Khair… here it wasn’t about my insight but for his. So, I held up those thoughts and redirected my attention to the boy.
“Raju….Raju naam hai na tumhara beta… ”
“Haaan… ” he noded his head while wiping the drooling saliva from his face.
“Raju.. Uss din tumne rail line se paich nikala tha na.. ”
“Haan… ” he replied in the same gesture.
“Beta, aisa kyu kiya tha aapne.. ”
“Roti milti hai usse. ”
“Roti kaise… ”
“Rail ke adde se kuch kachra utha kar ….paise milte hai… fir roti.. ”
“to tum ye kachra utha kar bechte ho… Kabse… Kya kya uthate ho beta… ”
“main…. woo.. Botlein… Lifaafe…sab kuch. ”
“kab se kar rahe ho.. ”
“main ….shuru se… ”
“us din tumne ye sab na utha kar peich kyu nikala… ”
“kuch mila hi nahi… Itnaa dhoonda….roti nai mila.. Kitne din ho gaye… Wo Tinku bola na isko bhi le leta hai wo.. Roti wala.. Isko le jane par wo roti dega. ”
“Beta, kya tumko pta hai ki uss paich ke nikalne se railgaadi palat sakti hai… ” now I was focussing on his eyes and trying to locate the truth in them.
“haan….”
“toh beta, aisa ho sakta tha na ki gaadi palatne se logon ki maut ho jaati…?
“haan… ” . He was replying without looking at me, swinging his arms around and rotating the chair on which he was sitting. He was infact enjoying to sit there on that rotating chair… And believe me not many enjoy that, sitting in the Psychiatrist’s examination chair. I was feeling that he had partial unferstanding of things and my job was now to understand that if that partial understanding was good enough for him to know the nature of his act or crime if I say so.
“aap samajh rahe ho beta …ki log mar sakte the.. Aapke uss kaam ki wajah se.. ”
“haan… ”
“toh beta, apko nahi lagta ki ye galat hai… ”
“Galat…. Galat…. Galat…. ” he kept repeating that word shaking his head and looking around. He didnt seem to know the meaning of that word though.
Yes, he knew the word but didn’t know the meaning.
But I couldn’t dare to explain him the meaning of it either… How could I.. Meaning of galat, or sahi, thoughest thing to ever understand or explain.
“Beta….agar log mar jaate toh apko jail ho jaati na.. ” I tried to reframe my question.
“kyu… Jail kyu… ” he was visibly surprised.
“beta.. agar koi marr jaata hai to toh saza milti hai na..toh jail ho jaati tumko. ” It was getting bit painfully frustrating for me to explain this to him. I was staring at his eyes and reflexly the pen held in my hand was underlining the word ‘insight ‘ and… ‘insight to what extent’.
“koi marr jaata hai to saza ho jaati hai… Jail ho jaati hai…? ” he asked with the prevailing sense of surprise that could be sensed in his eyes that widely opened on asking these words.
“Haan beta agar koi marr jayega toh saza toh hogi hi na.. ” I said in firm and convincing words.
“achhaa….. Uncle… ” first formal adressal that he gave to me was sufficient to bring a little smile on my face.
“haan beta… ”
“mera baap marr gya jab bhi kisiko sazaa hui thi.. Maa bhi marne waali hai tab bhi jail hogi.. ” His eyes split wide open in surprise, I couldn’t make out if he was saying these words to me, to himself or to God.
“Jail ho jayegi…. Sazaa milegi… Jisko roti nahi mil rahi hogi usko jail ho jayegi… Roti milegi… Sazaa ho jayegi…log marr jayenge.. ” He kept muttering that for long.
I kept listening for a while and then my head dropped and I left the room.
In evening, my staff nurse updated me that the boys father was a ragpicker. Last year when they celebrated the ‘Safai Saptaah’ to welcome railway minister’s visit to the city, they had hidden all the rags and waste in locked dockyard. For one week he couldn’t find anything to pick from the track or roads. And the cleansing drive of the minister finally starved him to death. His mother, who was herself a mentally disabled lady, was roaming out on the roads since then. He was right in saying she was in her last breaths.
And yes, I forgot to inform, when I enquired about incident , usske liye sach mein kisi ko jail nahi hui thi…!!
Only skill that he has learned so far in the occupational school of this society was rag picking.
His insight was lacking in understanding what is rags …those broken metal pieces or the railway track screw . Well, even I lack insight in knowing what is rags for this society.. those broken metal pieces, waste bottles or… these underprevilaged humans …?
Whole night my pen kept rolling over the papers, not to write a report but for narrating a truth in all its dimentions.
Next day, my report was lying at justice Arpita’s table… The cover of the file read ‘Insight’.
One week later, two policemen dropped that boy and his mentally retarded mother in my office with a court request for admitting and treating them. It was a pleasant surprise.
“sir.. ” the policeman said while leaving my office ” judge sahib ne ye lifaafa diya tha aapko dene ke liye. ”
I opened that envelope which had a stamp and sign of Justice Arpita containing a little piece of paper that read thanks for the ‘insight ‘.
I smiled looking at the paper while the boy was smiling at me.