MY JAIL EXPERIENCES-IX

[Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav]

Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav

Gandhian Scholar

Gandhi Research Foundation, Jalgaon, Maharashtra, India

Contact No. – 09415777229, 094055338

E-mail- [e-mail];[e-mail]

 

 

 

MY JAIL EXPERIENCES-IX

 

 

 I have already dealt with the system of appointing convicts as officers or warders. I hold the system to be thoroughly bad and demoralizing. The prison officials know it. They say it is due to economy. They think that the jails cannot be efficiently administered with the present paid staff without supplementing it with convict-officers. There is no doubt that, unless the reform suggested by me in the last chapter is inaugurated, it is not possible to do away with the system of entrusting convicts with responsible duties without a very large increase in the prison expenditure. However, it is not my purpose in this chapter to deal any further with prison reform. I simply wish to relate my happy experiences of the convict officers who were appointed to watch over and look after us. When Mr. Banker and I were transferred to the Yeravda Central Prison, there was one warder and one bardasi. The latter is what the name implies, a mere servant. The convict warder whose acquaintance we first made was a Hindu from the Punjab side. His name was Harkaran. He was convicted of murder. The murder according to him was not premeditated but due to a fit of anger. By occupation he was a petty merchant. His sentence was fourteen years, of which he had almost served nine years. He was fairly old. The prison life had told on him. He was always brooding and most anxious to be discharged. He was therefore morose and peevish. He was conscious of his high dignity. He was patronizing to those who obeyed and served him. He bullied those who crossed his path. To look at him, no one would think he could be guilty of murder.

He could read Urdu fluently. He was religiously minded and was fond of reading bhajans in Urdu. The Yeravda library has a few books for prisoners in several Indian languages, e.g., Hindi, Urdu, Marathi, Gujarati, Sindhi, Canaries, and Tamil. Harkaran was not above keeping and hiding trifles in defiance of jail regulations. He was in the majority. It would be regarded snobbish and foolish not to steal trifles. A prisoner who did not follow this unwritten law would have a bad time of it from his fellows. Ostracism would be the least punishment. If the whole of the jail yard were to be dug up twelve inches deep, it would yield up many a secret in the shape of spoons, knives, pots, cigarettes, soap and such like. Harkaran, being one of the oldest inmates of Yeravda, was a sort of purveyor-general to the prisoners. If a prisoner wanted anything Harkaran was the supplier. I wanted a knife for cutting my bread and lemons. Harkaran could procure it if I would have it through him. If I wanted to go through the elaborate process of asking the superintendent, that was my business.

I must be prepared for a snubbing. When we became friends, he related all his wonderful exploits; how he dodged officials, how he procured for himself and others dainties, what skilful tricks were employed by prisoners to obtain what they wanted and how it was almost impossible (in his opinion) not to resort to these tricks, was described in minute detail and with much gusto. He was horrified to discover that I was neither interested in the exploits nor was I minded to join the trade. He endeavoured subsequently somewhat to repair the indiscretion he had let himself into, and to assure me that he had seen my point and that he would thenceforth refrain from the irregularities. But I have a suspicion that the repentance was put on. The reader, however, must not run away with the idea that the jail officials do not know these irregularities. They are all an open secret. They not only know them, but often sympathize with the prisoners who do these tricks to make them happy and comfortable. They (the officials) believe in the doctrine of ‘live and let live’. A prisoner, who behaves correctly in the presence of his superiors, obeys their orders, does not quarrel with his fellows and does not inconvenience officials, is practically free to break any regulation for the sake of procuring greater comfort. Well, the first acquaintance with Harkaran was not particularly happy. He knew that we were ‘important’ prisoners. But so was he in a way.

After all, he was an officer with a long and honourable record of service behind him. He was no respecter of persons Mr. Banker was torn away from me the very next morning. Harkaran allowed the full force of his authority to descend upon me. I was not to do this or that. I was not to cross the white line referred to in my letter to Hakimji. But I had not the faintest idea of retaliating or resenting what he said or did. I was too engrossed in my own work and studies even to think of Harkaran’s simple and childish instructions. It gave me momentary amusement. Harkaran discovered his error. When he saw that I did not resent his officiousness, nor did I pay any attention to it, he felt nonplussed. He was unprepared for such an emergency. He therefore took the only course that was left open to him and that was to recognize my dissimilarity and respond to me when I refused to respond to him. My non-violent non-co-operation led to his co-operation. All non-violent non-co-operation, whether among individuals or societies, or whether between governments and the governed, must lead ultimately to hearty co-operation. Anyway Harkaran and I became perfect friends. When Mr. Banker was returned to me, he put the finishing touch.

One of his many businesses in the jail was to boom me for all I was worth. He thought that Harkaran and others had not sufficiently realized my greatness. In two or three day’s time I found myself elevated to the position of a baby in woolens. I was too great to be allowed to sweep my own cell or to put out my own blankets for drying. Harkaran was all attention before, but now he became embarrassingly attentive. I could not do anything myself, not even wash a handkerchief. If Harkaran heard me washing it, he would enter the open bath-room and tear the kerchief away from me. Whether it was that the authorities suspected that Harkaran was doing anything unlawful for us or whether it was a mere accident, Harkaran was, to our sorrow, taken away from us. He felt the separation more perhaps than we did. He had a royal time with us. He had plenty of eatables and that openly from our rations, supplemented as they were with fruit that friends sent from outside. And as our fame was ‘noised abroad’, Harkaran’s association with us had given him an added status with the other prisoners. When I was given the permission to sleep on the cell verandah, the authorities thought that it was too risky to leave me with one warder only.

Probably, the regulations required that a prisoner whose cell was kept open should have two warders to watch over him. It might even be that the addition was made for my protection. Whatever the cause, another warder was posted for night duty. His name was Shaba khan. I never inquired about the cause, but I thought that a Mohammedan was chosen to balance the Hindu Harkaran. Shaba khan was a powerful Baloochi. He was Harkaran’s contemporary. Both knew each other well. Shaba khan too was convicted of murder. It resulted from an affray in the clan to which he belonged. Shaba khan was as broad as he was tall. His build always reminded me of Shaukat Ali. Shaba can put me at ease the very first day. He said, ‘I am not going to watch you at all. Treat me as your friend and do exactly as you like. You will never find me interfering with you. If you want anything done, I shall be only too happy if I can do it for you. Shaba khan was As good as his word. He was always Polite. He often tempted me with prison delicacies and always felt genuinely sorry that I would not partake of them. ‘You know,’ he would say, ‘if we do not help ourselves to these few things, life would be intolerable, eating the same things day in and day out. With your people, it is different. You come for religion. That fact sustains you, whereas we know that we have committed crimes.

We would like to get away as soon as ever we can.’ Shaba khan was the jailor’s favourite. Growing enthusiastic over him, he once said, ‘Look at him. I consider him to be a perfect gentleman. In a fit of temper he has committed murder for which he truly repents. I assure you there are not many men outside who are better than Shaba khan. It is a mistake to suppose that all prisoners are criminals. Shaba khan I have found to be most trustworthy and courteous. If I had the power, I would discharge him today. The jailor was not wrong. Shaba khan was a good man, and he was by no means the only good prisoner in that jail. Let me note in passing that it was not the jail that had made him good. He was good outside. It is customary in the jails never to keep a convict officer on the same duty for any length of time. Transfers constantly take place. It is a necessary precaution Prisoners cannot be allowed, under the existing system, to develop intimate relations. We had, therefore, a most varied experience of convict officers. After about two months, Shaba khan was replaced by Adan. But I must introduce this warder to the reader