Razak Husain was being tried for the murder of Akash Gujral, a real estate moghul.
As far as Samir was concerned, Razak should be in jail and should never be out again. But then, Razak could not afford to be in jail. During police interrogation, he had given information on rival gang leaders which landed then in jail and they were waiting like hungry wolves for him to be behind the bars. He would not survive a day in jail. He knew it.
“Was Mr Gujral a witness in another case, where he was to testify against you?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Razak, were you carrying a gun on March 31, 2008 at 10 am?”
“Yes.”
“Were you with Mr Gujral at 10:15 am?”
“Yes.”
“Three people saw you standing in front of the body, with the gun in your hand, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“The bullet in Mr Gujral’s body was from your
gun?”
“Yes.” “Thank you”. Razak Hussain’s lawyers argued that he always carried a gun with him for selfprotection. Always. This goes on to prove the gun wasn’t with him for that night only and, hence, this couldn’t have been a pre-meditated murder. Mr Husain had left his house at 9 AM, gone to the masjid, bought gifts for his nephew’s birthday and then gone to meet Mr Gujral, where during a heated argument and ensuing scuffle, the gun went off killing Mr Gujral. “Any further questions, Mr Goenka?” The judge was getting irritated. “You went home from the masjid, picked up the gifts and then went to meet Mr Gujral?” “No, I left home for the masjid and then went directly to the toy shop.” “What toy was it?” “Don’t remember.” “You like toys, sir?” “No.” “You love your nephew a lot, sir?” “Yes.” “Mr Goenka, you are asking irrelevant questions. Please stay on the case.” “Sorry, your Honour.” The judge announced the verdict. It could not be proved beyond doubt that Razak had himself fired the gun. He was free, but had to stay within the country, till further notice. A muted cry of relief escaped Razak’s lips. He thanked his team and headed towards the door. The packed courtroom was abuzz at what they knew was the triumph of injustice. Samir felt drained. He closed his eyes. “Just a minute, Mr Husain.” “I won, like I told you, Mr Goenka.” “Congratulations. You are also on record that from home to the masjid and then to Mr Gujral’s, you had a gun all along.” Husain’s lawyer squirmed. He knew where this was going “Are you retarded, Mr Goenka? My gun was registered, the case is over and I have won.” “Yes, you have, sir, but under Sec 18 C, it’s a criminal offence to carry a gun, within 100 meters of a place of worship”. “I will pay the fine.” “Sure you will, sir, but it’s a non-bailable offence,with seven days imprisonment.” Husain looked at his lawyer. “Save me, you lazy idiot!” “I can’t.” The handcuffs were on. The police had had a long wait. “I can’t go to jail. Save me, please save me!” Samir walked away. A glance at Mr Gujral’s widow, who all this while had been a silent spectator in the stands and he knew; he had won.” Not always.
