God knows where the khaki-clad ghosts came from but they ensured that Mohan was bleeding and in pain when he was tossed into the lock-up. His age was listed as 20, although he was four less than that. Then, a few days later, he was fed to the huge gates of Yerwada Jail.Two Sundays had now passed. He could tell that from the menu served. Everything had changed. He had cleaner roads to walk on, a better bed to sleep in and a strict routine to adhere to. Things were much better than the Pune slum he lived in. What remained the same was that he was still an under-trial waiting to be showed up in court; and he longed for a glimpse of his mother’s face.
“Kilos of cannabis; you’ll be gone for years”, a constable had whispered through the bars of the lock-up. “You are booked under the NDPS Act.” Tears had rolled down Mohan’s cheeks “It was for 50 rupees... To carry the bags to the municipality bus stand... He said it was spices.” Plain facts chanted for hours. Now he often stared at the inescapable high walls of the prison and thought about the day that exploited his innocence and ignorance, snatched away years of freedom. They were to have a proper meal after so many days. Ma was so happy. The stranger had given the note to her, in advance, and the bags to Mohan. “There, I would take it from you,” he had said.
“Hope you had your food Ma,” Mohan sobbed. He dreamt of her, healing his sorrows with her smile. They would meet again some day, he was quite sure of that.
Food was still waiting when the stranger had come again. The kitchen knife deceived its owner and a sack engulfed her. The only witness of the deal silenced forever. Stray dogs barked as a shadow passed the sleeping slum. “Accomplice absconding my Lord,” the Counsel pleaded. A clueless pair of eyes searched for that one glimpse. They had waited so long. The empty benches had nothing to offer.
