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On Record Death penalty: Defining
the power of pardon |
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Profile Comments Unkempt Diversities — Delhi Letter
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Death
penalty: Defining the power of pardon Dhananjay
Chatterjee has been made to pay for his crime. Understandably, while he and his family used every means of evading the death penalty, human rights activists have shown themselves in poor light. The Union Government, on its part, has not gone into the more important question of defining the limits to the exercise of the power of pardon and the implications of the concurrent powers of the Governor and the President. First, the human rights activists. For them so long as capital punishment is not abolished, the life of a convict sentenced to death will remain more precious than the life which the convict has extinguished. For them the murder of a minor in the most cruel manner after being raped is nothing compared to the right of the convict to life. Some of the concerns of the abolitionists have long ago been addressed by the Supreme Court’s judgement laying down that death sentence should be awarded in the “rarest of rare” cases. This reverses the earlier law governing death sentences where murder committed under grave and sudden provocation alone justified the lesser sentence of life imprisonment. This is a notable concession to the abolitionists. For it rules out the danger of people being hanged in error. Obviously, it is only if proof is beyond doubt that conviction takes place and further a reasoned order has to be passed explaining why the case belongs to the “rarest of rare” category. In this case, the murder was not only premeditated but was preceded by rape and was carried out in a brutal manner. The delay in his execution was the result of the convict’s own making. It was no ground for the commutation of the sentence. The abolitionists may have a point about hanging being a cruel method of execution, though this too is debatable because doctors attending executions by hanging say that the length of the drop is according to the weight of the convict and results in the dislocation of the medulla oblongata (tail portion of the brain) from the spine and, therefore, the control of the brain over the rest of the body and renders the convict unconscious immediately. Even so, the method of execution could be discussed but not the abolition of the penalty. But even more than the human rights activists, it is the government that needs to look at the law on pardon. The Constitution empowers both the Governor of a state and the President of India to entertain mercy petitions. This itself requires clarification of these powers. Are these powers concurrent? Does the petition necessarily have to go to the Governor in the first instance? If so, is the power of pardon exercised by the Governor final and not reviewable by the President? Apparently, it is not. Where the President has rejected a mercy petition, could the Governor entertain another petition and accept it? Chatterjee submitted his second petition to the Governor of West Bengal after the President rejected the first mercy petition. Should a review in such cases not be barred? If in the case of a political murder, the Governor of a state, on the advice of the State Government, is compelled to commute the sentence, is the President barred from intervening? To avoid such eventualities, there should be a power of suo motu review by the President. But even allowing for a parallel exercise of powers by the Governor and the President, how often can a convict exercise the right to petition. In this case, one may say with utmost respect that the President should not have entertained the petition a second time even for consideration. These parallel powers have also led to a decision by the Governor of Tamil Nadu to commute the death sentence of Nalini, the dedicated hostess and whole-hearted abettor of the assassins of the late Rajiv Gandhi, while the sentence of three others stands but remains unexecuted in the absence of a decision on their petition to the President. As to what activated the mercy of the Governor of Tamil Nadu, the reasons adduced are not known but what may have weighed with the Governor was the fact that Nalini had a small child from Murugan, a co-accused who has been sentenced to death. In both cases, there were concurrent judgements at the trial and appellate levels and even the review petition of Chatterjee was rejected by the Supreme Court. At this rate, an accused sentenced to death for the murder of his parents may well use the opening for unlimited review to set up a fresh plea for mercy on the ground that he has been orphaned. Contrast this with the case of the American scientist Julien and his wife Ethel Rosenburg who were sent to the electric chair in 1952 for passing on the atomic secrets to the erstwhile Soviet Union despite the fact they had two little children. The case of Bentley and Craig, two British boys found guilty in the 50s of killing two policemen who challenged them while they were breaking into a house for theft, is worth nothing. Bentley incited Craig, a minor to shoo the policemen. Craig did not get a death sentence because he was a minor but Bentley who did not do the shooting himself was condemned as an accessory to murder. In spite of 200 Labour MPs having tabled a motion for referring the petition of Bentley to the Queen, Home Secretary Maxwell Fife refused to forward the petition. If we do not combine democratic governance with firm governance, we shall have no one except ourselves to blame for lawlessness resulting from the abuse of the provisions relating to pardon by criminals guilty of heinous
crime. The writer is a former Chief Secretary of Punjab |
Profile Harbhajan Singh is, perhaps, the most outstanding among the Arjun Award winners having made a stunning debut in world cricket. The first Indian to claim a test match hat-trick and that too against mighty Australians, on the opening day of the Kolkata test, he sent shock-waves in cricket circles round the globe . Three wickets, he bagged in succession, were no ordinary batsmen. Harbhajan first got Ricky Ponting, then had the “danger man”, Adam Gilchrist, and completed the hat-trick by pushing out master batsman Shane Warne. Bhajji, as he is popularly known, was only 18-year-old then. Bhajji’s Talisman, in his own words, is: “I have always been an aggressive bowler. I always bowl to take wickets, and not to contain batsmen. I don’t get joy if I bowl 20 overs and concede and get 30 runs. I think if I bowl 30 overs, I should have 4-5 wickets”. Doubtless, he represents the spirit of the new Indian cricket. When Bhajji was very young, he enjoyed bowling. He could impart fizz to deliveries and could spin and bounce a great deal more. But as he grew up he struggled sometimes to get the same loop in his deliveries. Harbhajan’s elevation to the Indian cap in 1998 was a major surprise to the world because the 18-year-old was relatively unknown outside Punjab. An attacking spinner in the classical mould, he had not established himself by then. The fact that he has not fully enjoyed the confidence of the selectors is one reason for this but his action being deemed suspect by the ICC has also stalled his progress. A stint with former England off-spinner, Fred Titmus, seemed to have done him some good. The one quality that Bhajji is well known for is that he is a fighter to the core. Harbhajan Singh’s road to glory has not been an easy one. The 20-year-old off-spinner from Jalandhar has been plagued by allegations of a jerk in his bowling action and insinuations of him have attitude problems. After almost losing his job in Indian Airlines and being saddened immensely by the death of his father, Harbhajan was reborn as a cricketer. Training doubly hard, the fiery youngster readied himself for the touring Australia. In the absence of ace leg-spinner Anil Kumble, India was desperately on the look-out for a strike bowler. Bowling with a high arm action, extracting good bounce and considerable turn, Harbhajan destroyed the Aussies by scalping 32 wickets in the three Test series. His performance had outdone the previous best wicket tally for an Indian in a Test series against Australia, beating legendary left-arm spinner Bishen Singh Bedi’s haul of 31 wickets in 1977-78 in Australia. Commendable is the fact that Harbhajan notched up his wickets in three tests against Bedi’s five. With the bat too, Harbhajan struck some lusty blows, earning kudos from teammates, scribes and selectors alike. The arrival of Harbhajan at the international stage as a force to reckon with has been like a whiff of fresh air for Indian cricket. India was struggling at that time in the sphere of bowling and the young genius had filled in the void. His success indeed is a tribute to his resilience in facing the ups and downs in his personal life and in the sphere of cricket. After being picked up for India and failing to live upto expectations, Harbhajan was relegated to the cricketing wilderness for sometime. When he did make a comeback to the Indian side, doubts were raised about him. Dropped from the side, the young off-spinner had to undergo the ignominy of several tests. The last one of those came in the form of a trip to England where former off spinning and all-rounder Fred Titmus had a look at Harbhajan’s action. Without a thought, Harbhajan was cleared. Harbhajan and Virender Sehwag, faced disgrace when they were fined by the New Zealand government for arriving in the country with dirty shoes. They were hit with a $100 instant fine for their undeclared dirty footwear as the Indian team flew into Auckland. Having come to be known in the cricket world as “Turbanator”, Harbhajan was first called for throwing in 1999 in Sharjah. He worked on the defects in his action under the guidance of Fred Titmus. Harbhajan says the worst moment in his cricketing career has been when he was called a “chucker” and when he was expelled from the academy for indiscipline. His best moments were when he emerged as the only Indian player to have a hat-trick in Test cricket. Bhajji is still young — only 24 — and a bright future beacons him. He is still rising in the cricket world like a
meteor. |
Comments Unkempt
I remembered Rabindranath Tagore’s “O Padma mine, We meet hundreds of times, you and I”. Only it was not the Padma that I saw before me but its original mainstream, the Ganga. The house I stayed in was right on the river bank, the place Bhagalpur in Bihar near the border with West Bengal. Overlooking the river, in the garden was a three foot high platform of red cement on which we sat in the evenings as the sun set, a gentle breeze working its way through Ashoka and Gulmohar trees. Ahead was the river’s majestic flow, at least two miles wide. The fishing boats seemed tiny as they floated in the stream with usually two small sun-baked humans to a boat, working the nets. As soft darkness gently fell the boats disappeared making for the shore and I was left with conflicting thoughts of the hard and dangerous life of the fishermen, making barely enough to survive. And an image of chairman Mao swimming the Yang tse. The mansion I was staying in was built for a British Indigoplanter. “Grant Sahib’s Kothi” it is called. Huge, sprawling added to from time to time, and now the home of a senior bureaucrat. The house has changed but not the river, nor, fortunately the silence. Not the Silence de la Mer but the Silence de la fleuve almost as wide as the sea. It was the fortnight of darkness and the silky silence was truly blessed. Down river, how far I didn’t quite know, was a temple. Every evening bhajans kept floating out from good male voices. May be they wouldn’t have been so attractive from nearby but, rimmed by the silence, they were full of sweetness. Sitting on the platform in comfortable chairs we were prompted to talk of cabbages and kings and sip our glasses. Maybe two miles inland was the typical Bengal or Bihar small town, with petty shops tumbling into each other, dim bluish lights, evidence to the Bihar of today, with transient electricity, awful roads, cycle rickshaws fighting of roadspace, women the main passengers, and everywhere the unpleasant hum of a town overcrowded in parts; the railway station a congealed chaos of people lying on the floor waiting for trains that were forever late. The big Railway Engineering Centre of Jamalpur was set-up by the British some 30 miles way, also developed in pockets, the rest unchanging. The river has not changed except perhaps to grow more wayward and unpredictable, nor, in a way, has the land. Sitting at a window, glasses cracked by vicious stones thrown, cool and undisturbed by any other passengers I tried to put myself 40 or 50 or 60 years back. How much has India changed? Small boys and girls trying to hawk cheap wares on the platform as the train became, after Patna, a slow-coach passenger stopping almost at every station. Women, with baskets on their heads carrying loads of whatever they could sell. Old men and bent women hurrying to get in. Down the side of the embankment were open village markets with produce poured onto the ground. Below, as we hissed passed, were tiny shops of tin and bamboo where the total stock could not have been worth more than three hundred rupees. Village ponds were linked by temporary bamboo bridges scarcely three feet wide but built with the same care as the Bridge on the River Kwai. At every small station with its sun-heated platform men and women collected under the shade of the few trees. The tea-man walked with his aluminium kettle and, now, earthen khullars not plastic glasses any more by order of that great development engineer Laloo Prasad Yadav. Laloo will pass with time and so will the khullars and the plastic revolution will invade again. The khullars are still on the outside with the tea-stalls, the vendors who walk the compartments still stick to plastic. Indeed, plastic glasses fit beautifully into one another; with khullars far fewer can be carried. If Laloo could only have thought of some things more effective. In the First Class AC compartment the curtains were new but the seat covers were old and badly rubbed; from the cracks in the wood-covered basin there came a procession of insects interesting to watch but perhaps the carriers of disease. In the bathroom everything was of dull polished steel but the shower had been removed. New curtain rods were screwed onto the wall and would surely vanish soon. The welcome carpet was worn to shreds. Women in the villages wear blouses, their saris are colourful but cheap. For the men trousers are de rigeur even if very old. It is the children of today who are better dressed in half-pants and printed dresses. They have been touched gently by “progress”. But India is unchanging, at least village India is much unchanged. There are no toilets; both men and women use the fields, there are old fashioned wells where the water level surely goes down in summer. Where river water had overflowed into ponds water buffaloes were having the time of their lives, submerged neck-deep in the slimy water. High technology notwithstanding what is still most useful in an Indian village is the bicycle used also to carry loads of long-stemmed vegetables, umbrellas against rain and sun, rubber hawaii sandals where people once went barefoot and bottles of so-called “spring water” to have by one side. Brass and bell-metal have disappeared, sadly it is all plastic now. The scene would probably be very different in rural Punjab or Haryana if seen from a train window, or Kerala with its chain of villages connected by black-topped roads. Our India is developing in pockets, with highly modern facilities in some places, none in others. And we in trousers and jackets or Neta dresses carrying leather or glass fibre briefcases and mobile phones are as far away from the people as the British were. A railway compartment is a fine point of ventage to watch the slow moving drama of modern India played out. But for soothing, thought-inspiring, silent and serene (in good weather) drama try the broad-backed Ganga flowing home to the sea. So many of Tagore’s finely-etched scenes of life on the bank came from days and nights on his
“Padma”. |
Diversities — Delhi Letter Ironies
are writ large in this large metropolis. Just at the turn of World Suicide Prevention Day (September 10) two middle class families were wiped clean and a college-going girl found dead in what had been reported as suicide pacts. And though not a day passes here when suicide-related deaths are not reported, you have the other side, the brighter side. There’s this big hue and cry that markets and restaurants are going to be open till late night (the graph is in suspense — swinging from 9 pm right up to the very stroke of midnight). There’s excitement only in a segment; for the rest there are the usual hazards that invariably surface — beyond the buying power, the people’s commuting capability, the security aspect and the feasibility of it all. For, don’t overlook the condition of the roads here (potholes and streetlights often not in working condition), maniac drivers, tight parking slots, etc. And to cap it all, with winter setting in another two months, there is the fear of the treacherous haze that envelopes Delhi so very early in the evening. I’m writing myself off the shopping list. Seminar on Kant Though it’s still a little way off, talks have begun doing the rounds. Max Mueller Bhavan is organising a three-day seminar (October 7-9) to focus on Immanuel Kant, and with that there’d be an automatic focusing on the “The Kantian idea of judgement, his distinction between analytic and synthetic judgements, and the ‘apriori’ and ‘aposteriori’.” As the organisers state, after 200 years of Kant’s death — “we find ourselves in a geo-political situation which is defined as war against terrorism. The security measures against possible acts of terrorism have forced modern democracies to deny freedom and autonomy to their own citizens. This situation opens up a plethora of questions and concerns — do the inhuman acts of terrorism demand a moral response which goes beyond treating the acts as mere violation of moral law? Focus on Ghalib The city has been blessed with a handful of poetry enthusiasts like Rakshanda Jalil. A young and talented woman, she has taken it upon herself to focus attention on certain aspects of our Hindustani heritage. She has held evening after evening of poetry recitals called the Hindustani Awaaz at the India International Centre. This fortnight Rakshanda has focused attention on Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib. Perhaps, no other poet had witnessed more turbulence than Ghalib — both on personal and political fronts. He witnessed the Mutiny, saw the decline of the mughal power and the disquiet before the decay. And since this was a week-long exhibition, not a single aspect seemed missing — Ghalib’s manuscripts, lithos, drawings, the items of everyday use (hookah, etc), his letters, photos of where he lived and survived against odds. Then there were readings and talks by stalwarts like theatre personality Habib Tanvir and Jamia Millia Islamia Vice-Chancellor Mushirul Hasan. With the very spirit and enthusiasm that Rakshanda is blessed with, she is already working on her next project, highlighting the simple genius of Munshi Premchand and the reach of his works. Once again this will be held at the India International
Centre. |
Mind is consciousness which has put on limitations. You are originally unlimited and perfect. Later you take on limitations and become the mind. — Sri Ramana Maharshi Plunge in yoga or in enjoyment, Mix with all or stand severely apart; For the heart that delights ever in Brahman It is bliss, bliss, bliss — bliss without end. — Sri
Adi Sankaracharya I was a bard out of work. God blessed with me with His service and commanded me to sing His praises night and day. He summoned to me to His Eternal Abode, bestowed on me the Robe of the Praise of His True Name and fed me with the
Nectar-Name of the Eternal Truth. — Guru Nanak |
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