The Other Side of Crime- 4

The Other Side of Crime- 4

My daughter said, ‘You are mad!’

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!

It has been eleven years since I have been incarcerated within these dark cells. I am just 54 years old, but I look like a seventy year old woman. Everyone calls me the mad grandma here. But the first person who ever called me mad was my daughter. My own little angel!

“You are mad woman, do you know that? A horrible, crazy old woman, you hag! Why don’t you just go and die?!” She shouted and growled at the same time while trying to attack me. Did it happen yesterday or ten years back?

I was good at my studies as a kid. My childhood ambition was to become a school teacher. I was the eldest of the six children in my family, still my parents allowed me to study as much as I wanted. While I was doing final year bachelor’s studies, my marriage got fixed by the family. They told me that he is a good boy from an excellent family and that he would allow me to continue studies even after marriage. Though I was unwilling to marry the guy who came to see me, I was forced into the alliance for the sake of my younger siblings.

My husband was addicted to liquor and narcotic drugs. He would not physically hurt me, but once under the influence of liquor, he would shout awful abuses loudly and continuously at me at which I used to shudder and shiver in abject shame. He would do the same to others too. The neighbours and people around hated us because of his behaviour. Sometimes I felt that it would have been better if he physically assaulted rather than harass with these loud verbal attacks which went to intolerable limits at times. But once he becomes normal, he loved me unconditionally.

Because of his character both our families alienated us. He got frequent suspensions and disciplinary actions in his job too. My friends advised me that his character will change once we get a child. There was no problem for me in conceiving, but four times there were some problems and I had to suffer abortions. After a lot of prayers and taking adequate care, I ultimately got this daughter. She was like me, mild, good looking and intelligent. She was smart at studies in school too.  After her birth I found a new purpose in life. I was living for her, my joys and pleasures were all for her. She used to say that she would become a doctor and treat those people like her father.

My husband continued in the same way as before. No, actually, it became worse as time passed by. There were days that he was totally under the influence of alcohol and drugs. I was shocked to see him consume all sorts of things together and smoke cannabis on top of that. I tried to get him treated several times, but without his consent, treatment was impossible.

When my daughter was thirteen, one night we came to know that my husband died, suffocating on his own vomit, on the side of the public road. I hugged my daughter and cried, not out of despair for becoming a widow, but because my daughter has become father less. Actually, I was relieved that he died, after all, I would now get a respite from all those traumas, was the main thought that invaded me on getting the news.  

After he passed, both our family members came forward to support us. With their help, we lived peacefully. My daughter passed tenth standard with distinction and I admitted her for entrance tuition also along with her plus two classes, to prepare her to get admission for MBBS course. While she was in twelfth, one day, she did not return home as usual from her tuition class even after the due time. I went around enquiring in panic. I could not sleep or have a moment of peace that night. The next day, I came to know from the police station where I went to give a complaint that my daughter eloped with a man at least ten years older than her! The man is a notorious criminal, an illegal bootlegger and accused in several cases. My God!

My own little princess! My treasure! How could she do this? She was trapped, I felt sure. Poor girl got kidnapped by him, I was sure. But the police ignored my complaints. “They came here yesterday evening, showed us all the details and documents. They got married at sub registrar’s office a month back.” The officer informed me.

“But that is impossible. She was just seventeen. How could the sub registrar legalize marriage of a minor girl?” I queried.  

“She showed us proof that she was above 18.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I went home to search out her SSLC (high school certification) book. The date of birth entered there would prove she was a minor. To my shock, I found that not just that, but most of her possessions were missing. She had prepared for her elopement carefully. She loved him? But…? I got so devastated that it felt as if all the Gods have cheated me. I was not willing to give up my daughter to a goon so easily. I went around with complaints to every office. I even filed a court case. I spent all my savings to just see her one more time just to know if she really wanted that sort of life. Even in my deepest throng of depression and tormenting torrents of tears on those days, my mind did not slip away from me. I did not become mad. But still I could not see my daughter.

It was only after three years that she came back to the town with her husband. She was full term pregnant then. I could not be angry at her. She is the only one left for me. I ran to see her. I took care of her. I was at the hospital when she delivered a healthy boy. I took care of the child also for the three days she was in hospital. I felt as if I got back my daughter in my life. However she preferred to go to her husband’s house with the baby on discharge from hospital. I had to reluctantly agree though it surprised me how she could be so devoted to such a devilish fellow.

On the day of the naming ceremony of the baby, I went with plenty of gifts for the baby, including a gold hip chain. It is the prerogative of grandmothers to tie the gold chain on the hip of the child. The function and the lunch went well. I was planning to return back in the evening. I lied down a bit in a side room for an afternoon siesta after the festivities ended. I woke up with a start hearing loud noises and shouts outside. When I hurried to check what the commotion was about, I found that the baby was missing! He was sleeping in the crib by my daughter and she woke up to find the crib empty. They were searching everywhere for the child.

As I stood praying for the safety of the baby, I saw a man climb up the well in the compound with the body of the very dead baby. 

I stood paralyzed at the horrible sight. Good God, which horrid person did that? I went near my screaming daughter and tried to console her. “My child…” I put my arms around her. She hit at my arms, turned to me like a furious cheetah and roared, “What did my baby do to you, you horrible woman? You must be angry towards me, you must be despising me, but why did you kill my innocent baby for that? How could you do this to me?” I got an electric shock go through my skull at these words. What? She thinks it was me who threw her child into the well? But I was nowhere near the baby or the well the whole afternoon. If I wanted to kill the baby, I should have done it the day he was born. When I held him for the first time. Wasn’t it to my arms that the nurse gave him straight from the labour room? Or any of those days in the hospital when he was totally with me all the time. How could my daughter even think that I had a hand in this? But she continued to shout at me.

“You are raving mad! You abused me a lot as a child. It was because of your mental problems that I had to run away from home. In your madness, you murdered my child!” Aghast, I shook my head trying to tell her that I loved her, she spat at me. “You are mad woman, do you know that? A horrible, crazy old woman, you hag! Why don’t you just go and die?”

Police case, statements, investigations, trial and everything else went on as if in a dream. The case was that since the child looked like its father I hated it the same way as I hated my daughter’s husband. I had fights with my daughter and her husband and referred to the child as Satan, my daughter’s statement said! I was punished with life term imprisonment for murdering a child. When my daughter turned my worst enemy I was left speechless. I lost all hope in my life. Am I really mad, I wondered? Have I ever abused my daughter? I could not remember even scolding her once in my life. I still fail to understand what I did for my daughter to hate me so. She has not come to see me in prison or when I go out on paroles.

My siblings and my husband’s family members are nice to me. They take me out on paroles and love me a lot. My daughter has two kids now. I would love to see them and caress them in my arms. But if I go to see them, they may get scared and shout, “Look, here comes the mad grandma!” I shouldn’t make the poor kids scared…