a fallacy. When I gave up everything else, I also gave up alcohol. Actually, I soon realised there was nothing to “give up” actually. I just quit. I spent evenings with my friend and neigh-bour Akbar Ali — he stopped drinking too — and we still chatted and argued till the small hours of the morning, but we both remained sober. And we still had a lot in common. In fact, we had more in common, now that I had returned to the right side of
the law. We enjoyed life. We had an anthem we always listened to when we got together: “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd.
Everything had evened out in the end for me. I was a small man with unlimited dreams. I had a peak that had taken me to the heights of the career that I had always aspired to, only to learn it wasn’t worth it. But I had to get there to know that it wasn’t there. Happiness and contentment are indefinable words; each one of us finds them in different places.
I sat under a tree, an advocate for the people who needed an advocate, not just who could pay. Unlike Faust, I had decided that I would no longer provide my services to the Devil. I had always believed I was made to walk a walk of shame. Truth was, there was no shame or impotence like there was no success or failure. It was only a perspective.
I dissolved Cooper & Singh — I couldn’t think of ending my association any other way. The rechristened Singh & Son was put under a trust. The partners there were caretakers till Yuvraj decided what to do with his life. If he decided not to be an advocate the entire firm would go to the partners. Should he become an advocate, his share would be sixty per cent that instant.
Mentioning Cooper reminded me to tell you about Cooper.
Some memories are best kept locked in the bottom-most drawer. I put as much distance as I could between him and me. I ignored him even when I saw him. And I saw him a lot in the initial days. Maybe he got the message eventually because he stopped visiting me. I had finally dismantled the bond. The first time he encountered me, he held my eye and asked, ‘Are you happy, my friend?’
‘You tell me who is?’ I responded with a humourless smile and walked on.
I still see Cooper every now and then but we don’t talk. I’m very sure he feels let down that I don’t make any attempts to be social. He might even think I am capricious, but I don’t care. As Anita had explained, the deer had run too far ahead for the cheetah to catch him now. I was over Cooper, I knew he was an illusion; an imaginary friend like Calvin had Hobbes. And for the record, I don’t blame Cooper. In fact, I don’t accuse anyone of anything anymore. I just hark back to the facts every time I get that feeling. I did think of turning myself in but then decided against it. Mum had already paid the price for the crime. It wasn’t a case of my tail between my legs. As Anita had warned, it was an assumption within an assumption; it wouldn’t go very far in the legal framework. Worst case: they’d think I’m loony and I’d be incarcerated in a mental asylum for the rest of my living years, just like my mum. End of.