As a child, I had imagined the court system to be what I had read in a book, दास्तान ए मुल्ला नसरुद्दीन: Stories of Mulla Nasruddin by Ved Prakash (I never knew the author-name of this book in Hindi until this moment when I came to the courtyard of a taluka court in a small town). It was an open courtyard with everything in shades of brown and the walls in cream and a few trees under which, stalls were set up by advocates.
I was watching the market open. Somewhere, a typewriter on a plastic table. Huge summer umbrellas marking the difference between a premium and a regular seller.
Notice तले जा रहे थे… (notices being fried, hot and fresh out of the typewriter for INR 2000 after discount. Some were brushing off potential clients because of their rags and bicycles).
Like a law fearing citizen who says “मेरा भारत महान”, I avoid advocates and courtrooms like we should avoid covid.
But today, I came inside the perimeter to drop a friend. I had an hour to watch people and google. I started searching for the book I had read in childhood.
Inside, she was arguing that a case cannot be restored after 4 years, 8 months when it has been disposed of for not paying the processing fee, whatever that is. Outside, a very ancient man was being told off for bringing the wrong colour of paper for getting some document prepared.
About 300 meters away from me:
An advocate on his chair: “नहीं नहीं इसमें नहीं चलेगा।” (No no, it won’t work)
His hands and his expressions said, leave.
The old man stared helplessly then folded the A4 white paper and put it back in his pocket and limped away, bent double on a broken piece of wood. He adjusted his makeshift walking stick on his bicycle.
And to my left:
“નોટિસ ના અઢી હજાર થશે।” (Notice will be for two thousand and five hundred)
“ना ना ना! last time તમે બે હજાર बोले थे।” (No No No! Last time you said two thousand).
“ठीक है तो दो हज़ार दे दो , दो हज़ार में कर दूंगा।” (Fine…)
“कल typing और print करके दे दूंगा।” (Arrogant tone up till this point)
The bargaining man took out the first note of 100 Rs from his pocket, then the second, third. I was counting from my peripheral vision. The advocate was counting from his seat and the man was counting with his hands, slowly.
He was counting the notes carefully, to avoid accepting the realisation that maybe he does not have 2000 Rs. Minus some.
Now 200 meters from me, the man with the white A4 sheet turned his bicycle left from the main gate and peddled out of my sight.
I think no one helped so he left.
The End
…
“કોઇ વાંધો નહી, તમે ઘરે આવી જાજો। (No problem, come to my home)
ઘરેથી કરાવી દઈશ।” (Will get it done from home)
Don’t mind the advocate’s broken Gujarati. He was in a hurry. The money had exchanged hands. The arrogance vanished and a smile appeared on his face as he hurriedly got up, put the bundle of 2000 Rs in his pocket, sat on his bike, and rode out the main gate.
The buyer kept standing there for a few moments, looking towards the tea stall. It was a hot noon. He wanted to have a glass of cutting chai, like others.
But he had purchased a legal notice. His pockets were empty.
He left.
…
The old man and his black bicycle came rumbling in. Weird.
I thought he had quit. His leg was giving him trouble but his hand carried two sheets, white and green.
The green paper is longer in size than the white paper. To save paper I suppose…
Justice is blind, judges are the guardians inside courtrooms, once the green paper is typed, notarized, stamped and filed.
Thank god for law and order. In the book I read, the court system was:
“और फिर दरबार से आवाज़ आयी, मुल्ला नसरुद्दीन हाज़िर हो !!!”
https://ia902909.us.archive.org/35/items/in.ernet.dli.2015.377748/2015.377748.Daastaane-Mulla.pdf