Sharma looked at the explosive material spread on his table with an uneasy calm. No, it was not dynamite that was before him. Yet, it could be equally destructive if not handled promptly. What lay before him was a big pile of government files with intelligence inputs that streamed incessantly from CBI, RAW, IB, security forces manning the national borders and coast guards who guarded the sea zealously day and night. While it is generally believed that government files move sluggishly, the papers that Sharma dealt were in constant movement because the top priority was accorded to them to ensure the safety of life and property of the citizens of the country. Often he likened his files to icebergs whose tips only were visible but the more menacing parts were below the surface. The dossiers of Naxalites , terrorists, rioters, scammers, white collar criminals and all likely trouble makers including dubious characters in politics, religion, business and Bollywood were neatly lying in those files.
Sharma was just a Confidential Assistant to the Joint Secretary (Internal Security) in the Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India. In his thirty years of service he felt he had seen all as he rose from the lower ranks to his present post. He had watched at least a dozen Joint Secretaries from close quarters - hard working, carefree, vigilant, polite, rude, arrogant, friendly, ambitious, helpful, aloof and what not. Therefore, he did not expect anything unfamiliar when the present incumbent was substituted by Kripal Singh, a fifty-year old IAS officer, who was on the verge of his next promotion. It is said that life can always spring new surprises at every turn. Sharma was also not prepared for what he would learn later about his new boss who was to take charge the next day. A day's absence of his boss from office explained the reason for the mountain of files lying on his table because it could not be disposed by the competent authority.
In government, the reputation of an officer arrives much before he does. Kripal Singh was a six footer fearless Sikh who walked erect and his colorful starched turban added an extra gravitas to his towering personality. He was a stickler of rules and procedures which was anyway expected of an upright officer. For some unknown reason he had remained a bachelor. Another interesting trivia, only if it could be categorized as trivial, about him was that at the end of each financial year he would donate his entire savings in charity to Harminder Sahib Gurudwara. His colleagues often chuckled that he had taken the concept of zero budget too seriously in his personal life. Lack of family obligation facilitated his Spartan life, without heart burning and grumbling from any quarter. Sharma had to admit that he had not come across such a self-less and generous superior officer earlier. There was yet another dramatic aspect of his boss that would be revealed in due course - something that the unscrupulous elements of the society and disgruntled colleagues would call a chink in Kripal Singh's impeccable armor of unquestionable sincerity and credibility.
Kripal Singh joined the Ministry of Home as ordered earlier and put himself to the job at hand instantly. He pored over the random inputs from the various agencies, collated them, considered their implications, analyzed the past patterns of the events and strategized the appropriate responses for strengthening the government machinery. It was evident that hundred tragedies and disasters that were prevented because of the careful scrutiny and planning in his office did not earn him any accolades but one slip anywhere along the chain of command could bring the media howling at his door. It was indeed a high pressure task, maneuvering between his assurance of protection given to the security agencies for harsh and brutal methods of questioning the hard core terrorists on one hand and the International as well as National Human Rights Commission on the other.
Days passed by and Sharma gelled amicably with the efficient and rule bound Kripal Singh. The new incumbent spared no effort to improve the system by regular monitoring. However, Sharma was intrigued by the fact that Kripal Singh often asked him to connect to the jail superintendent of Tihar prison but the conversations would never last more than a minute. While the entire Delhi police force was under the jurisdiction of Kripal Singh and senior officers were available to him at his beck and call, he chose to talk directly to a person very low in the official hierarchy though that was actually not a norm in the government system. Sharma did not bother much about this aberration till one day when the jail superintendent himself called on the land line and requested boldly to be connected to the Joint Secretary. This baffled Sharma because even IG prison would initially ask hesitantly whether it was convenient to talk to the Joint Secretary before requesting to be connected. There was no such hesitation in the voice of the jail superintendent and Sharma connected him immediately.
Piqued by his own curiosity and against the usual practice of putting down his phone after transferring the call to his boss, Sharma clung to his instrument with the intention to eavesdrop on the conversation from the bizarre source. He could hear the caller saying, "Sir, the inmate has finally agreed to meet you."
Kripal Singh responded excitedly, " When can I meet him?"
"Sir, according to the jail manual, visitors are allowed only on Sundays from 11 AM to 1 PM. Moreover, other than judicial officers and people related to the case, only those visitors are allowed to meet the inmates whose names have been categorically given by the prisoners and duly put in our records. Unfortunately, sir's name has not been registered with us. Nevertheless, I will make an exception in your case if you can come tomorrow during lunch time when all others will be busy eating." It was evident that the jail superintendent was taking pain to make it clear that he was going out of the way to oblige Kripal Singh.
Kripal Singh thanked the jail superintendent profusely, promised to come the next day and he put the phone down with a sigh of relief.
On the following day Kripal Singh drove to Tihar jail in his personal car where he was received by the jail superintendent at the heavily guarded main gate that opened slowly when signaled by the latter. The jail superintendent escorted Kripal Singh through a large open compound surrounded by the high walls that were kept under a strong vigil by armed sentries in the watch towers overlooking them. After all, Tihar was the highest security prison where dreaded criminals were detained during trial and after conviction.
After meandering through winding corridors Kripal Singh was led to a small room furnished only with a tiny table and four wooden chairs. He sat expectantly on one of those chairs as the jail superintendent stood before him and explained, "Sir, the under trial you want to see was not at all willing to meet you. I requested him on your behalf so many times but he was always adamant. After great persuasion he has agreed finally to see you for the first and last time. I will now go and fetch him."
Kripal Singh nodded in gratitude as the jail superintendent left the room with a satisfied smile. He returned ten minutes later with a very old and tall Sikh, two inches taller than Kripal Singh himself, in prison clothes. His deeply wrinkled facial expression displayed clearly that he abhorred seeing his visitor. The jail superintendent was taken aback when Kripal Singh got up respectfully from his chair as they entered the room. The distinguished guest took two steps and touched the feet of the prisoner and uttered softly, " Pairi pauna bauji."
The old Sikh smiled weakly and patted Kripal Singh's back with affection and yielded weakly to his hug. Kripal Singh looked at the jail superintendent with authority and asked for privacy to talk to the prisoner. The superintendent withdrew from the room silently but quite perplexed.
An uncomfortable silence spread in the room as the two men looked at each other. Kripal Singh cleared his throat and begged in an emotionally charged voice, "Bauji, after your arrest I have attempted to meet you so many times but you have been stalling my efforts.”
The old Sikh averted Kripal Singh's gaze and looked with composure at the tattoos on his both hands below the wrists that had Satnam Omkar engraved boldly in black. After remaining unresponsive for a few moments he lifted his eyes to Kripal Singh's face and replied painfully,"Puttar, I am aware of your intentions to meet me but I deliberately avoided seeing you."
Kripal Singh gave a hurt look, "I fail to understand as to why a person will keep away his only son away and refuse any help from him. You very well know that I hold a very important post in government and I can assist you in your case."
"It is precisely because of your position in government that I want you to keep away from me, lest some harm comes to you on my account. You are aware that I have been booked for treason against the country. All people related to me will be under a scanner and will be suspected of plotting against the nation. It is in your interest only that I have disowned you or else your career will be adversely affected, notwithstanding your premier service and good reputation." The old Sikh made his stand very clear.
The old man continued further, "It is only known to me and the Almighty that I am innocent and I will never even think of acting against the interest of my motherland. However, the circumstantial evidence stands against me. I had lent Rupees fifteen lakhs to my school friend, Bagga, as he requested some financial help to tide over difficult times. Unknown to me, Bagga used this money to fund the anti- national movement being harbored by few militants in Canada. Bagga has now absconded and a lookout notice has been issued against him. The security agencies followed the trail of Bagga's financial transactions and arrested me. I have become a victim of gross misunderstanding and am likely to face conviction. Yet, I have no regrets."
Kripal Singh listened to his father's pathetic narration with remorse and consoled him, "Don’t worry bauji. We will engage the best criminal lawyer to fight the case to prove you innocent. Your simple life and public service will convince the judge that the security agencies have arrested you erroneously."
The father's patience was wearing thin by now. With a stern expression he asked, " Puttar, do you recall the story of Sohrab and Rustum that I used to tell you when you were a child? "
The old man reminisced, "In that classic poignant story, the mighty Rustum killed his own son, Sohrab, a warrior from the opposing army, without knowing that he was deputed by his king to fight a man to man duel against his own blood. The father- son duo had never seen each other. Sohrab knew only the name of his famous father because Rustum had left on a series of battles immediately before Sohrab was born and his wife kept the birth of the son a secret from the father. The wife had not disclosed to Rustum about Sohrab, fearing the loss of her son who would otherwise be brought up as a warrior in accordance with the father's passion and profession, against the wish of the mother."
The old Sikh strained further, "In my battle against the government, I do not wish any harm to come to my puttar on my account. Whatever you do to save me, even if perfectly legal, may have a severe backlash on your career and personal life."
Kripal Singh sat muted throughout as he heard his father's outpouring. When the old Sikh paused for a moment, Kripal Singh pleaded, " I have an obligation too as a son. I cannot abandon you in this crisis, whatever be the consequences that I may have to face."
Suddenly the old Sikh sprang to his feet agitatedly and spoke with fire in his eyes, " It is precisely for this reason that I was not allowing you to see me. You may leave now. Do not try coming here in future and do not request the jail superintendent for another meeting again as I will not yield anymore. Consider me dead till I am acquitted. Forget me if I am convicted. God bless you." He tottered away slowly out of the room, leaving behind Kripal Singh sitting irresolutely in his chair, too shocked to absorb the implication of what he had heard.
The jail superintendent returned after a while to escort Kripal Singh out of Tihar premises. There was an awkward silence between them but Kripal Singh was too numb to engage in any polite conversation. He just repented that he could not even offer the last customary obeisance of a son to his father. The huge prison gates shut behind him ominously.
Footnotes:
Pairi pauna : A traditional greeting from the young to the old among Punjabis equivalent to charan sparsh
Bauji : old man or father
Puttar: son
Sohrab and Rustum is a narrative poem published in 1853 by Mathew Arnold
Very touchy indeed.
Very different from your past posts, Sir..... A real touching story. Thanks for sharing.