Samsāra

By Rahul Anthony

As she stumbled into the courthouse waiting hall, her sandals caught on the uneven stone tiles, she tripped, and her folder burst open like a torn wound — papers fluttered across the dusty floor, stamped with red tape and years of neglect.

Bystanders knelt down to pick up the scattered files when suddenly, a man just stepped on them and walked past. They yelled out to him, and he turned around with a dull expression, eyes hollow, seemingly sucking all the light from the surroundings. He looked down at the documents, now with boot impressions on them, and scoffed.

One of the bystanders grabbed his shoulder and the man instinctively clutched the sling bag. He looked around, scanning for the exits and sizing up how many were there. She asked that he be let go and the man scurried away. 

Shaken, she walked by to the water dispenser and filled a glass, tapping her right foot aggressively on the floor as she held back tears. She had a few sips, poured the remainder into a nearby bucket, sighed and walked to a nearby bench. As she sat down, aloof and in a world of her own, she suddenly noticed to her right was the very same man who had trampled her documents, lost in deep thought as he stared at the floor. 

She looked leftward and saw an old man tightening his prosthetic leg. He gave her a warm smile, but the wrinkles on his face and obvious injury told yet another story of suffering.

She realised that she had absent mindedly squeezed herself between 2 seated men and was about to get up, when the old man gently said “please sit, I promise I won't bite”.

She smiled at him and sat back uncomfortably, making sure not to lean back. The old man asked for her name and she replied “Nirmala.” His smile slowly faded as he looked at her portfolio, an understanding and forlorn expression covering his face, as his forehead wrinkled with worry. 

“How long?” He asked. 

“Eleven,” she whispered. “I only remember because of the day I lost him.” The tears were back again, she hadn't expected to meet someone who would understand, much less show concern for her. “And you?” She asked back. “ Seven. At this point I come here only to drink at the chaiwala next door.” 

She chuckled, wiping the tears away. “ How do you manage to stay positive? I feel so helpless here, and half the time I don't even understand what they talk about in that courtroom. I don't even know why I keep coming back.”

“Well, I actually wanted to stop coming here long ago. But then I looked around and saw others struggling. Fighting is what I was trained for. Even here, if nothing else, I make sure the judges show up and feel our presence. Irritating them is my new battle.”

“I never looked at it that way.” 

“You're just too kind.” 

The haunted man beside them finally spoke.

“You talk of kindness? The men who sent us to fight live in palaces! They signed peace treaties and left us loitering in these corridors. Look around you. Do you see dignity? Do you see justice? And you talk about KINDNESS!!??” His voice raised to a scream and cracked with emotion, and Nirmala gave a worried look to the old man, whom she now knew was called Balbir.

He smiled again and told her not to worry. “We go way back, I was his senior in the army. Ram always was a hot head.” He chuckled. Ram did not find it funny.

“You can barely walk now, and I see ghosts everywhere I go. We cannot live normal lives and what yet, people around look at us like we are some lesser version of them. I hate it all. I regret serving this nation that refuses to come to the aid of its protectors.”

Balbir looked at the bag Ram was clutching and his eyes narrowed. He tensed up and observed his surroundings. Innocents everywhere. He hunched forward and gave a stern look to Ram, who stared right back with unrestrained fury. In a gentle tone, he requested Nirmala to get him a glass of water as well, to which she immediately obliged. As she left, Balbir spoke to Ram.

“Innocents are here, Ram,” he said in a low voice. “This isn’t the way.”

Ram’s reply was chilling. “What’s a few civilians compared to what we’ve lost? Let them feel it.

This is the only place to involve all who are responsible for my misery.”

“Ram…I- …” he was cut off quickly. “BALBIR! I do not need your sermons here. You are fighting, you said? For what? What are the results? A widow who lost her husband in an active terrorist zone is still trying to get compensated by the state. Hundreds of people are stuck loitering around this god forsaken place, despite protecting the nation with all their might . Thousands have given up and are working dainty jobs just to afford a meal. When will you open your eyes to the facts? The state refuses to give us dignity, and I will show everyone why they should fear a man who has nothing to lose.”

Balbir was desperate.“What about your daughter? Your family?” 

“They did not want an unstable man around, especially one that can't even feed them. They said I shouted in my sleep, sometimes I hit the walls. My daughter was scared that they might be next, I guess.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that”

“Don't be…I know you have been through hell as well….all those medals and sleepless nights for Nothin-...” Balbir winced at Ram, who stopped the conversation midway, noticing now that Nirmala had approached. 

The clerk’s gavel-like stamp echoed like a gunshot. Ram’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment he wasn’t in court — he was in a dark valley, gunfire bouncing off the mountains.

His roll number was called out by one of the clerks and he got up to leave, with his bag held tight. Balbir pushed himself off the bench and stood up awkwardly. As he made a lunge, Ram hugged him tight, and whispered “it's either the court or all the victims here old man, you cannot disarm me in your current state.”

Balbir let go, burning with shame. He was not the man he used to be. As he sat down again, an incredulous Nirmala handed him the water, “I didn't realise you two were so close.” 

Balbir gave her a nervous smile and looked down at the floor, preparing himself to hear a bomb go off. He broke out in cold sweats and his hands began to shake, but he took deep breaths and tried to compose himself. He watched the clock tick by, and his anxiety finally  abated when he watched Ram walk back out of the courtroom.

Balbir rushed up to him, his prosthetic squeaking at every step, almost resembling a penguin. 

“What happened, did they award you your benefits???”Ram looked back with tears covering his bloodshot eyes. “No. They did not.”

“Then why?”

“As usual, they went around arguing back and forth and have promised a better outcome the next time. I just found myself unable to harm anyone there despite them treating me like a clown. I will continue to perform in this circus until they get fed up with my face and at least throw me some leftovers. What else can I do?”

Balbir beamed with pride. “Actually, I have been training to run in the paralympics. I plan to use the recognition and prize money to bring more awareness to the general public of our plight. I'll admit, for a second there, I was swept up by your words and felt helpless, but not anymore. Let's do this Ram. I would love for you to be there as one of the spokesperson when I win. ” 

“You're old, and probably going senile. But, if you do win, I'll follow you one more time, saheb”

Nirmala went in next and came back out with a smile…..no luck. The same for Balbir. 

The 3 chatted and parted ways, gone, but not for long. They would have to hover over this place like ghosts, either till their life gave out, or the court gave in and let them have what was rightfully theirs, government sanctioned reimbursements for injured and deceased soldiers on duty. 

They were destined to repeat this cycle, mimicking the cycle of life, death and rebirth each time they entered the court, heard the verdict and left.

Balbir would go on to win gold at the paralympics. He spoke about the issue and it garnered widespread attention for a week. No one did anything. But that didn't stop him. He continued to try and find ways to solve this issue. He continued to fight. 

Ram eventually caved in and followed Balbir around, speaking, giving interviews and collecting networks to get disabled soldiers work and to provide widows at least some compensation to soothe the wounds.

Nirmala eventually got her state awarded money, but not the backlog for the now 13 years that the case had been ongoing. She had protected her husband's honor more than anything, who died when he went to grab a bite to eat on the Kashmir border and was shot. The debate about whether that classifies as on duty was closed. 

She was content, and her suffering, like many others, would fade away under some shelved article.

These ghosts may have been forgotten, but they inspired and reminded many of the indomitable human spirit, that refuses to give up even in the face of defeat, and under no circumstances would deter from the path of serving the nation.

The end.

By Rahul Anthony