Chapter 1
“It doesn’t matter what
you do. In the end, you are going to be judged, and all the times that you’re
not at your most dignified are the ones that will be recalled in all their
vivid, heartbreaking detail. And then of course these things will be distorted
and exaggerated and replayed over and over, until eventually they turn into the
essence of you: your cartoon.”
-
Dan Chaon, “Among the Missing”
December 19, 2022
Aloknagri
It was a work-day like
all other days. A sunny, wintry day which can make you forget all your pains
and sufferings. Conversely, it was the kind of day which can make some people’s
desire to inflict pains and sufferings on others flare up.
I was working in my
chamber, hunched in front of the computer, blissfully oblivious of someone’s
devilish plans. A woman, in white salwar kameez and black waist-coat, presented
a document. I pointed out a few lines which would result in the levy of a higher
revenue. The woman introduced herself as a junior lawyer working under Debjyoti
and said that she would strike through the same lines. All of a sudden,
Debjyoti barged inside the office and started shouting as if the office was the
stage of a theatre and he was a jester. I informed him that it was a government
office and not a theatre company, in case he forgot it. He got even more angry
and threatened to teach me a good lesson.
It was lunch time and
sitting inside the inner chamber, I was having lunch when there was loud
banging on the door. It was the peon. He informed me that the lawyers of
Aloknagri Court wanted to meet me. They were not in a mood to wait even for a
minute and threatened to break the door if not given immediate access. I washed
my hands and came outside. It was a scene to behold. Debjyoti had brought with
him a retinue of around fifty lawyers from the court. I didn’t know most of
them, but all of them were clad in white shirts and black coats to let the
world know of their professional identity. They started to holler, to fling all
sorts of humiliating remarks to me, to damage the office paraphernalia. And
they made sure that all those dreadful, demeaning words reached the ears of
their intended recipient, i.e., me.
“She has secured the
government job by paying bribes.”
“She probably belongs to
the category of Scheduled Castes. That’s why she got the job.”
Because surely anyone who
had the temerity to point out the errors of their great, learned friend, must
be a nitwit, someone who, to secure a coveted job, needs to either bribe the
authorities or belong to a caste that has reservations in government jobs.
What did I do? Did I
react? Yes, I am a human being made of flesh and blood. But the shrewd Indranil
came in the scene with his mobile phone and started to capture my every move –
mobile clips that could easily become viral in social media sites. Swapnamoy
took one of his shoes in his hands and rushed forward to beat me. Someone held
his hand in a tight grip to prevent him from doing what he was about to do.
Reporters from two news channels, “Independent TV” and “News 24*7” came in the
office soon thereafter to probe why such a ruckus was being created in a
government office, hampering public service delivery. Surely, the officer in
question must be at fault. Months later, when some miscreants disconnected the
electric supply to the office and normal office work was suspended for days on
end, none of these reporters came to probe why public service was not being
delivered in a government office. Apparently, these sort of issues are not
sensational enough to qualify them for media attention. But what happened on
that fateful day after the mediapersons came?
Debjyoti gave a statement to the media, with a poker face, that as the
officer had demanded a bribe of ten thousand, he was there to protest against
such corruption with his “learned” colleagues. His another “learned” friend,
Aaradhana, claimed in front of the media that the officer had twisted her arms,
that she had used slangs against her – slangs that insinuated the multiple
sexual partners that she had.
All vision became blurred
in front of my eyes. I cried, for the first time in my career.
Later in the evening, I
tried to lodge an F.I.R. (First Information Report) against the miscreants at
the local police station, but in vain. Only a General Diary no. was given, that
too after much persuasion. One of the sub-inspectors of the local
police-station took a picture of the written complaint in his mobile and
promptly sent it to one of the miscreants via whatsapp.
(Note: Section
154(1) of the Criminal Procedure Code, 1973, casts a duty upon the officer in
charge of the police station to register an F.I.R. and initiate investigation
upon receipt of information disclosing commission of cognizable offence. At
this stage, there is no scope for preliminary inquiry by officer in charge to
satisfy himself about the truthfulness of allegations. The police cannot
defer the registration of F.I.R. on the pretext that they are conducting
preliminary inquiry. Action can be initiated against a police officer who has
failed to register an F.I.R. in cases where the factual matrix discloses
cognizable offence.)
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