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…

The Other Side of Crime- 3

The Other Side of Crime- 3

I had to remove that horrible stain! 

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!

After obtaining my nursing degree, I worked for over three years in a reputed hospital earning a respectable salary. However, I stopped working after marriage like a good wife, like my husband wished. He was an officer in the Indian Army. We have two kids, the elder being a girl. I also wanted to work alongside my husband as a military nurse and requested him several times to get me an employment in his corps, but he insisted that I stay back at our family house to take care of his aged father and later our children. His father was sick ever since our marriage and I had to double up as a home nurse and a daughter in law to him. Prior to him getting fully bed ridden, I was to the military camps with my husband to various exotic locations in India which I tremendously enjoyed. After I delivered our daughter, this was stopped and I became a full time house wife. But I never complained.

I was born in a poor family and have tasted the bitterness of poverty while growing up. Because I was somewhat good looking, my husband was willing to marry me without any dowry. He also met most of the expenses of marriage. He is a goodhearted soul who loved me unconditionally. Even after two deliveries he called me ‘his beautiful girl’. He sent a major portion of his salary to me every month and never ever asked how I spent it. In addition, there was revenue from agricultural products at his family property too. I had no shortage of anything. There was enough food, clothing and entertainment. Cash was also not an issue at all. However, the only lack I felt was of transportation. There was an old car at home which gets out of the shed only when my husband came on leave. I found it difficult to resort to public transportation for urgent needs like taking the kids for tuition or to the park or the old father in law to the hospital. Taxis were too expensive for going out for shopping or for buying medicines. When I started to complain about this over phone, he arranged a distant relative to come and stay near us to help us with these things.

This guy was a young man who completed his post graduation and could not get a job till then. He knew driving and was extremely well behaved and obliging to all of us. He was occupying a room on rent at a nearby bachelor’s quarters. He turned out to be a big blessing for me. He used to come as soon as summoned even in the dead of night and started to take care of everything. I happily sent him for shopping and to hospitals also. This boy had a pleasant demeanor and attractive manners. Very soon, he endeared himself not just to me and to my husband’s old father, but also to my children. I started to consider him as my little brother and gave him all freedom in the house.

As time went by, he started to show this freedom on me and my body too. While talking, he would touch me, put his hand on my shoulder and even hug me when he came home after weekends. At first I let him do it, thinking that he was showing brotherly affection to me. But even when I knew within the deep recess of my heart that those gestures were getting far from brotherly, I did not make any attempt to stop him. I suppose I enjoyed it and sometimes even craved for it. On one occasion when he gave me the kit carrying provisions, he caressed the entire length of my hand in a loving and gentle way. Instead of feeling irritated and angry at him, I found this highly arousing and sexy. It felt as if a mild electric current passed through my body when he did that. Things changed after that touch.

It is said that people are slaves of their circumstances. The absence of my husband at home and the interest that this boy showered on me triggered hidden passions in my heart which led to an extra marital affair between us. We started to have a secret communion which lasted for three years. One day my husband’s father expired and he came home for a month for the funeral. While leaving back to the military base, I heard him tell his relative boy to be always there for me. Poor man, I felt a deep pity for his trust in me, but by that time, things were at a point of no return. We continued our relationship.

One day he told me that his parents are forcing him to marry a girl they found. I encouraged him to marry her thinking that it will be good in every sense. Even after marrying and bringing his wife also to the rented accommodation nearby, we continued our relationship. His marriage was like a protective shield for me. I thought that now nobody will suspect that we were having illicit relationship.

On one Sunday when I came back from the Church, I saw something which wrung my heart. My thirteen year old daughter was giving him tea. While taking the tea cup, he caressed the hand of my daughter, the same way like he did to me years back. To my utter shock, I saw my daughter shivering in pleasure at that touch, her innocent expression turning into a hungry one! He was smirking at her. 

 

I lost control of myself. I snatched the tea cup from him and threw it to the floor, crashing it to smithereens. I slapped my puzzled daughter and shouted at her never to even see that guy. I screamed at him, “Get out of this house, you bastard. I don’t want to see you again. Ever!” I expected him to cringe and obey me. Instead, he too became violent. He shouted back at me, “Shut up, you bitch! I will come here, do whatever I want here too. Don’t even try to stop me or else I will reveal everything to your husband and everyone else too. Remember, I have your text messages and pictures in my phone!” He threatened me.

Jesus! I started to cry. I saw my world crash around me like the tea cup I threw on the floor. Long after he left, I went inside to console my daughter. I have never slapped her before. Although I tried to explain my pain and apologized to her, she refused to listen to me. I never expected him to behave like this to my daughter. She calls him uncle, how could an uncle figure do this to a child? Is he that bad? Why didn’t I see this horrible side of him so far? He will do it again. My daughter will allow it too. But I will not allow it, I decided that night. I have to find ways to stop it.

The next day, I went to his place and apologized to him. I asked him to come home like before and that I will not be able to manage anything without him. I pretended to be sorry and was happy to see him fall prey to the trap. Back home, I took out my old nursing text books from the dusty box and started to study them again. I was searching for the foolproof method to kill a man without anyone suspecting any foul play. Then I procured cyanide and mixed the required quantity in the lime juice which I made by adding more than enough sugar to mask its metallic taste. Then I called him over phone to my house for some chores and offered the lime juice after everything was done. I expected him to drink it and leave the house for his room. I calculated that the drug will start affecting only within thirty minutes. But more precise calculations are made in heaven, I suppose. As soon as he consumed the juice, he fell down on the kitchen floor, started to vomit and was in the throbs of death. I panicked. I couldn’t do anything except shout and scream.

“Help, help! Somebody please help, my relative is sick, he needs to be taken to the hospital.” I cried loudly going to the gate of our house. The neighbors came immediately, the ambulance was called and he was taken to the hospital. But he died in the ambulance itself. I cleaned up the vomit in the kitchen, washed the glass in which poisoned lime juice was given and burnt the packet of remaining cyanide immediately to destroy evidence. Still, the police arrested me during the investigation of the case because autopsy revealed the presence of cyanide in his stomach. “It must be suicide. He had plenty of problems. He didn’t eat or drink anything from here. He must have consumed it before coming here”, I tried to defend myself to police.

“His wife gave us a statement that he was having illicit relationship with you. She said you called him on that day and he went from home over an hour before his death. Cyanide poisoning is fast. We also traced out the shop from which you got the poison. The case is strong.” The investigating officer informed me. “We also know your motive. Your daughter told us that there was a fight between you last Sunday when he threatened to reveal your affair to your husband. You finished him off to silence him.” I froze. I could not believe that my own child would speak against me. I felt the noose tightening. At the court during trial also, I repeated the plea that I was innocent and it was a suicide. “He was angry at me. He wanted me to suffer, so he must have consumed cyanide while in my house to punish me.” I pleaded. “Then why did you go and buy cyanide from the chemists?” The judge asked and sentenced me to life imprisonment for murder.

My husband resigned from the military and now is home with my children. He hates me and refuses to see or talk to me. I go out on paroles, but during that time, I stay with my parents. Even now I don’t feel that I did a crime. That man was a horrid stain in the society. I just wiped off that stain. That was all.

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.