Not Before Me - English

*"Not Before Me"*

*Usha S Danny*

 

The High Court’s grand bench trembled for a moment as Garatayya stood in the accused’s dock, a man of formidable history, his past meticulously preserved in the annals of police records. Thirty years prior, he had been accused of pilfering old iron scraps from the Vijayawada railway yard, a crime for which the Railway Protection Force had duly registered a case.

 

Had the police not filed that case, had the magistrate of the day not sentenced him to a week’s imprisonment, Garatayya might have continued his humble existence, scrounging for iron scraps in the same railway yard. But the wheels of justice, once set in motion, altered the course of his life irrevocably. When the RPF apprehended him and stood him before the railway court, a strange fire ignited within him. The magistrate’s sentence only steeled his resolve. That fire, that resolve, transformed him. Within a decade, he had erected a dozen mini steel plants across Andhra Pradesh and neighboring states, emerging as a veritable "Mini Lakshmi Mittal."

 

Poverty, they say, knows no caste or creed—or rather, it buries them deep, like earthworms in the soil. But as wealth accumulates, these buried divisions rise, hissing like serpents. In his ascent, Garatayya became Garatayya Nayudu, his business empire rebranded as "Jiyan (GN)," a name that now echoed in the stock markets with a certain reverence.

 

The old adage claims that ill-gotten wealth vanishes swiftly, but in this modern age, it seems to multiply faster than pollution. Garatayya Nayudu, now a corporate titan, flaunted his global alliances. In the previous government’s tenure, he secured two gas-based power projects, and in the one before that, two thermal power projects. His name, or the names of his proxies, adorned irrigation projects and dams across the state and beyond.

 

He decreed that every new luxury car model must grace his garage and that every celebrity landing at Shamshabad Airport must partake of his hospitality at least once. This was no mere government order; it was a "Garatayya Nayudu Command," as some Telugu newspapers translated it.

 

Nayudu held deep respect for the court that had etched the line of fortune on his palm and the police who had once showered him with Lakshmi’s grace. Initially, it was police officers who graced his hospitality; later, ministers, film stars, cricketers, and media moguls joined the list. Recently, even High Court judges found a place in his guest ledger.

 

But it was precisely at this juncture that Garatayya Nayudu’s fortunes took a turn. Though he had always worked closely with political leaders, he had never been one to fawn over them. His policy was simple: the chair is paramount; the person occupying it is secondary.

 

However, in the previous regime, he made a single miscalculation. He had believed that the ruling party would govern for at least two decades and had placed his bets squarely on them. He never imagined the government would fall, nor that the party would be reduced to a mere handful of seats. But the unthinkable happened.

 

The new government deemed him an arch-enemy, channeling all its resentment toward the previous regime onto him. The CID and Intelligence departments sprang into action, dusting off files buried for decades and dumping them, mold and all, onto Nayudu’s head.

 

It takes but one twist of fate to elevate a man to greatness, and but one misstep to precipitate his downfall.

 

Returning to the present, Garatayya Nayudu stood in the High Court dock. The Chief Justice, recovering from the shock faster than anyone, engaged in some introspection. "I hold a lakh and a half shares in Jiyan. It would be improper for me to preside over this case," he declared.

 

When expounding on legal nuances, judges often resort to Sanskrit shlokas for gravitas. The English, too, have their Latin and Greek for such occasions. Our judge, invoking ‘nemo judex in causa sua’—no one should be a judge in their own cause—translated it into Telugu for good measure.

 

"Not before me," he announced, adjusting his robes and striding out of the courtroom.

 

Garatayya Nayudu had faced countless legal battles in his life, never taking any case lightly. A police officer had once advised him to always engage top lawyers, and he had followed that advice religiously, securing many a victory.

 

But now, a peculiar problem arose. Those very lawyers had since become judges. Moreover, Nayudu had extended his services to all major political parties, and many High Court judges had been appointed on the recommendations of these very parties. Even the practicing advocates had once been juniors to the current judges.

 

Though we seldom notice, the world over, the elite—be they thieves, police officers, celebrated lawyers, political leaders, or judges—often belong to the same social or economic class. Those who rule society typically rule the courts as well. Such is the way of the world.

 

In the courtroom, everyone exchanged glances, realizing an invisible thread connected the judges on the bench, the lawyers below, and the accused in the dock. As this realization dawned, the judges descended from the bench, adjusted their robes, and departed, followed swiftly by the lawyers.

 

Witnessing this, Garatayya Nayudu was disheartened. He had come with a fierce vow to emerge "like a washed pearl, a polished diamond." Thirty years of faith in the judiciary had led him to this moment.

 

"Do not abandon me," he pleaded, but no one heeded his words. His pride flared. "I shall not move from this dock until my innocence is proven," he declared, taking another oath.

 

Bars and restaurants have pegs, quarters, halves, and full measures. The High Court, too, has its single-judge benches, division benches, full benches, half benches, and quarter benches—a fact unknown to many. Some even speculated a connection between the two kinds of bars.

 

Benches require judges, and judges are human. Humans have castes, religions, tribes, regions, languages, cultures, traditions, and commercial interests.

 

Yet, it would be wrong to say all were directly connected to Garatayya Nayudu. Many in the High Court had no personal ties to him, though some held shares in Jiyan, creating a market connection. But any connection, however tenuous, is still a connection. Unity in diversity, as they say.

 

With all benches refusing to hear his case, Nayudu’s heart sank. He stood in the dock for nearly twenty-four hours, without food or water.

 

The accused in the dock and the judges outside it created an unprecedented crisis in the judiciary. To resolve the situation, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court rushed to the Rashtrapati Bhavan. After a marathon Zoom meeting with legal luminaries until midnight, the President devised a solution.

 

"This case is not fit to be tried by any court in this country. Logically, crimes beyond the jurisdiction of courts are no crimes at all. Under the current laws, Garatayya Nayudu is entirely innocent. He may leave the dock and return home freely," declared the High Court Registrar the next day in an official proclamation.

 

Only after receiving a hard copy of the Registrar’s proclamation, duly stamped with the court’s seal, did Garatayya Nayudu stride out of the dock, his head held high.

 

Vijayawada

18 February 2025