Veera R Raghavan, Advocate, Chennai
You will have seen the visuals of a recent killing in Prayagraj of Uttar Pradesh, right in front of policemen. UP’s gangster-turned politician Atiq Ahmed and his younger brother Ashraf Ahmed were shot dead at point blank range by a gang of three youngsters, on 15th April. Atiq was 60 and Ashraf, 49.
The two victims, hand-cuffed and closely surrounded by policemen, were walking next to each other towards a hospital in Prayagraj for a medical check-up. Suddenly a youngster holding a gun came touching close to Atiq from the side, shot the prisoner on the head and felled him. As policemen got back in shock, in a jiffy the gunman and his two accomplices fired more shots on Atiq and his brother, ending both lives. Then the killers were overpowered. An investigation is under way.
No doubt, it was a dastardly crime. It happened when the victims were in the protective ring of policemen. With or without policemen nearby, if the victims were some local merchants or tourists carrying cash, or women wearing jewellery, and it was murder for gain, the whole of Prayagraj, and the State of UP itself, and India too, would be aghast and angry. Also, if the assailants had shot at and killed two escorting policemen alone, freed the two prisoners and escaped with them, the whole country will be shocked and furious.
But now, generally there is quiet acceptance, and some relief too, among ordinary people everywhere. Why?
Atiq Ahmed was no ordinary politician. He was a dreaded don. He had more than 100 criminal cases, including kidnapping, murder and extortion registered against him, and he was accused of murder when he was just 17. He was recently sentenced to life imprisonment in a kidnapping case – after a very long period of a pending trial simply because no witness dared to testify against him in court; and, anyone who dared, lost his life at the hands of this dreaded criminal.
Atiq contested for the legislative assembly of UP and was elected an MLA for five consecutive terms, one of them on the ticket of Samajwadi Party. For that party he had also won the Phulpur Lok Sabha seat in 2004, a constituency won by Jawaharlal Nehru three times in a row from 1952. Atiq had fought some of his elections from jail.
Atiq’s younger brother Ashraf had more than 50 criminal cases against him – including land grabbing, kidnapping, extortion and murder. He was a former MLA of the Samajwadi Party.
Victories of Atiq and Ashraf in elections did not mean people willingly voted for criminals, sweetly switching from a great democrat like Nehru to terrorising dons.
In the half-baked ill-informed Indian democracy, ordinary people would also vote out of fright and on whatever choices were thrust on them by crafty politicians. Atiq and his brother were democratically elected, in a satirical way.
You know the story of Hiranyakashipu. He was a rakshasa king, a demon, uncontrollable and unconquerable, and he caused havoc all over. As the Puranas tell us, Lord Vishnu took the form of Narasimha and killed Hiranyakashipu, employing some strategy that overcame a few immunities the rakshasa enjoyed.
The annihilation of Hiranyakashipu tells us that demons tormenting innocent humans must be and will be vanquished with the help of God and that the fall of a demon, in whatever way it occurs, will be celebrated by ordinary people. Most ordinary Indians of today are just as hapless as the people of Hiranyakashipu’s times.
Atiq Ahmed was as powerful, and as lawless, as a rakshasa ruler of ancient times. When Atiq died, the general population he held in fear would feel relieved, and people elsewhere would empathise with the people who dreaded him. This does not mean that any don, gangster, or suspected serious criminal should be done to death in cold blood, especially when he is in police custody.
Let us be clear on this. The lesson we have is different.
If a system of courts, laws, law enforcers, lawyers and political rulers work badly or too slowly, and hardened criminals roam free and prosper, and enter legislative assemblies and parliament enjoying more privileges, unmindful of over one hundred serious criminal cases against them, ordinary people will believe the law has failed – though men and women involved in that well-intended system may reckon that the law is still working at its best. In this background, if such a criminal meets his end suddenly, by cardiac arrest, by drowning, in a road accident or at the hands of a killer, ordinary people will just believe that a rakshasa has vanished, and will celebrate quietly.
This is small consolation for our choiceless and voiceless people who are meant to be the focal point of our democracy.
All said and done, do you think that the manner and circumstance of the killing of Atiq and Ashraf pooh-pooh law and legal procedure? You would be right if you feel so.
But don’t ask this question to the ordinary people of Prayagraj. If they ask you, “All said and done, does the law work for us?” you won’t have an answer.
This article is borrowed with thanks from HERE.