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Photo: Mahesh Harilal

The Judicial system: In need of an overhaul.

It’s the fast track courts today. The case hasn’t reached very far. After five years, charges are still being framed. Today it is number three on board. Everyone waits. His Honour is well known for coming late on to the bench: never there before noon. But no one dares challenge the incredible waste of public time; instead they sweat gently into their seats and whisper resentfully about the law’s delays inside the filthy little court.

When the Honourable finally arrives, neither prosecution nor defence counsel are present. The accused have been there for hours, their eyes anxiously casting about for their lawyers. The witnesses too are downcast. They have been victims and are frightened all the time. Now they will hang about in close proximity to their tormentors for the whole day and lose a day’s wages in the bargain. But that is hardly the court’s concern.

While we wait, the next case is called. It’s a murder. Five witnesses are to be examined — two doctors and three policemen. The doctors are not around. The police are. The judge asks them if summons have been served to the doctors. Yes, say the smart cops, just this morning, they would have got it by now. The judge knows better. One of the doctors had to come from a town 100 km away and the other from a village 75 km away. The summons had been issued 10 days ago. The judge loses it. “Why did you wait till the 10th day? He shouts, “From top to bottom you are a lazy and corrupt service will never improve.” The audience laughs, happy to hear from on high what they cannot say with any safety. The cops shift on their feet but this is too common to care about and the court is too little a power in their universe to be a serious worry. Nothing is going to happen beyond a few standard slurs.

The judge signals and matters begin. The accused shuffle in and the formalities of examination begin. Meanwhile the Public Prosecutor is nowhere to be seen. His name is called out again and again. Still nothing. The judge takes over and does the examination in chief. The defence then takes on the cross. The case is reinforced by a dying declaration. This is strong stuff and valuable to the prosecution’s chances of getting a conviction. So valuable in fact that the record shows that the police have drawn it out of the dead man an hour after the body had been sent for post mortem examination. The confirming panchnama has been performed even after the dead man’s statements were recorded This proves beyond a shadow of a doubt the old adage that the long arm of the law will get you in the end and now seemingly even beyond the grave if it has to. This is almighty good policing.

The defence asks the cop if there is any possible explanation he would like to put forward for such diligence and tenacity. But the cop is now as quiet: silent as the grave, you might say. The defence goes on. Does the policeman recall that one of the accused had a fractured leg and was on crutches when arrested? Is there a reason why the arrest memo and confirmatory inspection note missed this somewhat obvious condition? More silence ensues, as the defence buries the case.

Given the other circumstances, it’s likely that the police had in fact caught the right lot but no reliable corroboratory evidence has been gathered. As the errors in investigation mount up, the judge intervenes: have senior investigating officers seen these reports; has the case diary had the Deputy Superintendent’s attention? He despairs of responsibility or good practice coming from this quarter and comments: “You people don’t take your work seriously and when the judgement is delivered you blame the judiciary for letting off criminals.”

But all is not lost. There are the expert witness doctors yet to come. At 3 p.m., after the lunch recess, the much awaited doctors appear. The Public Prosecutor is still nowhere to seen and after a few desultory cries for him the judge again takes on expert witness examination. It should be a straightforward formality.

In the cross, the defence counsel establishes that it is the same doctor who has provided the post mortem report. It is indeed. Death, he says, was due to deep head injuries. The bones had been broken and pierced through. The site of injury is clearly mentioned in his report. The defence accepts these truths but is curious: where might the Frontal lobe be, is it in the front above the eyes or on top where the hair grows? The doctor hesitates and points a wavering finger mid-way at his own head. The defence wants clarification: is it up here or down there? But the doctor is accommodating — he is willing to go either way. The defence leaves that alone. The Frontal, it is now established, could be anywhere that is not “backside”. That’s fair enough. But still nice to know where all the other bones might be: so he asks where the Occipital is situated. These long names are getting the doctor down. He is in a sweat: Temporal, Parietal, Occipital — what is all this? What’s in a name? Isn’t it all somewhere around the head? The defence is patient. He asks gently, what the term CSF mentioned in the post mortem is. The doctor perks up. He knows this one. For sure “F” stands for “fluid” but is not really sure about the C or the S. One out of three is surely good enough. The defence thinks so and is satisfied.

The judge is not. The post mortem report is going to have no value if the doctor who did it can not verify it. He explodes. He asks the doctor if he has ever studied medicine; does he have a degree; is he really a registered practitioner? The doctor does not answer. The judge does not want to know. He knows the system too well to take on another battle. He waves him out. The cross is over. The defence rests. The result has been foreclosed.

Our case is called. But the defence lawyer says his submissions will take a full day and asks for a date 10 days hence. The judge knows he should hear the matter day to day. But the day is nearly over and there seems little point in starting arguments now. He has other business to attend to. So he gives a date nine days hence. He says he is helpless. We are all helpless. We bow ourselves out. It’s just another day in the palaces of justice. Ho hum.

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