Curiosity brings scores to convict’s door
BADAUN: In a dusty little village deep in Uttar Pradesh’s rural hinterland, the quiet of a foggy winter morning is broken with a sudden commotion – scores of children running behind a police jeep that screeches to a stop in front of a house at the edge of the village.
The house belongs to the juvenile convict in the Delhi gang rape case – convict number six – who was released on Sunday after serving a three-year sentence.
“We thought they (police) have brought him back so I came to see him,” says Aslam Ali, a villager, as he adjusts his tattered shawl.
Inside, the convict’s mother lies bedridden with severe bronchitis, known as ‘heart ki bimari’ in the village.
“He is the eldest of my six children, if his life is destroyed we will all perish too,” she says in a frail voice, her words interspersed with bouts of cough.
As Delhi is rocked by massive protests against the juvenile’s release, hundreds of miles away in this village, relatives say the mother only wants her son to come back. But reports say he will stay in an NGO-run shelter in the Capital for some time as he fears for his safety.
“He was the only caretaker in our family, we have been pushed to the verge of begging to survive,” says the convict’s younger sister. “My family will be destroyed if he doesn’t come back.” The villagers are aware of his crime and agree he should be severely punished, but still want him back for the family’s sake.
The convict had fled to Delhi 12 years ago when he was just an eight-year-old boy, but regularly sent money to support his sevenmember family.
“He has destroyed the life of a girl but if he fails to return, lives of two more girls(his two sisters) will also be destroyed,” says a 40-yearold woman who lives nearby.
But the police team hasn’t brought him home. “We are here to protect him if he arrives,” says CP Singh, station officer at the nearest police station. “The security of the boy and his family is our responsibility,”
As the sun slowly clears the fog, the otherwise-placid village starts buzzing. Several cars with press stickers arrive and reporters ring the house, armed with cameras and microphones.
Women cover their faces and step back into their houses while the men swagger forward to take the questions: “Do you know him? Was he your friend? Do you live nearby?” “No, I’m here just to see what’s happening,” replies a 24-year old. Another man chips in, “Sab aye to hum bhi aa gaye (I came because everyone else was coming).” Two constables ask a relative about the convict’s father who has been missing since the morning. “He is not of sound mind. He must be wandering somewhere. I don’t know about him,” comes the reply.