Pulling the Lever

My fingers pulled the black mask over his face. If he was afraid, he did not show it in his expression, but I recognized the stench of fear. It was in his eyes, it was always in their eyes. My fingers felt his skin shiver under the mask as the coarse rope was put over his neck.  It drooped around his neck exactly like I wanted. The loop was perfectly calibrated for his size and would give him a clean death. There was a small group of people, unusually sitting in silence. A few people sobbed quietly and a handkerchief constantly wiped the trickles of tears off their cheek. They were not crying for his loss, I knew that, they were crying because of what he took from them. Only the very brave, or a mother came to shed a tear for him. 

Sometimes, they are rapists, child fuckers, serial psychopaths, gangsters, but they all had one thing in common, they were murderers. My hand tightened around the lever. A judgement in a court was made and now this man’s final judgement would be made by me. Even so, many don’t realise it, but it is truly a host of judgments that start long before the court’s mallet smashes down. It’s the media, it’s the mob, it’s his victims, it’s the politician all there, and then I make the final judgement... no, not the final judgement, the second last judgement. The final judgement will be made by God. 

The usual ritual was carried out. He was asked to give his last words. He grunted, a last attempt to have the last laugh. Even in that I could smell his fear of the unknown, yet the fury in everyone’s faces showed they saw it as defiance. Some scream out for mercy to live, some would softly beg for the victim’s forgiveness, but all of them had the same fear of the unknown of death. 

The Prison Guard nodded his head. In my mind I said a small prayer for him, my lungs pulled in a deep breath, my chest feel the immense weight press on it and my hand tugged the lever. The flap of the wooden platform swung open. His body began falling through it, until the rope gave a jerk, his neck snapped and the murderer was dead. 

There his body stood swinging silently like a pendulum of a clock. Some howled, some looked hollowly on and some could not even look at what once was a living being. 

Killing a person changes you, it changed me and with every life I take I fall deeper into an abyss. 

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Death Judgment

The day had come for him. Last night he had his last meal of butter chicken and nana. Today, there were marching him from his cell in the best clothes he would ever wear. Prisoners stared at him curiously behind their bars. Some grinned, some looked grimly on and one even tried to grab his arm to have a lathi smash down on his bone. He yelped and jumped back. Around him guards marched, attired in their fresh kakhi uniform, his escorts out of here. 

The metallic gate was already swung open and fat Ram stood at the door way with his belly pouring out his uniform. He shabbily saluted the officers with the marching prisoner and nodded his acknowledge the prisoner for the last time. 

From the shady prison house, they stood out in the bright sun. Instinctively his arm jerked up, his fingers all extended from his palms and he tried to block the light out of his eyes. His destination was not far away from the prison, his final freedom. 

Grieved relatives and parents all sat there. Not his own, but his victims. They led him up the wooden staircase and up the platform. 

“You are sentence to death…”, one the officers who was marching with him announced. His only reply was silence. A quick scan of the audience revealed no one of his blood, no one of his own.

“Do you have any last words?”, the question was asked. Once again, his reply was one of silence. 

His last thoughts were on his crime, on the lives he took away. 

A black cloth was put over his face. Then came the rough course noose that the skin on his neck could feel. Would it be a quick death or would the noose jerk miss?, thought the dead man. 

‘Click’. 

The floor underneath him swung open. His body fell down. The noose hit Adam’s apple, tightly wrapping itself around his neck. 

And just like that his life was extinguished… just like a mallet made the judgement for his death… just like a society clamoured for his death. A stain that would fade away into nothingness, only remembered by the hand that put black mask on his head, the noose around his neck and the final pull of the lever that killed him, the executioner. 

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The Police and the Law

Abdul just felt frustrated. His fingers tightly clutched the paper, crumpling the edges a bit. He was always a man who followed the legal rule book, but right now, he was in a dilemma. Slow wind blew from the rickety fan above him. With every swirl, the fan threatened to just fall off from its hook, but it didn't. The top button of his khaki uniform was unbuttoned and his lips gently blew wind inside trying to cool off his sweaty body. Today, after hunting the streets for over a month, another scum was in the lock up, another scum that caused pain, but as long as he was behind those bars, he couldn't hurt anyone. 

Six months as station officer and he already knew what was going to happen. Next day he would be presented to the court, bail would be granted and then he would just vanish. The same thing happened last month with another scum criminal. That was the system and Abdul knew he was in it. 

The scum in his jail was a rapist and a child fucker. Yet, tomorrow, he would walk out. Only, if the legal system was stronger, more sufficient. 

“Chai, sahib” a voice interrupted his thoughts. A fifteen year old child placed a glass of the hot beverage on his table. His head nodded, his hand put down the FIR that supposed to be filed and picked up the tea. 

“Saab”, spoke up Sameer, “You don’t need to think much about it, let me do it”. A constable with a large waist breath sat on a stood near the office entrance. His hand were wrapped around the stick which tapped on the floor. He was obviously annoyed at the Station Officer’s decision making process. 

The officer heard about such circumvention at the Academy, but he promised himself, it wouldn't turn out this way.  

The last of the hot tea drained down his throat and the office jerked his body up. “You’ve decided?” questioned the constable. The officer did not reply. 

From his office, past the small waiting area of the police station, he stood outside the lock up. A few petty thieves stood inside with the scum. “Get them out of there”, he ordered the constable. The fat constable charged inside and chased them out of the lockup and put them into the spare one. 

“Give me the stick”, the officer called out another order. The stick was placed in his hand, his feet charged inside the cell and his arm swung back. But the blow did not land on the scum. 

He couldn't do what needs to be done. 

Someone was tugging the stick out his hand. “Go home”, the constable suggested, “I will take care of this. Go home to your family.”

The stick slipped off his hand and into the constable’s. 

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