This anthology by Raju Z Moray brings together Prose and Poetry which was featured on the ‘Court Jester’ page of the Lawyers Collective Magazine from 1993 to 2003.
The feature was immensely entertaining and popular. Long out of print and difficult to access, there was a consistent demand over the years from its fans to collect all the pieces together and publish them as a book.
Here are a few memories from the era of print magazine:
THE TEMPLE OF JUSTICE
August 1993
Cliche-loving lawyers will agree that to be a master of their game you have got to know the tricks of their trade. Yet senior lawyers will be less willing to share their secrets with their juniors than a miser would be to share his wealth with a thief. In one of my first exposures to a courtroom, I was assigned the precarious job of ‘fetching’ our counsel when the case was ‘likely to reach’. To call him early would mean incurring his wrath and to call him late would mean the end of our case. It was a job loaded with possibilities.
The case was simple, our client wanted an injunction against the municipal authorities restraining them from demolishing a shop which they claimed to be unauthorized and our client claimed was ‘regularised’. According to me, it was a good case on merits. As I waited with bated breath, a person came close to me and thrust his palm at me. Although I am not a palmist, I could clearly read the number of our case scribbled on his palm. I looked at him, puzzled. He smiled sympathetically at outside the courtroom wondering who this ‘Saab’ was. I went outside the court room to see who is this ‘saab’ was. It turned out to be Mr. Khaoni, who introduced himself as our opponent’s advocate.
Mr. Khaoni flashed a denture-displaying smile at our client, who was following me like a bloodhound and made an offer I could not understand, and one our client could not refuse. Mr. Khaoni was advocating the Gandhian principle of non-violence. He agreed to observe ‘Maun Vrat’ (Vow of Silence) and allow us to obtain the injunction and also to permit our client to give a ‘Dakshina’ (charitable donation) to his non-violent benefactor. I said, ‘Let’s ask our Counsel.’ Mr. Khaoni replied sagely, ‘Are you interested in eating the mangoes or counting the trees?’ Our client glared menacingly at me and shook hands profusely with Mr. Khaoni. We trooped back into the courtroom and awaited our turn.
Mr. Khaoni turned out to be man who kept his word, or rather, his silence. The utmost that the impatient judge got out of him were a few incomprehensible grunts which ceased only when the injunction was granted. Our counsel looked triumphantly at Mr. Khaoni like matador eyeing a gored bull. With this difference – this bull was smiling. The next day, our client gave me a fat envelope and told me to deliver it to Mr. Khaoni. When my senior nodded commandingly, I took it in my hands. Though well-taped and stapled, it could hardly hide the contents. I was curious to know: How much? I had seen the Rolex on Mr. Khaoni’s wrist and the Mont Blanc in his pocket. Now I knew how they got there.
After the client left, I questioned my senior with disapproval. He said, “All is fair in love and war” and laughed loudly. I said I did not understand why we had to do this when the case was good on merits. He replied, “Who cares for merit, yaar? If you want to be in this profession, you have got to understand that the ends justify the means.” Here I was, with the packet in my hands, being bombarded with sayings I had heard before, but never quite in this context. I decided to get rid of the envelope as soon as possible and hastened to the court to hand it over to Mr. Khaoni.
I found Mr. Khaoni in the court canteen munching his sandwiches and gulping his chai. He beckoned me and introduced me to his colleagues at the table, saying, “Naya Hai”. They nodded knowingly. I was getting restless and wanted to do my job and run back to the office. I told Mr. Khaoni, “I have something important to tell you, could you come aside for a minute?” With bread crumbs stuck to his chin, Mr. Khaoni excused himself and came with me into the corridor. I took out the envelope from my pocket and thrust it into his hands. His reaction shocked me. He almost screamed as if he had seen a live serpent and ran back into the canteen dropping the envelope at my feet. I was dumbstruck. I looked at the orphan-like packet on the floor, picked it up, put it back in my pocket and went back to Mr. Khaoni’s table.
At the table Mr. Khaoni was his normal amiable self. He offered me tea and asked me to wait. “We’ll go home together,” he said.
After Mr. Khaoni was through with his work, we left the court building. As we came out of the court compound, Mr. Khaoni grabbed my arm and said “Kidhar hai paise?” I handed over the packet to him. He weighed it lovingly on his palm, smiled benignly and asked, “Cigarette loge?” I said no, thank you. He laughed. “Naye ho” he said. I could not resist. I asked ‘Why did you not take this packet back there in the corridor and let me go?’
Mr. Khaoni gazed at me for a long while. His words still ring in my ears after so many years: “Son, that place is sacred. It is our temple. The temple of justice. I too am a man of principle. I’ve never taken a bribe within those sacred precincts. You must understand this. Never defile this temple.”
Mr. Khaoni choked as he spoke that last bit. He turned slowly and walked away. I stood gazing at his back till he mingled with the crowd. As I walked back slowly to my office, I wondered why providence had brought me into this hypocritically honest profession.
These short prose and poetry in the old Lawyers Collective magazine by Raju. Z. Moray are now available in a wonderful compilation here!
For any query regarding carrying the article write to [email protected]
