While the zamindars on the one hand and the framers of the act on the other, the tenantry on the one hand and the retainers of the landlords on the other, all underwent these swings of elation and depression, the judges continued to frame their judgment in secret. They assembled in the Chief Justice’s chambers shortly after the arguments were over to discuss what shape and direction the judgment should take. There was considerable disagreement over the issues, the line to be taken in arriving at the judgment, and even over the judgment itself. The Chief justice, however, persuaded the other judges to present a united front. ‘Look at that Bihar judgment,’ he said. ‘Three judges, not essentially in disagreement, each insisting on having his own say, and at – I presume I will not be quoted – at such tedious length. How will the lawyers know what the judgment means? This isn’t the House of Lords, and our judgments shouldn’t be in the form of individual speeches.’ He eventually brought his colleagues around to the idea of a single judgment unless there was strong dissent on a particular point. Rather than entrust any other judge with the first draft of the judgment, he decided to write it himself.
They worked with as much speed as care allowed. The draft judgment did the rounds of the judges in a single circular, gathering comments on separate sheets. ‘In view of the argument on page 21 about the non-applicability of implicit concepts wherever specific provision covering a particular matter already exists in the wording of the Constitution, is not the rather lengthy discussion of eminent domain moot?’ ‘I suggest that on page 16 line 8, we delete the phrase “were tilling their own land” and substitute “were not in fact intermediaries between the agriculturists and the state”.’ ‘I believe we should retain the eminent domain discussion as a second line of defence in case the Supreme Court overrules us on the non-applicability aspect.’ And so on. None of the five were unconscious of the heavy burden of responsibility that lay on them in this decision: their judgment would be as momentous as any act of the legislature or executive and would alter the lives of millions.
The judgment – seventy-five pages long – was drawn up, amended, discussed, re-amended, examined, approved, finalized. A single copy was typed up by the private secretary of the Chief Justice. Gossip and leakage were as endemic in Brahmpur as in the rest of the country, but no one except these six people got to learn what the judgment – and, most crucially, its final operative paragraph – contained.
11.29
FOR the last week or so Mahesh Kapoor, like many other senior and junior state politicians, had been shuttling back and forth between Brahmpur and Patna, which was only a few hours away by road or rail. The political aftermath of the Pul Mela and the precarious state of his grandson’s health kept him in Brahmpur. But he was pulled towards Patna every second day or so by the momentous events occurring there, events that were likely, in his view, to alter entirely the shape and configuration of the political forces of the country.
These matters came up in a discussion with his wife one morning.
The previous evening he had learned, upon his return from Patna (where several political parties, including the Congress Party, were holding sessions in the mad heat of June) news that would keep him in Brahmpur at least until that afternoon.
‘Good,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor quietly. ‘Then we can go together to visit Bhaskar in hospital.’
‘Woman, I will not have time for that,’ was Mahesh Kapoor’s impatient reply. ‘I can’t be hanging around hospital wards all day.’
Mrs Mahesh Kapoor said nothing, but that she was upset was obvious to her husband. Bhaskar was no longer unconscious, but he was very far from normal. He had a high temperature, and he could remember nothing of what had happened during the day of the stampede. His memory, even of earlier events, was erratic.
When Kedarnath had returned, he had hardly been able to believe the news. Veena, who had reproached him in his absence, did not have the heart to do so now. They stayed by Bhaskar’s bedside day and night. At first heartbreakingly vague even about the identity of his own parents, Bhaskar had slowly begun to identify himself and his surroundings. Numbers still mattered to him however; and he cheered up whenever Dr Durrani visited him. But Dr Durrani did not find these visits particularly interesting, since his nine-year-old colleague had lost some of the acuity of his mathematical insight. Kabir, however, for whom Bhaskar had previously been just an occasional face in his house, had become fond of him. It was in fact he who prodded his absent- minded father into visiting Bhaskar every two or three days.