The Other Side of Crime- 2

 The Other Side of Crime- 2

My heaven collapsed so fast!

Every coin has got two sides. 

The stories the convicted female prisoners told about the reasons and causes for committing the crimes, their experiences in prison, the lessons learnt, their hopes and expectations- form the crux of these articles.

I am sharing the stories they told me in first person. It is just their version of the crime, their side of the story. May be they are true, may be false. I leave it to the readers to decide. 

Happy reading!

 

How wonderful was my family life! Such a loving and caring husband, two intelligent and smart daughters! My husband was a businessman and I lived like a queen in a palace like house with cars, servants, drivers and gardeners to do all my bidding. My children were studying at the best school in town and both were toppers in class. It was all of a sudden that things turned topsy-turvey for me.

My husband died in a car crash. It was a sudden cataclysmic shock for me. I think I too died in my mind for a few days. Time and days passed by where I lived in an unconscious stupor at a house filled with relatives and friends. Slowly as reality sank in me, I assumed that these people at my house will console and help me to live on. On some black moments I too wished to die and join my husband in heaven, but the faces of my daughters pulled me back from that wish. After the funeral when people started to leave us, I was faced with another huge shock. Troubles come in heaps, it is said. I came to know that the business empire, our properties, vehicles and every material thing we possessed were pledged to some financial institution or bank. My husband’s life was a big lie- he was living in luxury on borrowed funds. We started losing everything one by one. Those people who crowded around us just disappeared when they too got wind of the news of our huge debts. Who would be so giant-hearted to take care of a penniless widow and her two daughters?

On top of all this, some men who looked like hired gangsters started frequenting our house with demands of repayment of loans that my husband owed them. “He has to give us Rs five lakhs. When are you going to give it?” “Give us the ten lakhs immediately or face eviction.” “This car is actually ours. We are taking it.”

I was just eighteen when I got married. My education stopped after twelfth standard. I have no idea of the business my husband was doing. I knew no accounts or complicated maths. Still I went through all the documents, records and bank statements carefully to find out what went wrong. Those goons were correct. We are neck deep in debt. Everything is pledged. Then that nagging doubt reared its head. Was it really an accident? Or did he commit suicide out of despair? What will I do now? Why did he leave us in such a mess? Should I tell this to police? No, if police finds it to be suicide then we will not even get the motor accident claim due to us! I knew that the car which was driven by my husband got hit by a truck on the highway. That truck could not be traced so far, but there were witnesses who saw the incident. I buried my doubts and decided to believe that it was an accident.

I was totally confused about our future path. I got some money from my brother and the old mother. I sold all our gold ornaments, silverware and brass articles. Still, the amount was not enough to pay back all the debts. The house was already pledged, so it could not be sold. A small respite ensued; still I worried every day and night about the future of my daughters. I could transfer them to a Government school to avoid the heavy monthly fees, I could take a rented accommodation, I could beg the people I know for loaning money, but none of these provided a permanent solution. Yes, I could take a job.

I started hunting for a job. For someone with just plus two as education, the jobs I could get were that of a hotel receptionist, sales girl or phone attendant. The monthly income from such jobs will not even sufficient to buy grains. I tried my luck with my relatives who all spurned me. “We have given you enough. There is no more that can be spared.” They were at least frank towards me. Only my bed ridden mother sympathized with me and gave me money willingly. After a few months, I could not find anything of value at home which could assuage the hunger pangs of our tummies. That was when I decided to go to my husband’s friend and long time partner in business. He owns a few hotels in town. I expected him to help us. I have heard of his good and humane character also. He gave me an appointment promptly, but when I told him of my problems, his demeanor changed. “What can I do to help? My business is suffering because of recession. I also have a lot of loans. Besides, I do not have any vacancies that fit you at present. You have lived a good life, how can I give you small jobs such as cleaning?” He shrugged me off. I was at a breaking point by then. So, I started to cry shamelessly in front of him.

“Sir, I will take any job, cleaning, sweeping, kitchen work or cooking. If you do not have a servant at home, I can work as one too. I will do any work, I’m that desperate.” I clarified.

“Anything, eh?” He scratched his chin and stared vacantly at me as if in deep thought. A lightning of fear passed through me. Still I replied firmly. “Yes sir. Anything except selling my body.”

“Do you have passport?” That was his next question. I answered in the affirmative.

“Then I will give you a job. But it is in Dubai. You should go there next week. My men will give you the instructions. Just leave your phone number and pack up your bags.” He said.

I was so relieved that I almost touched his feet in gratitude. Dubai! That means I will get a good salary. My children can continue to study in their public school. We need not shift from our house. I will ask someone to stay at my place to take care of the kids. I was on cloud nine with joy at the prospect. A week later a car and driver came to drop me at the airport. The driver gave me the ticket and visa as well as a big packet. “Please keep these in your bag. They are pickles. Since carry bags do not allow eatables, you have to put them in the check in bags. Someone will collect it from you in Dubai.” He said. He also gave me the phone number and details of the person who would pick me up from Dubai airport.

When I reached Dubai, a man was waiting to pick me up. When he dropped me at the small one bedroom apartment, he took the pickle bottles from me and said he would call me soon with further instructions. The apartment was well furnished and the kitchen was fully stocked. A Philippine lady came to clean up and cook food for me. I was comfortable in every way, except that there was no work for me to do. I waited for the promised call for two days and not getting it, called all the phone numbers I knew. No one picked up my calls. That apartment had no phone and my cell phone had no facility to make international calls. Thankfully, I had a few dinars with me, so I made a call from a call booth outside to the hotel owner who sent me there.

“Sorry, the job I arranged for you didn’t come through. It is better that you get back until I fix up another job for you there. Don’t worry; I will pay you a month’s salary in advance.” I was puzzled, still I agreed and waited for the man to take me back to airport. I came back to my house much to the delight of my kids and the hotel owner gave me fifty thousand rupees as advance salary. Within a fortnight, he sent me again the tickets saying that it is time for me to go there. The same driver came and handed me the packet of pickle bottles to place in my check in bag. I instantly got suspicious and refused. I opened and checked up the bottles, there were three huge bottles which were sealed. From outside they did look like pickles, but I was reluctant to carry it with me. Then the hotel owner called me over phone.

“Hey, don’t worry. You are right, there is heroin hidden inside the pickles. But you will not be caught. Women are respected a lot in Arab countries, they will not be suspicious of you. Also, there are no equipment to detect heroin in check in bags and sniffer dogs will get only smell of pickles. And I will give you one lakh rupees for each trip. Don’t you want to repay all your loans?” He consoled me. I believed him. Thus knowingly, I became an international carrier of heroin. For a few years it went on without any problems. On one trip, I got detained by Customs who opened my bag and checked the bottles.  I didn’t know that they monitor bags of frequent travelers to a single destination. They got suspicious of the bottles I took each time, which the X-Rays screened. 

I was arrested and sent to prison. After trial, the court convicted me for ten years of imprisonment. I am in jail for six years now. I have filed an appeal in the high court which is taking a long time to decide. Both the customs officials and the police asked me repeatedly about the source from where I got the drugs. I refused to reveal the name of the hotel owner. I will never reveal his identity. Because, he is taking care of my daughters now. He is paying the fees of my advocate. And he promised to give me a respectable job once out of the prison cell.  I go on paroles every six months. My eldest daughter is a law student now. Now I am living for them. They should not suffer because of my misdeeds. They should get to high places, get married to good boys and live happily. They have suffered enough already.