Prison allows for realizations that can be said to be fundamentally painful. In prison man has shortage of space and an excess of time. Unfortunately, space and time can’t compensate here
(Izetbegovic, Notes from Prison, 1983-88)
My first post in the blog received attention from readers most of whom identified with my predicament. I express my thanks to them and will clarify their doubts regarding my political initiatives later. Abubackar has made my blog much like the daily newspapers I read. The blog, I thought, was the only media space in the world where there is no Maudany bashing. Criticize you must, you have every right to do so. But don't base your comments on some flimsy charges spread without a break. Once the media are forced to speak truth, you will be left alone. Think twice before you say something. If Abubackar had seriously read what Justice Thanikachalam said about me, he should not have come out with his irresponsible statements. It's good that some of my readers have answered him so pithily that I needn't spare my space for that.
Those days in prison were packed with some intense, if interesting from readers’ point of view, memories. I can never completely express myself without sharing them with you.
I was lodged in the Coimbatore jail and had been incarcerated there for three months. The gloom of the National Security Act cast a dark cloud over me. I was in the Valmade block of the prison (There were many cells in Coimbatore, most of which were occupied by the remanded in the blast case. Some cells were inhabited by Dalit youths who were arrested in connection with the cast riots).
In my prison days in Coimbatore, I used to interact with my fellow prisoners. More than one hundred prisoners were there in the block. During my interactions with the prisoners, I taught them verses from the Holy Quran (They might have chosen wrong routes in their life, since they might not have a clear knowledge of the divine text) taught Malaylam language to the Tamilians and conducted study classes on some social and historical topics. This interaction will extend up to when the lock-up time was over.
My life in Coimbatore was not listless. Nor was it eventless. The feeling that I was all alone in the prison hardly disturbed me. As days and nights went by without much ado, I was struck by a bolt from the blue.
Around 4 a.m. I was sleeping on a mattress supporting my head on another one. I was woken up by the shriek the opening of the iron grill arrogantly made. The thud of boots followed. A batch of police officers led by jailor Ammasi appeared as if they were all going for a combat. They wore helmets, were holding lathees on their right hands and shields on the left hands.
"We are shifting you to another prison. Get ready for that."
I smelt a rat. Why were they in a combat mode to take over a handicapped prisoner? If I made any aggressive resistance, I knew, it would be the end of all.
I got ready for the shift. There were many things, including several books, dress and other items, for me to carry, for which I had to depend on another person. So I took my medicine box, a couple of dress and a copy of Quran and accompanied them. Leaving behind some dear books my family and friends gave me at times. Leaving behind my fellow prisoners who were all in deep sleep.....I could not say a farewell to them on this unexpected farewell.
I was taken along the Valmade block, off the jail gate and the room of the superintendent. A team of jail officers including the deputy commissioner were standing outside to carry me away. I walked slowly with the artificial limp. When I reached outside, I was asked to sign under a record authenticating this transfer. I protested, saying that before undertaking any official formality, I had to speak with the superintendent. They didn't hear my plea. I told them if they ever wanted to take me in my sanity, they had to forcibly carry me away.
Hearing the din and bustle outside, the superintendent came downstairs from his room.
“I want to see the order requiring my transfer,” I asked the superintendent.
*
‘Transferring prisoners and shooting them to death while attempting to run away’ has often hit headlines in Tamil Nadu. Most of the prisoners thus annihilated were the enemies of the ruling party in the state. About one month back, I came to read in a newspaper the death of Welding Kumar, a notorious rowdy, in a police shoot-out while escaping on the way of his being transferred to another jail. Some news reports have it that Welding Kumar, since he was a bitter opponent of the ruling party, was a victim of political vengeance.
*
‘If you want to take me away, I must see the order,” I asked again.
‘Sorry Mr. Madany. We can’t show the report, which is an official secret,’ he said.
‘How! I was remanded here by the court. And you are moving me as per a government order. A remanded prisoner is entitled to see it’
Realizing that I was not calmed by anything else, the superintendent showed me the jail DGP’s order, which said that I was getting transferred on administration grounds.
“Administration ground! How can a handicapped prisoner in a dark cell cause administration problem in the prison,” I was surprised.
I was realizing that that plot against me was getting thicker.
*
I was carried away on a police vehicle escorted many such vehicles. A few hours back I could see the huge gate of the Salem prison. After a long wait of many hours in front of the gate, I was subjected to body check-up and brought into the prison by a group of jail officers led by superintendent Sandurapandian.
(Izetbegovic, Notes from Prison, 1983-88)
My first post in the blog received attention from readers most of whom identified with my predicament. I express my thanks to them and will clarify their doubts regarding my political initiatives later. Abubackar has made my blog much like the daily newspapers I read. The blog, I thought, was the only media space in the world where there is no Maudany bashing. Criticize you must, you have every right to do so. But don't base your comments on some flimsy charges spread without a break. Once the media are forced to speak truth, you will be left alone. Think twice before you say something. If Abubackar had seriously read what Justice Thanikachalam said about me, he should not have come out with his irresponsible statements. It's good that some of my readers have answered him so pithily that I needn't spare my space for that.
Those days in prison were packed with some intense, if interesting from readers’ point of view, memories. I can never completely express myself without sharing them with you.
I was lodged in the Coimbatore jail and had been incarcerated there for three months. The gloom of the National Security Act cast a dark cloud over me. I was in the Valmade block of the prison (There were many cells in Coimbatore, most of which were occupied by the remanded in the blast case. Some cells were inhabited by Dalit youths who were arrested in connection with the cast riots).
In my prison days in Coimbatore, I used to interact with my fellow prisoners. More than one hundred prisoners were there in the block. During my interactions with the prisoners, I taught them verses from the Holy Quran (They might have chosen wrong routes in their life, since they might not have a clear knowledge of the divine text) taught Malaylam language to the Tamilians and conducted study classes on some social and historical topics. This interaction will extend up to when the lock-up time was over.
My life in Coimbatore was not listless. Nor was it eventless. The feeling that I was all alone in the prison hardly disturbed me. As days and nights went by without much ado, I was struck by a bolt from the blue.
Around 4 a.m. I was sleeping on a mattress supporting my head on another one. I was woken up by the shriek the opening of the iron grill arrogantly made. The thud of boots followed. A batch of police officers led by jailor Ammasi appeared as if they were all going for a combat. They wore helmets, were holding lathees on their right hands and shields on the left hands.
"We are shifting you to another prison. Get ready for that."
I smelt a rat. Why were they in a combat mode to take over a handicapped prisoner? If I made any aggressive resistance, I knew, it would be the end of all.
I got ready for the shift. There were many things, including several books, dress and other items, for me to carry, for which I had to depend on another person. So I took my medicine box, a couple of dress and a copy of Quran and accompanied them. Leaving behind some dear books my family and friends gave me at times. Leaving behind my fellow prisoners who were all in deep sleep.....I could not say a farewell to them on this unexpected farewell.
I was taken along the Valmade block, off the jail gate and the room of the superintendent. A team of jail officers including the deputy commissioner were standing outside to carry me away. I walked slowly with the artificial limp. When I reached outside, I was asked to sign under a record authenticating this transfer. I protested, saying that before undertaking any official formality, I had to speak with the superintendent. They didn't hear my plea. I told them if they ever wanted to take me in my sanity, they had to forcibly carry me away.
Hearing the din and bustle outside, the superintendent came downstairs from his room.
“I want to see the order requiring my transfer,” I asked the superintendent.
*
‘Transferring prisoners and shooting them to death while attempting to run away’ has often hit headlines in Tamil Nadu. Most of the prisoners thus annihilated were the enemies of the ruling party in the state. About one month back, I came to read in a newspaper the death of Welding Kumar, a notorious rowdy, in a police shoot-out while escaping on the way of his being transferred to another jail. Some news reports have it that Welding Kumar, since he was a bitter opponent of the ruling party, was a victim of political vengeance.
*
‘If you want to take me away, I must see the order,” I asked again.
‘Sorry Mr. Madany. We can’t show the report, which is an official secret,’ he said.
‘How! I was remanded here by the court. And you are moving me as per a government order. A remanded prisoner is entitled to see it’
Realizing that I was not calmed by anything else, the superintendent showed me the jail DGP’s order, which said that I was getting transferred on administration grounds.
“Administration ground! How can a handicapped prisoner in a dark cell cause administration problem in the prison,” I was surprised.
I was realizing that that plot against me was getting thicker.
*
I was carried away on a police vehicle escorted many such vehicles. A few hours back I could see the huge gate of the Salem prison. After a long wait of many hours in front of the gate, I was subjected to body check-up and brought into the prison by a group of jail officers led by superintendent Sandurapandian.
Salem waits for me
Salem is one the largest punishment prisons in the country. The prison is reserved for hardcore criminals who have to be kept under surveillance. They are murderers for game, rapists and those who incite violence in other prisons, including resorting to murder. No free movement was allowed inside the prison and the cell was too narrow for us to be at ease with the entire surrounding. Before Independence, punishment jails as in Salem were used by the British to torture army men after court-marshalling. *
I was lodged in the high security bloc of the prison, which was surrounded by a huge wall on the four sides with electric wires fitted atop. There is a narrow gate leading to the bloc and one has to halve oneself to sneak into the gate. Once one entre the bloc, one could see a veranda, which is both wired and tightly locked. My cell was located in the veranda.
I was put inside the cell. The cell was locked. The veranda was locked.
The cell was eight-feet long and four and a half-feet wide. A closet was fitted inside the cell. There were no sources of light, especially sunlight, inside the cell, since there was no ventilation in the cell, veranda and the whole block. The entire veranda was lit by a bulb. Darkness mingled my days with my nights. Time went by as if it was a whole bloc of darkness.
Stench from the closet as well as a whole army of mosquitoes was the premonition of an unbearable life I had yet to have.
While I was locked in the cell, almost all nearby cells were empty. The one I could see there was a warden whose fierce stare alongside his u-shaped moustache added to my uneasiness.
There was little water inside the cell. I needed water to perform my zhuhar and asar prayers in combination. (The daily allotment of water is such that prisoners bring some water every day, which won’t meet our needs)
“Why is none around here? Can I get some water?” I asked the warden.
“Uyar pathkap thokuthi than. Inke enthe vasathiyum kedayath,” pat came his reply. (This is high security block. There is no facility here)
I could see people talk from the further point of the block. They could realize that a new inmate was brought into the block.
“Who are you,” someone asked me in high-pitched voice.
I introduced myself.
“Who are you,” I asked in the same way.
They told me they were convicted in the Rajiv Gandhi murder case. Chief convicts in the case, except Murukan and Nalini, like Robert Fayas, Shanthan and Perarivalan were the prisoners.
*
What an irony: people who were convicted in a shocking murder case were allowed to stay together in nearby cells, while I, despite being only an accused, was forced to stay in a narrow cell.
This was when I confronted my loneliness in the bitterest way. This I have never had in my life.
I performed namas after symbolically purifying myself by beating hands on the wall. And I prayed
I was lodged in the high security bloc of the prison, which was surrounded by a huge wall on the four sides with electric wires fitted atop. There is a narrow gate leading to the bloc and one has to halve oneself to sneak into the gate. Once one entre the bloc, one could see a veranda, which is both wired and tightly locked. My cell was located in the veranda.
I was put inside the cell. The cell was locked. The veranda was locked.
The cell was eight-feet long and four and a half-feet wide. A closet was fitted inside the cell. There were no sources of light, especially sunlight, inside the cell, since there was no ventilation in the cell, veranda and the whole block. The entire veranda was lit by a bulb. Darkness mingled my days with my nights. Time went by as if it was a whole bloc of darkness.
Stench from the closet as well as a whole army of mosquitoes was the premonition of an unbearable life I had yet to have.
While I was locked in the cell, almost all nearby cells were empty. The one I could see there was a warden whose fierce stare alongside his u-shaped moustache added to my uneasiness.
There was little water inside the cell. I needed water to perform my zhuhar and asar prayers in combination. (The daily allotment of water is such that prisoners bring some water every day, which won’t meet our needs)
“Why is none around here? Can I get some water?” I asked the warden.
“Uyar pathkap thokuthi than. Inke enthe vasathiyum kedayath,” pat came his reply. (This is high security block. There is no facility here)
I could see people talk from the further point of the block. They could realize that a new inmate was brought into the block.
“Who are you,” someone asked me in high-pitched voice.
I introduced myself.
“Who are you,” I asked in the same way.
They told me they were convicted in the Rajiv Gandhi murder case. Chief convicts in the case, except Murukan and Nalini, like Robert Fayas, Shanthan and Perarivalan were the prisoners.
*
What an irony: people who were convicted in a shocking murder case were allowed to stay together in nearby cells, while I, despite being only an accused, was forced to stay in a narrow cell.
This was when I confronted my loneliness in the bitterest way. This I have never had in my life.
I performed namas after symbolically purifying myself by beating hands on the wall. And I prayed
