Free Animal's People by Indra Sinha Page A

instantly forgotten.
    The judge is sat wrapped in a black robe looking serious, the legal types are gathered in front of him, talking loudly.
    â€œI just wish…” says Nisha, again turning her head to me, I can smell the sweetness of her breath. “Yes?” But she’s abruptly stopped because a familiar voice is speaking. It’s Zafar. He introduces himself, seems he’s an intervenor in the case. Zafar’s specs are flashing, beard’s jutting, he says he has a petition to put, at which a couple of the local lawyers start giggling.
    â€œMy lord,” says Zafar, “there are two sets of defendants in this case, first there are the local accused, employees of the Kampani, their personal defence lawyers are here before you. Then there are the Amrikan accused, ergo the Kampani itself plus the big bosses who took the crucial decisions. For the past eighteen years these Amrikan defendants have not shown up in this court. They have not even bothered to send lawyers. They sit in Amrika claiming this court has no jurisdiction over them, yet nothing can be achieved without them being here, thus these proceedings drag on and on, for the people of this city justice continues to be delayed and denied.”
    â€œI have done my homework Mr. Zafar,” says the judge drily. “What is your point?”
    â€œMy point, sir, is that thousands in this city have died since that night, for them was no justice. The factory is abandoned full of chemicals which as we speak are poisoning the water of thousands more. Must all perish before these Amrikan defendants appear? Speaking plainly, with no disrespect to you, I think in no other country would the law be allowed to become such a farce, if the will existed to resolve this matter, it could have been done long ago.”
    Sniggers come from the local lawyers, the judge is tapping a pencil on his desk, looking irritated. “So have you come to lecture us?” he says. “Or do you have something useful to say?”
    â€œSir,” says Zafar, “the Kampani chooses to ignore your court, but this same Kampani has many offshoots and subsidiaries trading in India. Our prayer is for you to issue a summons to the Kampani and its named bosses in Amrika, requiring them to submit themselves for trial before this court. If still they do not appear then in accordance with the due provisions of the law, let all the Kampani’s assets in India be attached.”
    Well, at this, a couple of the local lawyers start giggling. “Your lordship,” says one, “we have lost count of how many times over the years this petition has been put by Mr. Zafar to your lordship’s learned predecessor in this case, before that to his learned predecessor, going further back, to his predecessor and his too, and so on beyond memory. Always it was deemed devoid of merit.”
    Holy cunt, what a twisted nain rabougri is this from our own city to take the side of the Kampani? I’m glaring at this bugger with such hatred, he can surely feel me raal tapko’ing the back of his neck.
    So then the judge is looking even grimmer, pencil’s tapping so hard I’m thinking it will make a hole in his desk. The lawyer who spoke is looking smug, now Zafar’ll get what for, here comes a right fucking coup de bec.
    Says his lordship, “Are you appearing for the Kampani, Mr. Babulal?”
    â€œNo milord.”
    â€œMr. Babulal, are you familiar with the essays of Francis Bacon?”
    â€œNo milord.”
    â€œâ€˜Private opinion is more free, but opinion before others is more reverent.’ Try to remember this, Mr. Babulal.” The judge clears his throat. “Mr. Zafar, let a list of the Kampani’s assets in India be drawn up and entered to the court. This case is adjourned, I will reserve my decision.”
    Well, no one can believe what they have just heard. The judge leans back in his chair, like he’s relishing the