Barrister Parvateesam

I said, “You may say so.” Even so, after a moment’s thought, he continued, “I have no doubts at all, sir. I have complete faith in you. But just yesterday, or perhaps the day before, another pleader in this very town—one with both name and clients—has been trying for a long time to bring me into his circle. Now, he has launched a new weapon. He told me that you are in very poor health, that you are suffering from advanced tuberculosis, and that you will not live more than two or three months. He suggested it would be wise for me to entrust all my cases to someone else before time runs out—in other words, to entrust them to him. I was shocked. I was stunned to realize that even such senior people could harbor such base thoughts. I was deeply troubled. I came to tell you all this, but I do not believe the health report he gave me about you, not even for a moment, sir.” With a respectful bow, he left without waiting for a reply.

I came inside and lay down for a long time, pondering the nature of mankind.

Two days after this incident, when I appeared in court, that senior pleader was astonished to see me. He even forgot to utter the usual, “Oh, are you well?” Within four or five days, our Raju’s case came up for hearing, and the verdict was in Raju’s favor. For that pleader, it was as if he had suffered a stroke.

As my court work increased, I began to feel a deep discouragement and disgust towards my profession. The corruption that occurs here, the mentality of the pleaders, the quarrelsome nature of the clients, the relentless desire to snatch even an inch of another’s property, the greed for a penny or a pie—whether for the plaintiff or the defendant—people appear in court, take a solemn oath before God, declaring, “I will tell the truth, I will not lie,” and then, without a trace of shame, make a profession of giving false testimony.

Watching the people I had taken as role models, I saw that, unsatisfied with the government salaries they received for their jobs, they secretly lined their pockets, conveniently forgetting the illegal activities they committed daily. Yet, if someone else were accused of those same crimes in court, these very men would, without a shred of hesitation, declare him guilty and sentence him with all the authority vested in them. Witnessing such scenes, I began to feel a deep aversion—not just towards the education I had acquired, or the money I earned, or the profession I practiced, or even my fellow Andhras, but towards the entire human race and this so-called civilization itself. The urge to abandon this profession grew stronger by the day.

Every day, the truth and appropriateness of Gandhiji’s call became clearer to me: he had urged all lawyers to leave the courts, all students to leave their schools, and dedicate their lives to the service of the nation and the attainment of self-rule. I gradually reduced my court work, spending more and more time idling away. Unable to bear the hypocrisy, my clients naturally drifted to other pleaders. During one such campaign, I myself could not escape arrest. The government, in its wisdom, decided that I should take a six-month “rest” in Rajahmundry jail. “The judges are compassionate, their orders must be obeyed, and I am grateful for their mercy,” I said, bowing respectfully as I stepped down from the dock. As I emerged from the cell, the crowd that had gathered erupted in cheers, while the officer presiding in the courtroom sat motionless, his head bowed in shame.

All those who had come to witness the proceedings followed me outside, accompanying me all the way to the jail. Like a new bride being sent to her in-laws’ house, they sent me off with tears of joy, performed my housewarming into the new abode, and then quietly dispersed on their own ways. The fear of going to jail vanished for everyone. In fact, not only did the fear disappear, but people became so emboldened that they would walk up to any police constable they saw and challenge him, “If you can, arrest me! Let’s see what you can do!” Those who had been to jail would return and regale others with tales of how pleasant jail life was, so much so that many began to wonder if it was all just a dream.

Those who claim to tell stories. Looking at it now, I feel that much of what they say is actually true. The reason is, nowadays, those sitting in jails are all highly educated people, men of property, and those accustomed to great earnings. Even after coming to jail, unable to forget or change their old habits, they started arranging for various comforts here and there. That is, despite knowing very well that it is forbidden to bring in all sorts of snacks, tea, coffee, cigarettes, and such into the jail walls, they somehow managed to get all the facilities they desired, one way or another.

One day, a funny incident occurred. Among us, the chief leader did not like any of these antics. One day, someone managed to get some excellent jalebis brought in, either from a nearby house or from somewhere else. Not only did they bring them in, but they also distributed them to everyone. The leader, without even questioning how these came here, nonchalantly took as many as he wanted and even praised those who had provided them.

The next day, under the pretext of some festival, a prominent man arranged for a feast for everyone, bringing in four or five varieties of snacks, coffee, and tea from a hotel. Our leader came and saw all these arrangements.

“This is all against the law. Who arranged this? How did all these things come here?” he asked rather sternly.

No one uttered a word.