My name is Harinath Mushahar
and I am 50 years old. I am son of Late Shyama Mushahar. I live in Barji
village, Post: Nayapur, Police Station: Phulpur, Block: Badagaon, Tehsil:
Pindra, District: Varanasi. My wife is Gulabi Mushahar. I had 2 sons, Mulayam,
20 and Subhash, 10, both of them died ten years back due to disease. My daughter,
Meena Mushahar, who is 25 year old is married and has children.
Apart from working in the field
as a landless labourer, I make leaf plates and sell it for making a living.
Suddenly, on February 1988, just 2 days after Basant Panchami, I was sleeping
under the thatched roof along with my family members. Just at around 4 a.m.
there was a knock at the door, when my wife opened the door, she saw the
police. Seeing the police, she started trembling in fear and ran towards me to
inform. Without waiting for any response, then 2 policemen barged inside and
pounced on me, grabbing my arms wanted to take me to the police station. Then I
asked, “Why you are taking me to the police station?” Then, a policeman
retorted back, “Keep quite, bastard, would you go or I have to bash you.” Then,
my wife pleaded but it fell on deaf ears. When they pulled me outside, then I
saw Ramdev Yadav, Rambali, Vikrama Pehlwan, Kanhaiya, Dr. Bhaiyalal telling the
police, ‘Arrest Lalman’. Seeing them Lalman was trying to flee. Lalman and I,
both of us were taken Phulpur police station.
The facts are that at around
prior to our arrest, at around 11 pm my brother Lalman was asked to pull on the
rickshaw. My brother had just come after seeing off her daughter and told, “I
am perpetually tired and can’t go.” Then, he retorted back. “I would teach you
a lesson.” He went away. On that night there was a theft and we were arrested.
After police took us to the lock up, my wife rushed to panchayat pradhan Shiv
Babu Yadav for help. He told, “What we can do? There has been theft so police
has taken them into custody.”
Reached Phulpur police station
I was wearing a vest, while raining incessant blows with wooden stick, shouted
on me, “You have committed theft.” I responded, “No Sahab.” But they never
talked beyond merciless beating. Police continued thrashing me for 8 days and
pressurised me to fall on their and accept that we had committed the theft.
When the police rained blows then I used to shout in pain, but then also they
did not stop, till I got drained off. Then, they used to live me like a dead
corpse. Many a times, they used to hang me from the ceiling, rained blows
continuously blood oozed out from body, and then also they did not stop. One
day the police beat me so mercilessly, that I lied comatose and unconscious for
hours together. Four policemen were moving over my body and pounding with
wooden stick as it seemed they were walking on the field but not over a human
being. While narrating the police’s
savagery tears jerks out of my eyes.
There was no one to advocate
for us. Whenever any high official visited the police station, police used to
hide us. Due to continuous thrashing my fingers were fractured, legs swollen
and I was not able to walk. Police used to give us one meal a day, it’s was
quite difficult to take food, I used to writhe terribly in pain but then also
neither they applied any ointment nor they gave any oral medicine for healing
the wounds. The pain was unbearable. The place where I used to sleep, there was
an obnoxious stink which kept me awake throughout the night. I was so disturbed
when I think about those days in jail I feel awful. That time it seemed that I
would not be able to walk alive back to my home.
Day and night, family’s worries
used to bother me. I used to think, if my wife visits me in the lock up then
she would be upset seeing my condition. On the eighth day I was sent to the
jail. Then I stayed there for two and half months, where I was treated. When I
was in jail, I became desperate enough to see my wife and children. It always
crossed over my mind, what fate had befallen on me and I am suffering for whose
sins, is it not that I am facing it for being born as a ‘Mushahar’
Waiting for my bail I spent two
and half months. After being released, I had to appear on the hearing of my
case. Sindhora’s Mahender Singh was our advocate. Whatever I could save from my
meagre earning by toiling in other’s fields I had to spend on my case. In the
day time I was busy in my work and during the night I had to pass through
anxious moments thinking that if I am punished then who would shoulder my
children’s responsibilities. When I think about it I start perspiring. Day and
night I toiled hard and could get my daughter married. Prior to my daughter’s marriage,
Subhash died as water filled his stomach and triggered serious ailment. When we took him to Basni Hospital for his
treatment the doctor gave some tablets and told that the stomach water would be
released through urine.
Ill-fate had befallen on us as
due to impoverished condition my son was deprived of a proper treatment. As
medicine vanish from Government hospitals, so my son also left this world. If
he would have been alive then he would lend his helping hand in my hour of
distress. His face is etched in my mind still I cannot comprehend the fact that
he had died. It seems to me that he has gone somewhere soon he would come back
but the reality was different. Losing son thereafter getting daughter married
had increased my woes. Many a times, it came in my mind if I am punished then
what would happen to my daughter, which would help in losing respect and esteem
within the community. If a poor man like loses respect and admiration, then
everything is lost for him. By one way or the other I could arrange some money
and then I got my daughter married. After her marriage, the days passed by
appearing in the court for the case.
On 16th April 2002, the Court
awarded imprisonment, which distanced me from my family members. On that day I
and my brother, Lalman reached the Court in the morning. Our name was called
after the Judge occupied his seat. My advocate asked us to stand at the dock.
Then, he whispered something on Judge’s ear. At around 2 p.m. the court broke
for the lunch and the Judge went away. Filled with fear, I went to the Judge
then he told me, “Go I am coming. I trusted him and I came back to my seat.
Post lunch the Judge came. I
was seeing towards the door, the advocate was coming or not. I was getting
frightened. Court’s reader made an announcement for the post-lunch session.
Then the Judge gave the ruling, “Sentenced for 10 years of imprisonment as
booked under 382 and 459 IPC and penalty of Rs. 17,000.”
It was shocking for me, my face
grew red, and I started sweating. Police took me to Chokaghat jail. After
reaching the jail, in the night I could not sleep crossing over my mind how my
family members would confront the situation. They did not know that I had been
jailed. They were thinking that I might have gone to my sister’s house. Next
day, they came to know about my 10 years of imprisonment. Gloom and sadness
descended over my home. When they went to the advocate to ask him he just
bluffed and told that we had asked to be forgiven so we were sentenced for 10
years of imprisonment. When it was narrated to me it hurt me terribly and
started crying.
Some days after staying at
Chokaghat jail I was shifted to Central jail. I was kept in No. 1 cell of the
second barrack. I was assigned the job of cleaning the barrack and filling up
water where the Pakistani prisoners were kept. In the morning my work finished
at 10 a.m. and then I had to work from 2 to 5 p.m, which I had to do for two
and half years. Where I stayed I had sweep the floor. But the toilet used to
stink so badly. That obnoxious smell used to engulf my mind and it was
difficult for me to consume food. I used to take just to keep myself alive.
Whenever I sat for the meals, I used to think about my family members have they
taken their food or not, my arms used to stop and tears fell down from my eyes
After two and half years, at
Central jail’s Shivpur farm, 6 jail inmates were assigned the work of farming
of 6 acres. Each prisoner had to do ploughing and weeding of an acre. During
the cultivation of seasonal vegetables, cereals and food grains, hundreds of
prisoners were mobilised. After putting up a hard toil covering whole of the
day we were given Rs. 10 as a daily wage. On Sundays, we had to work but we
were not paid single paise. When I asked twice why we were not paid wages for the
work done on Sundays, then they responded Sundays are holidays so we do not
pay. I used to think, are there holidays in jail but I could not ask them out
of fear. We used to toil hard for 30 days in the month but 15days were entered
in the register and 15 percent from our wages went as commission to the
contractor.
At that time, I used to think
‘what a fate had befallen on me!’ Many a times I cried and laughed on my
pathetic conditions. In the jail, I earned through sweat and blood of my hard
toil but that’s also being snatched away by others. I was put behind the bars
on trumped up charges without committing any crime.
After day’s hard toil, we were
served badly roasted chapattis, lentils in which water was proportionately
higher, greenstuffs like spinach were fried without oil. I was afflicted by
tuberculosis (TB) due to insufficient food and hard toil. Continuously I had to
take medicines for 6 months to cue my TB. I was served milk and eggs but
couldn’t consume it as health conditions were quite precarious. Coupled with my
ailment were anxieties about my family, which was turning me into a physical
wreck. Whenever there were rains, I used to think if the thatched roof is
leaking then where all the family members are sleeping. Days passed by while working
but my nights were sleepless as worries and anxieties filled up my restless
mind.
After 6 months of TB treatment,
I started working. I used to toil day and night even if sun hovered over my
head or in the biting cold. Days, months, and years passed like as if crossing
the high peaks of the mountains. It was quite a delightful moment, though quite
a shorter one, when family members came to meet me at the jail. After few days,
again a desire to meet them grew in me. One day, when my family members came to
meet me I handed over Rupees Five Thousand which I earned while working in the
jail. Once I passed on Rs. 1,000 and then, Rs. 2,000 but took away Rs. 500 for
my personal consumption to purchase soap and oil. In the jail I worked in the
field for 7 years.
In 2009, I asked the police
officer, “When I would go home?” Then, his response was that my jail term had
finished two months back as I was unable to pay the penalty and tuberculosis I
would be released on 2nd February 2011. After his response, I started counting
the days and used to think if I had the penalty to pay and not afflicted by
tuberculosis then I could have been in home. The days passed by.
2nd February was day of
celebration for me. Earlier I had informed my family members. I was besieged by
happiness and I did not take any food. The
Superintendent of Police (SP) came and went to the parade. I was waiting
for him with bated breath. I was
thinking I would go to my home and village. I would breathe in fresh air
liberated from the shackles of bondage. Back home and village I would see it in
same condition, when I left.
Seeing the Superintendent of
Police (SP) coming, I rushed to the office, and then he handed over a cheque of
Rs. 6,081 and gave me Rs. 500. After being released I briskly walked towards my
home. Then, tears jerked through my eyes and it seemed that happiness was all
around me.
Reaching home, I spent the
entire night talking to my wife and children. After being jailed, my wife
stayed at her sister’s place in Varanasi for two years. For earning a living
she carried lanterns or tube lights over her head in wedding ceremonies at
night. She made leaf plates to run the household. My son toiled hard to earn
Rs. 35 as a daily wage. Listening to their woes I cried incessantly.
Framed in false case I was 9
years away from my family members rotting in the jail. Whenever, they visited
me in jail smilingly they met, hiding their woes. They thought if I came to
know their difficulties I would be further disturbed. Seeing them I also
covered up my gloom. Fearing police framing trumped up case against my son as
it happened with me, I sent away my son to Mumbai.
False case was framed against
me and jailed for 10 years. I lost 10 years which won’t come back. What I want that it should
not happen with others. I feel that what I narrated to you, it’s happening
before my eyes.
Coming back from the jail, I am
no more interested to go any where. After being punished for so many years I
started thinking myself as guilty. I think what people might be thinking about
me. I am mentally disturbed. Due continuous police beating and the hard toil
which I put in jail for years together, there is always terrible pain in my
body.
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Testimony derived from testimonial Therapy initiative of People’s Vigilance Committee on Human Rights (PVCHR) and Dignity: Danish Institute against Torture
