Crime and Punishment

I am a criminal lawyer practicing since over ten years. Generally, if not regularly, I keep an account of the cases that I take up. In leisure time, I glance through this diary of mine to compare what appealed me yesterday and what appeals me today as a person, as a professional who, ideologically, should contribute to the protection of integrity of society and it's people somehow. I had encountered crimes that were committed under extremity of insanity, crimes that can be partially or totally justified, crimes that are extremely despicable. But this case to me, for which the judgment had been pronounced yesterday, is a riddle. Characteristically it was a straight forward, very short case. It was fought single-handedly by the accused and left me and the people spell bind.

He was a fourth year engineering student. In the FIR I read that he was discovered, sitting on the floor of a typical boy's room, calm and composed. Before him laid the dead body of a student whose right wrist was slit and for that reason his right hand was soaked in blood. There was a broken glass beside; air of the room was heavy with smell of cigarette consumption. From some distance away of all these, a stream of scotch had flown on the floor wetting the ashes and the filters of the cigarettes. It seemed that the diminishing fires of the filters was extinguished by alcohol. On a corner of that room a girl was sitting on the floor; her arms curled around her legs that are folded close to her body and her chin resting on her knees. Charge sheet of the case mentioned nothing more than this that the boy confessed to have killed that another boy and told that the girl was merely a spectator and in no way involved. Police was clueless about the motive because the four month long investigation have brought out no conclusive fact. It finally rested upon the accused to reveal the facts in court hearings.

I had been appointed for him by his family. In the first hearing, after the filing of charge sheet, I bought time from court for routine talks with my client to understand this case. The judge gave the next hearing date after four months from then on. From that day till yesterday I indulged myself extensively with the accused, but not for a moment, at any day, he revealed any fact regarding this case or answered any of my questions. Every time he replied me this, "I will narrate everything in the next hearing before the law, before the society, before the people, before my parents." I was heavily surprised to see that even the girl was not ready to disclose anything, she had always asked to me to wait patiently for his verdict. And the parents of both persons were as clueless as the police; parents of deceased were of equal tone of not telling anything. The reason that I didn't leave the case mid-way was that the silence of those two persons was constantly giving me a spine chilling feeling that there's a deep reason which at least partially justifies his act; after a stage I began to decrease the number of my visits to him in custody and waited anxiously for his revelation in court.

A moderately fair complexioned guy with black serene eyes he was; dressed in casuals he was produced in the court and placed in the witness box. After the initial formalities when the judge ordered to start the proceedings, he pronounced an apology to me and narrated this--

"I and he met in the same class in the first year of our engineering. He was strikingly unusual; stereo-typical in behavior, blunt in talks, flat tones while speaking with minimum modulations in voice and at times repeating the talks. And in not so long time I got to know from a professor that he was an autistic individual, an individual who's not able communicate his feelings and his emotions well. Being eclectically inclined always and having a fascination for the unusual I intended to begin a relationship with him; I found him responding well to my initiation. Being in the same hostel, we interacted mostly in the evening after classes sometimes in his room, sometimes in mine, sometimes walking on the near by streets. His talks suggested that he was identifying a connection with me.

Books and music were his passions. I was enthralled to discover him one evening sitting on the window facing the twilight and playing a guitar singing "Badi sooni sooni hai..." I was mesmerized that moment; not able to think how a person who fails to express his emotions could pour so much ardor in his singing. I lauded him with multiple adjectives and he shyly thanked me. From that day listening to his singing became a daily affair; sometimes he sang in night and sometimes in evenings but the sitting place was fixed. "Kuch to log kahenge...", "Kiska rasta dekhe...", "Woh shaam kuch ajeeb thi...", "Aaye tum yaad mujhe..." were the kind of songs he gave rendition to. While singing in night, usually the sessions were embellished with glasses of alcohol under dim lights. It appeared as a drunk nightingle, sitting in a dark space with a naive human being, giving teachings that sorrow also gives wisdom in life. More the glasses he took inside him more he seemed to lost control over his voice and more I fell in romance with his inebriated, uncontrolled, heavy voice; I felt it to touch my arousals. And after sometime he used to sleep with his palm clinging one of mine.

He was the only child and his parents used to visit him quite frequently and he used to meet them carrying an immense thirst of love. They too appeared to pour loads of affectionate hugs. He was given books most of the times by his parents. Appeared to have a strong bond in his family yet controlled in all senses. It was the most disheartening moment for him to see his parents departing and he had to begin the daily routine from tomorrow. On that day and following 1 or 2 days he used to talk to almost nobody, not even me.

It was in second year when we moved to a small rented flat that we interacted more closely. His talks were mostly centered around himself: his interests, his appeals, his wailing, his beauty; he was aware of his abnormality. 'Life offers you challenges at every step whether you anticipate or not and that's why you are always involved in fighting with one or the other things in life. I am a fighter, I never quit. Quitters are losers. I may fail for the first time but I keep on trying until I succeed.' These were the words that got me a glimpse of his strength of mind. And very often he softly hugged me after his inspirational talks and I used to close my eyes for that moment and ran my palm on his hairs. Never at any time I found his inspirational talks turning sanctimonious; guess a virtue he imbibed from his parents because the entire family loved books very much. He used to like big trees because according to him it represents patience as it bears so much sunshine all throughout the day without fading it's colors. And the arrival of tranquility of night was the result of trees' patience, he used to tell.

I asked about his source of inspiration and he told that he loved the daily toils of human, everyday fights of survivals; those acted as inspirations to him. I asked him how much he's attached to his parents and he replied that he loves them more than me. I smiled and he too, I used to laud him for his virtues and he hugged me with thanks. Only thing that irritated him was if anybody didn't listen him or cut him half way in his talks; he used to get fumed but my one touch to his back calmed him down in an amazing way.

I tried to peep inside him and his so far life and he, with ardent enthusiasm, revealed things. He was happy with his so far life, but occasionally, dark shadows of disappointment that he can't communicate his feelings, made him sulked in oppressing silence. In those moments he used to sit on the window and stared to sky and then to me. In fact he didn't use to look towards me exactly; he asked me to sit under the dim green light and glanced me from top to bottom in regular intervals.

He began his singing ceremony one night with the song "Aaj jaane ki zid na karo..." while everything was same. He sang no other song that night and kept repeating it. He roamed in the whole room singing that song and took out a pair of woman's lingerie from the wardrobe. I was taken aback and couldn't understand this act. He stopped singing suddenly, stood like an inanimate object and put the things back to it's place. I was relieved but I couldn't resist my mind to wander to seek an explanation of this. He came close to me, left the guitar beside my chair and put his palms on my upper thighs. A humming by him had replaced the lyrics of the song. His face was expressionless but by his gestures I was enthusiastic for the next moment. He ran his forefinger along my nose down to my throat reached my lower belly through chest. It was the day when I discovered that my sexuality didn't fit in the established patterns of societal norms. During the session he clung my soft parts tightly in order to express pleasure. We were blissful after an hour of touches and slept a sound, serene sleep with his head resting on the left of my chest and his hand embracing my stomach. Once we crossed our first barrier, we felt contended to have found someone to whom we can connect to. And with each passing day he was transforming himself to play a woman role gesturing me to play man's role.

But still the mystery continued to knock my mind that from where those woman's lingerie came and why until one day I discovered the fact. I went for a casual walk to breathe some fresh air in a summer evening, came back late in the evening. As I entered into the flat and went to my room, I saw him with a young girl; both are embraced to each other in scantily clad clothes and seemed as if they began to sense the warmth of each others body a little while back only. My sudden arrival embarrassed the girl who went away to dress up, but he was not shy. He dressed up and stood before me firm and expressionless. Girl was about to go but he stopped her and asked her to stay back tonight; she agreed. She seemed to be a cosmo girl, flamboyant in her styles but serene from inside as her eyes suggested. We sat down; she at a distance and lit a cigarette. Room was bright with tube light and outside was dark. He dispelled a half an hour of silence by this, "It's been four years she's with me. When my parents discovered my affinity towards males, I don't remember how, they fumed and considered me a mentally rotten being even after the medical certification that I am mentally perfectly fit. They decided to cure me by making me get in touch with a girl so that I can learn to be normal. They searched her with burdening her the task of eradicating my homosexuality and a promise that we will get married after few years. I must admit there's no dearth of efforts from her side and I too am equally sincere in learning. She cajoled me to love her, introduced me with people alike and different to me, taught me the art of seduction and pleasure with opposite gender. But alas nothing of these aroused my sensuality towards her and somehow I began to hate the society and my parents and everybody. But when I met you and the way you gave importance to me, started to adore me, willing to know me it seemed to an end of my eternal wait to find someone who can make me comfortable. I grew bolder because I knew I was far away from my parents. But in the meantime she continued to meet me periodically carrying on with her efforts dedicating herself to her task. I didn't know, on that first night, whether you too enjoy my companionship or not due to which I thought of wearing those to give you a feeling of woman's touch but I  was resisted by your facial expression. And after the first stint I found myself extremely relieved of my notion. I don't know whether I should have revealed you this from start because I feared of losing you but if you are hurt now I am sorry, I am sorry."

He went to sleep immediately after this as if a kid feeling sleepy after he had narrated a fascinating story to someone elder than him. Girl was silent for long but she too went to sleep. From that night and in following days, I was meddling between forgiving him and fuming over him. We both were in blues; he probably because of a guilty concious feeling and I for his deed. I was dwelling whether to term it as infidelity or not. I was reluctant to call it infidelity considering the imposition put on him under his prevailing mental disorderliness. But my ego was occassionally refusing to forgive him. In those days I found him slowly getting inside his shell. His usual chit chats, inspirational talks used to lost the way in between. He used to sing still either in night or in evening but the fervor in them used to get diluted after some stanzas. He no more asked me to sit under that green dim light, didn't crave for my attention. He appeared to act, live and sing to pardon himself. And from thay day I didn't see that girl in our flat although I didn't know whether he continued to interact with her or not.

That day when I was discovered from the scene of crime, in the morning, I made up my mind to apologize to him and ask him to go with his parent's dreams. To make hm realize that I forgave him and not angry anymore I planned to celebrate the night with him playing guitar and singing with scotch glasses. When I reached home and stepped inside that room I saw him and the girl sitting on floor. He pulled me and made me sit in front of him and asked me of the reason for bringing this scotch bottle; I reasoned. And he spoke for the last time, "I despise this society who are illiterate to treat homosexuality as a mental disorder and for that reason I despise my parents that they are part of this society. Like many others I too dreamt of a partner who'll love me and marry me but I wished a male and that was declared crime by this fearful, crooked society. My parents will never accept both of us together. I offer my gratitude of a life time that you came close to me and cared for me so much. I respect her too widely for her efforts. Ours is termed as an illicit relationship by the hypocrites who showcase it by talking of inclusive growth of society. I had earlier been robbed off from my affinity; I re-discovered it through you but it's again on the verge of robbing. And now I don't have the courage to face this and therefore I make a request to you to make me rest in peace tonight. Outside world can't understand me due to my autism, but it'll understand you. Kill me as a mark of our failure and enunciate the reason when you will be be presented in court. I would wish the law awards you death penalty so that you can come soon to me." I was spell bound by listening to his such calm-minded, bold and thoughtful talks which in no time persuaded me that he was saying and ordering right. She smoke cigarettes after cigarettes listening to him. He prepared the first toast for us and we drank glasses after glassed in deafening silence. At the remainder of last few pegs in the bottle, I suddenly broke the one of the glass and immediately slit his right wrist. The scotch bottle fell down by flutters of his legs wetting the filters. And in the very next moment she rested her lips on his; I turned jealous for depriving me from this act because after all I considered myself as his only true love. All silenced soon; she went to a corner to curl herself up with eyes closed and I was adoring the dead. He and his blood was appearing calm in that dim green light; I was watching him from top to bottom. I tried crying but it never came out."

There was pin-drop silence in the court; the judge broke it by pronouncing the death penalty to him and a minor form of punishment to the girl. This case will be engraved in my mind forever; it's difficult to tell whether they should have gone for legal battle. This case will probably lead me to despise the people who are stubborn not to accept homosexuality as a part of our society. An innocent man wished his innocence in a way that was taught to us by our age old principles as a heinous crime. He was not rotten, we and our beliefs are rotten. I will pray for that dawn when we will learn to respect each others choice and let each other live peacefully with their choices.