“It is your last avenue of appeal asking for clemency and as your lawyer, I have to advise you to do it. Of course, if you don’t want to do it, I can’t force you.”
“What is your advice?” he asked.
“My advice obviously is that you should sign the petition and we should send it to the Istana. If not, I would not have bothered to prepare one and come to see you.”
One-eyed Dragon thought for a moment. “You know, I want to defer my execution for as long as I can.”
“Why? Are you afraid to die?” I asked
“No, no, no. I’m not afraid to die. In fact, it would be quite good to die.”
“Then why do you want to delay the execution?”
“When I was arrested and charged, my son was only a few months old. Now he is almost two years old. When he comes to see me, he calls me ‘papa’. I spend time with him even though I’m in this condemned cell. I love that boy and love even more to hear him call me ‘papa’. I just want to hear him call me that for a few months more. That’s why I hope to have the execution delayed.”
I told him that when I send the petition to the President, I could include a note stating his wish. It could give him a little more time. He instructed me to do that.
“The people here say that one way to get more time is to change lawyers. They said I should tell the Superintendent that I don’t like my present lawyers and that I want to replace them and that would give me some time,” One-eyed Dragon said.
I agreed with this. “There you are. They’ve given you a way to get your extension. Why don’t you just replace me? Get another lawyer.”
He smiled at me. “You know I thought about it but I don’t want to do that. When my wife came to see you to appear for me in the Court of Appeal, you agreed to do so. I know you’ve been a good counsel and you’ve done the best you could for me. I can follow all the arguments you put forward in my defence because the interpreter was there. I don’t think it’s right for me to replace you because people will think that you’ve done something wrong and that you had to be replaced. Nobody would know the real reason and I don’t want to do that to you because, you see, I respect you quite a lot.”
I was really moved and thanked him for his compliment. But I assured him that I wouldn’t mind if he replaced me with another lawyer just to get his extension. He reiterated that he did not think it was right or fair to me. We could not even shake hands. I just placed my palm against the glass panel and he put his palm against mine on the other side.
As I walked away, I saw Sunil approaching me. He had just come from interviewing another client in the prison. As we walked together to the prison’s main exit, I told Sunil what One-eyed Dragon and I talked about. He just smiled. Even though my nephew has been in practice only for three years, he has proven to be a man with a lot of passion for criminal law. He defends the accused very passionately and he does everything he can for them. He is very conscientious.
“Well, at least One-eyed Dragon feels that we have done the best for him,” he said.
“Yes, it looks as though our best is not good enough. It looks as though so often our best is not good enough.”
Sunil remained quiet.
He looked at me and asked, “Are you very tired?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You sound very tired,” he replied.
I told him I was a little tired and frustrated. Sometimes I wish I can retire and forget about criminal law and all these accused persons and their problems. I told Sunil I may retire sometime at the end of 2009.
He said: “Valiachan (‘big father’ in Malayalam), you’ve been saying this from the time I’ve been your assistant but every year something comes up and you’ve gone on to fight.”
“I suppose so.”
At the exit gate, we retrieved our identity cards and returned the prison entry cards. Sunil asked me to wait there while he fetched the car which was parked quite a distance away. We’ve always had to park a long distance away. It’s not often that lawyers for the accused get to park within the prison compound, which is mainly reserved for civil servants. A police sergeant who is there to take a statement from an accused person will be given a choice parking lot. People like me, who can’t walk long distances due to ill health and who go there for official reasons, are treated like third-class citizens and do not get the same privilege of parking inside.
As I was waiting for Sunil, a guard, an Indian woman, came out and asked me, “Mr Subhas, are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes, I can’t walk. So my nephew has gone to get the car. I’m waiting for him.”
“If he has gone outside to get the car, he’s going to take a while, sir. Please come inside and take a seat in the air-conditioned room while you wait.”
I explained that I had already returned the prison entry card but she insisted that I should wait in the comfort of the air-conditioned room. I was very grateful to her. Another guard showed his hospitality by adjusting the temperature of the air-conditioning as I was still feeling a little hot. Many of the prison wardens greeted me and enquired after my health as they walked past. Some even offered to get me a drink which I politely refused.
As I looked around, I thought to myself: “Years have passed and I really appreciate that at least some people recognise some of the good things I have done. I have in my twilight years become some sort of celebrity but I wonder how long that will last. People have short memories and very easily you can become yesterday’s hero.”
EXCERPTS FROM “IT’S EASY TO CRY”
When I was released from prison in 1976, I wanted to write a book about my experiences in prison. When that was reported in the press, David Marshall, who was my lawyer then, rang me up and said to me, “Be careful, my lad. You don’t want to look for trouble. You may state issues that are protected by the Official Secrets Act. I suggest that you hold on.” I took his advice and held on for a very long time — until 2008 when I wrote my first book, which became an instant hit and stayed on the bestsellers chart for a long time. I had initially thought to title it “It’s Easy to Cry” but instead titled it “The Best I Could”.
I decided that my second book would be called “It’s Easy to Cry” because it is dedicated to cases that bring humanity and emotions to the forefront and there are cases where people have pleaded guilty just to save somebody else or to ensure that somebody else does not get into trouble.
In August 2013, I was beginning to feel unwell, but I was still working. I was in my office when my assistant, Diana Ngiam, brought one of the Submissions that she had prepared. I looked at the Submission and said that there were missing points. She had failed to mention some of the facts that happened in court. She said, “You know, Uncle, I’ve gone through the notes very carefully.” I said, “Go and look at it once more.” She went back to her room and later realised that I was right. She approached my nephew, Sunil, who was working with me, and said, “Uncle may be getting older but he is still very sharp. His memory is so good.” Sunil laughed. She came back with the amended Submission, and this time I said, ‘Yes, this is what I wanted.” Diana is a very intelligent girl, very compassionate to all, including the accused persons. Sometimes she feels too much and that is not good, but I am glad that she’s part of my team. After reading the Submission and approving it, I told her, “Diana, I’ve got a funny feeling that I will not be accompanying you and Sunil to court anymore. I somehow feel that my career is going to be over soon.” She looked at me and said, “You may be a little under the weather but you are not going to die. Don’t talk like that.” She was very upset. I said that there was no point being upset for this was what I felt. She came nearer and looked at me and said, “No, Uncle, you are going to be with us for many more years.” I laughed.
In September that year, I fell ill and was taken to hospital. I was diagnosed with heart failure, and after some rest in the hospital I was discharged. Soon after, I resumed work but realised that I was not able to cope with full work. I
was going in and out of hospital over the next couple of months, and finally fell gravely ill in mid December 2013. Doctors were at their wits’ end as to what they could do for me and several propositions were put to me, all of which I had initially rejected. By the year end, one of the doctors gently explained to my wife and my elder sister that my sole kidney was failing and there was nothing more they could do other than dialysis, and even that was risky due to my failing heart. He offered palliative support if my family so needed and indirectly suggested that there was nothing more they could do for me. On hearing this, both my wife and sister decided that they were not giving up on me and with their faith in God, they believed that I would be well again. My wife explained the circumstances to me and insisted that I should fight on. Gently, I told her, “Ask Dr. Ching to see me.” Associate Professor Ching Chi Keong is my cardiac electrophysiologist. He had recommended the insertion of a Cardiac Resynchronisation Therapy Device (CRTD), which I had initially rejected. As it was the least invasive, I finally decided that I should give it a shot. I should not go without putting up a fight.
The procedure was a success but sadly, by then, my kidney had been impaired. I was required to go for dialysis three times a week. This altered my lifestyle significantly. I found it hard to cope emotionally and I would get upset with myself, depressed and frustrated with what I had to deal with — three times a week, being pricked twice on the arm at each session and being confined to an uncomfortable chair for four hours to dialyse my blood. It was during the long and weary four hours that I decided I should start dictating my second book to keep myself occupied.
It has been an emotionally and physically tormenting experience coping with my poor health. I was previously racing through my life, but suddenly, that lifestyle has come to a grinding halt. It was hard to bear. The positive thoughts that got me through these low points were my wish to see my son graduate; my niece, Sunita, get married; and to attend my nephew, Naresh’s, wedding. Inevitably, there were moments of depression when I forgot these desires and allowed myself to dwell on negative thoughts.
My wife, Vimi, would always tell me, “Be brave, think of positive things, know that your glass is not half empty, it’s half full. We are here with you and I will never leave you. We will always take care of you. Don’t be afraid.” Sometimes when I am down, I feel like no one understands me. When I am alone in my room, or alone attempting to read a book, negative thoughts would creep into my mind and that whole day is ruined.
I find that dictating while doing dialysis is not as easy as I thought. You are with other patients, and nurses are walking up and down monitoring you. Suddenly, you realise that you are totally dependent on the dialysis machine for your life. Then, depression hits and you wonder why you have to go through this stage, and there are even times when you curse God. But, there are also times when you pray to Him. It’s all a confused state of mind. Sometimes, you even question the existence of God and wonder whether you are actually going to some place that does or doesn’t exist. But deep inside, with my religious upbringing and the fact that I am the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of a temple, there lies a conviction within me that there is a God and God works in mysterious ways. You really do not understand some of the things He does, but again you must learn to accept it. The process of accepting is difficult but slowly I am getting the knack of it.
They say that in any incident, there will always be a silver lining. To me, my illness made me a more realistic person, one who realises that in the past, I got all my priorities wrong. It was my career first, my career second, and my career third. I didn’t make time for my wife and son. I didn’t make time for my siblings and I didn’t make time for my very close friends. These are the people who are now with me through my difficult times. It is in the time of crises that you know who your friends truly are.
I have reached the age of sixty-seven years and they have been very eventful sixty-seven years. There are many things that I have done that I regret but then a life without any regrets is really not a life, is it?
Subhas passed away on January 7, 2015. These are excerpts from It’s Easy To Cry, which Subhas dictated while on dialysis. The book is scheduled for publication in 2016.
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