Protecting The Penniless Candidate

Before the Representation of the People Act was amended in 1996, the law required the countermanding of the election in a constituency if any contesting candidate died before polling. This provision created complications, especially when there were reasonable apprehensions that unlawful elements would deliberately harm candidates. The problem was worse when several independent candidates entered the fray because each had to be provided security, as happened in the 1992 Assembly elections in Punjab. It was in these elections that a poor labourer, whom we might call Kirorimal, was encouraged by his equally penniless friends to contest as an independent candidate. They assured him that some rich candidate would pay a fortune to make him withdraw from the electoral contest.

Once he had filed his nomination, Kirorimal was assigned two constables, Surti and Hiralal, for protection. Sadly, there was no space for the cops in the shanty that Kirorimal shared with five other labourers, and the constables could not take their charge to the police lines either. So, they decided to escort the labourer only during the day, when he went about earning his daily bread. The cops, however, were mortified to stand with Kirorimal at the ‘labour chowk’ every morning, while he waited to be hired for the day. They then had to hang around the whole day while Kirorimal went about digging earth, cleaning drains, or doing whatever else he had been hired to do. There also were days when Kirorimal got no employment at all. The three of them then roamed around in public parks or sat in some ‘dhaba’, where the cops paid for the food of their penurious protectee. Once, they even watched a film, but the cops resented paying for Kirorimal’s cinema ticket.

Surti and Hiralal looked on enviously at their colleagues who were deputed to protect well-off contestants. Those lucky fellows whizzed past in cars or lolled around in palatial houses of the candidates. Kirorimal’s bodyguards, on the other hand, were condemned to toiling in the sun, trudging behind him as he went about seeking employment. Surti was particularly miffed because he had been refused leave, which he badly needed to help his father till their land. Aware of their resentment, Kirorimal repeatedly assured them that it was only a matter of a few days before some rich contestant bribed him to withdraw. But no one made any offer.

Surti lost patience after a week of waiting every morning at the ‘labour chowk’, which he felt was most demeaning. He demanded that Kirorimal should withdraw from the election, but the labourer said he would do so only if he were paid twice the amount that he had paid as deposit. Surti then had a brainwave – he offered to hire Kirorimal to work in his own fields in his native village. All three promptly proceeded to Surti’s village, where the election candidate ploughed the fields every day. It was a win-win situation – Kirorimal got steady employment; Surti was able to get his field ploughed; both cops could discharge their duty in comfort and the independent candidate remained secure till the polling day!

(Tribune – March 27, 2024)

 

The Japani Magistrate & The Amazing Maize

There was a story that went around in Bihar in the early 1970s that everyone believed to be true, even though there was disagreement about its provenance. Some said the incident happened in Banka while others insisted that it occurred in Naugachchia. And there were others who declared that two distinct, but similar, incidents were witnessed in different places. Be that as it may, the place is only a matter of detail and quite immaterial to this narrative.
There were two prominent landowning families in Banka (or Naugachchia) who were known to grow the best maize crop. For some reason, a quarrel broke out between the two families, and both laid claim to the maize crop standing on a large patch of land near their village. The dispute escalated and the warring parties took the matter to court. The court granted an injunction, directing both parties to stay away from the disputed farmland and to contest a civil suit for ownership of the land. The court further prohibited the two families from harvesting the produce and ordered the deployment of an armed picket near the cornfield to maintain peace. Accordingly, a posse of one havildar and four constables was despatched. The armed force, however, required a magistrate too, but unfortunately no magistrate was available to be posted to a place in the middle of nowhere.
To meet just such exigencies, the government is empowered to appoint any person as a special executive magistrate for a short term. Till the 1970s, such ersatz magistrates in Bihar were called ‘Japani magistrates’ – being equated to cheap imitation products manufactured in post-war Japan. And it was the good fortune of Misserji, a schoolteacher from distant Bhagalpur, to be appointed the ‘Japani magistrate’ for Banka (or Naugachchia).
Misserji and the five policemen buckled down to camp for an indefinite period at the remote location, far away from any market or eatery. They made themselves as comfortable as they could in a tent pitched next to the cornfield and arranged their own meals. They had brought dry rations from the city and purloined whatever vegetables they could from the fields around them. But Misserji was a man widely known for his love of life, his girth, and his gargantuan appetite. He found the daily ‘dal roti’ boring and craved something extra. And eureka! He discovered the taste of sweet corn! He and the policemen started helping themselves to the luscious ‘bhuttas’ ripening in the disputed field. After a few weeks, the cornstalks swayed in the wind as majestically as ever, but totally bereft of cobs. People said it was an exaggeration, but the ‘Japani Magistrate’ and the five cops were said to have gobbled up about a thousand kilograms of corn in six weeks. Whether it was true or not is anyone’s guess but ever since then, people of Banka (or Naugachchia) have been wary of quarrelling over land, especially one with a maize crop standing on it.
(Tribune – March 6, 2024)