Guilty or not? Please tell me

Enticed from native Madras by a relative settled in Mumbai, Padma was sold at the infamous sex bazaar in Kamathipura. Her future husband Alamgir Gandhi “rescued” her from the bazaar and helped settle her in a shanty in the city.

“I was arrested on September 29, 1994, from my hut on the charge of giving shelter to a minor girl who had been brought to Mumbai by a relative a few days back,” Padma says, in halting Hindi which she has picked up in jail. While Alamgir and the other man managed to give police the slip, pregnant Padma was caught and brought to the Yerwada jail.

Last produced in court nearly four years ago, Padma doesn’t even know if she has a lawyer representing her. She has never heard of agencies like the District Legal Aid Board, meant to provide free defence counsel to poor undertrials. It is not just a new language that Padma and her fellow inmates have picked up at Yerwada. They have also come to realise that the wheels of justice turn at a rate which is painfully slow. Especially if you are poor and underprivileged, with no contacts and none to follow the progress of your case from outside the jail walls.

Those whose families took interest have proved to be a little more lucky. Wahida Banu Nizam Mohammad, 30, was released by the Mumbai sessions court last month after spending two years and ten months in the jail. Arrested on December 26, 1995, on murder charge, she is free now along with the baby girl she delivered in prison in June 1996.

Abida alias Mallika Rauf Sheikh of Bhawani Peth, who was also released after a year in prison is not believed to be in her senses. She sits quietly, is little bothered about the state of her clothes and refuses to talk to anyone. Arrested and later acquitted of the charge of causing mischief by fire, she was held back for a night and released in the morning to ensure her safety in her present mental state, admits the concerned jailor.

But there are others like Shivkumari Chandramohan, 25, who was arrested from Mumbai on January 9, 1995 on the charge of illegal trafficking. She has already spent four years as an undertrial. She says she knows her case hasn’t even begun in the Sessions Court.

Shivkumari’s story is yet another one of neglect and exploitation. She was barely 19 when poverty and hunger drove out of Andhra Pradesh and into the hands of a pimp. She left behind an infant and headed for the bright lights of Mumbai. From Vishakhapatnam to Kamathipura to Yerawada, Shivkumari has travelled a long way. In a very short time.

Forty-year-old Shashi Mohan has been inside Yerawada for four years now. She was last produced in court on June 21, 1995. The charge against her is that of murder. Of a neighbour who she claims committed suicide before her. Whether she is guilty or not is now for the court to decide. But when and how long will she have to wait, she has no idea.

Banu Shamin Sheikh alias Laxmi, 38, was charged with procurement of a minor girl. The maximum punishment for the crime — if she is proved guilty — is 10 years. She has already spent three-and-half years as an undertrial. She last appeared in court on October 13, 1995.

These are just a handful of case studies. There are many more in the same prison. Women whose trials have been dragged for months together, whose husbands have married again, whose families have forgotten them. No letters, no visitors and very little to look forward to in life. There are women who have borne children in jail, there are still others who have children outside the jail walls. There are toddlers who have never seen their fathers. “There are 80 women undertrials in this jail. Of these, many have been here for years. We have no option. The undertrials cannot be sent to court if they are not being asked to attend,” concedes Yashodhara Sawant, Jailor, Women’s Jail.

Kavita Kowshik, social worker with AAH (Association for Attitudinal Hearing in India), an NGO working with convicts, undertrials and their families, says there is another problem. “Unlike the male prisoners who have wives waiting for them outside, the women generally lose all support once they enter jail. They are branded convicts after a term in prison. In most cases, their husbands marry again. Undertrial prisoners begin to suffer from severe depression and psychological trauma,” says Kowshik.

Shrikant Shivde, noted criminal lawyer, says the court’s reluctance to let undertrials go about their lives on personal bond — there is such a provision in the law books — if they cannot afford bail, is to blame for the mess. The judiciary has its own grievances. District Judge VG Munshi says it is impossible to guarantee that an undertrial, allowed to go on personal bond, will turn up in court later.

“Bail is granted as a matter of right. The Supreme Court has said time and again that in appropriate cases, undertrials should be released on personal bond,” adds Girish Kulkarni, also a criminal lawyer. “Pendency in certain criminal courts is as high as 25,000, and with new cases being filed everyday, the overburdened and understaffed judiciary is really under immense pressure,” he adds.

While experts in the field press for more courts, the National Women’s Commission has identified what appears to be a workable solution. That of sponsoring Jail Adalats, where advocates and judges will take out time on assigned days for speedy hearing of cases. The only catch is that the commission has not got the permission to try criminal cases yet.

Decisions need to be taken. And fast. Until then Padma Gandhi Alamgir and others will have to wait.