Witness for the Plaintiff

If this post offends you, it is meant to.
***

The ten-thirty bell signalled tension for both sides. The plaintiff's crucial witness would be cross-examined by the defendant's bewildered lawyer. The large courtroom where the Full Bench of the High Court would sit was a large, airy, cheery, bright room until they installed air-conditioning a few years ago. Now, it looked like early evening throughout the day, and a low hum provided the background noise for complicated litigation.

The lawyer held the witnesses proof affidavit nervously in his hand.

"I state that Rama, also known as Lord Rama (no offence meant to My Lords) Ram (not to be confused with a male sheep), Ramachandra, Raghuvara, Pattabhirama, Kodandarama, Ram Lalla (I did not know this one until this case), Dinamanivamsatilaka, Maryaadapurushottam, Daasaratha etc. was born in Ayodhya in the sanctum sanctorum of a ruined temple. I was present that day, and was one of the sanyasis who performed his naamakarana. I state that a structure was built, around four thousand years later on this very site by invaders."

The defendant's lawyer read the paragraph thrice to make sure he was reading what he was reading. "This guy can't be serious," he told his tired junior, who was poring over volumes of officialese that archaeologists had thrown up. He saw, in the back row of the visitors gallery, a geriatric with long white hair tied up in a ridiculous bun on top of his head, flowing white beard, dressed in saffron attire, sitting cross-legged on the century-old wooden bench, looking irritatingly smug.

The judges entered the courtroom ceremonially, led by three ushers in traditional white-and-red attire and majestic sceptres. Even as they entered, one was giggling, the second was trying to tell the first to stay in control, and the third looked grave. Everyone stood up, and bowed. The judges acknowledged the bow with folded hands. The bench clerk called out, "Item one!" and read out the cause title, and said, "Posted for plaintiff's evidence."

"If it may please your Lordship, I am appearing for the plaintiff. My lord, the matter is posted the cross examination of PW 677."

The bench clerk handed the proof affidavits to the judges, and the senior-most judge said, "Are you ready, counsel?" The defendant's lawyer nodded unsurely.

"Please call the witness."

The plaintiff's lawyer signalled to the gallery, and the old man in saffron robes got up from his seat, and walked confidently to the witness box, where he was administered an oath. The typist recorded on his barely-in-one-piece desktop that the witness was administered oath.

The defendant's lawyer, reading from the affidavit asked, "Shri Shri Shri Shri Shri Shri Shri Shri Shri Satyasivasundarananda..."
"You have one Shri too many," the witness said.
"No, I don't. If your name was Ramesh, I'd say, 'Shri Ramesh'..."
"Oh."
"Out of curiosity," a judge asked, "How do you decide how many Shris you add before your name?"
"In the olden days," the witness expounded, "We added one Shri for every three-hundred years of abstention from Shrimatis. Though sources today tell me that the figure is about three hundred minutes."
The judge giggled. His fellow judge whispered in his ear, "Learned Brother, please behave yourself."
"You state in your affidavit, Shri Shri Shri Shri..."
"I think you can call him 'PW 677'," a judge interjected.
"Much obliged, my lord," he said, looking truly obliged for a change, and turning to the witness, "Shri PW 677, you state that you are about 5010 years old. That would mean that you were born in 3000 BC."
"Wrong. I was born in 2940 BC. You see, we sanyasis are born at the age of sixty. Have you ever seen a twenty-year old sanyasi?"
The defendant's lawyer nodded gravely. The typist duly recorded the evidence. The judge said, "This is fascinating."
"Yeah. So, when I was eighty, someone said I was young and upcoming. I was overjoyed." The typist was about to record this when the judge motioned him to ignore it.
"I wish I was a sanyasi," the giggly judge said, suddenly, "I'm just sixty-one, and I'm retiring in a few months."
"Please ignore my Learned Brother. He's been like this for months. Anticipatory withdrawal symptoms."

The defendant's lawyer picked up a book, and said, "If you are that old, how come you don't figure in this book?"
"What book is that, counsel?" a judge asked.
"The Limca Book of World Records."
"Ho dude, what is that?!" the witness asked, "Looks like I've been away from civilisation for too long. Damn it."
The typist looked at the judge uncomprehendingly. One judge said, "The Limca Book of Records does not mention my name as the Oldest Living Indian."

"You state in your affidavit that you reside at 'Small hillock, K2 backside, Karakoram Range, Gilgit Baltistan, Pakistan'. How do you survive there? What do you eat?"
"I meditate for a few years, and then wake up for a small bite, and then meditate again. I eat snowflakes."
"Snowflakes? How do you eat those?"
"Like you eat cornflakes."
The giggly judge asked, "Ooh. Is it tasty?"
"Of course! Why don't you come home sometime? Bring some milk when you come, and if possible, some bananas, strawberries and honey."
"Honey! Yum!"
"Learned brother! Let us please concentrate on the issues at hand."
"Learned brother, we are writing an 8000 page judgment. Surely one small recipe won't hurt."
The second brother whispered to the third, "Our Learned Brother is acting like he's had too much grass."
"Oh. Is he vegetarian?"

The defendant's lawyer soldiered on, "You state that your occupation was as a rishi and a sub-guru to Dasharatha and Rama after him. What were your duties?"
"My main task was to perform rituals for the princes. Drive away ill omens and the like. And then we taught Sanskrit to our princes, juniors and successors. I was an expert archery theorist. I couldn't shoot an arrow too well, but I could talk about it relentlessly."
"Like Harsha Bhogle," the judge said, guffawing.
"Learned Brother!"
The typist duly recorded these findings.

"Were you personally acquainted with Rama?"
"Oh, of course. I was born only ten years before him. So, even though I was seventy years older, we were contemporaries in a sense." The keyboard clippety-clapped.
"What interactions have you had with him?"
"We used to discuss matters of civil engineering. That helped him build bridges later on. We even enjoyed the occasional drink of soma. That was quite something, not like the drink this lawyer fed me last night - whiskey, he called it. Jack Daniel, apparently."
"Any other interactions?"
Oh, I was also his economics teacher briefly."
"Only briefly?"
"Yeah. Before I could teach him macroeconomics, he went away to fight some gents and ladies in the forest with a senior of mine, and came back married. And once he was married, he had little time for classes."
"Anyway, after marriage, you only need microeconomics," a voice rang.
Another resigned voice said, "Learned Brother..." Then came the clippety-clap of the keyboard.

"What were you doing on the ninth night after the New Moon during the Chaitra month on the day when Rama was born?"
"Dude, I can't reveal all that."
"Did you watch him being born?"
"No, I did not have access to those areas."
"So, you did not see him being born."
"No, I didn't."
"So, it could well be that he was not born at all."
"But I told you that I knew him."
"Please answer my question."
"Yes, yes," the judge said, "Just answer the questions put to you, 677."
"I put it to you that Rama was never born." The plaintiff's lawyer banged his fist on the table.
"Wrong."
The typist typed furiously, "It is wrong to say that Rama was not born at all."
"At what age did you interact with Rama?"
"When he was around fifteen."
"I put it to you that just as you were born at the age of sixty, Rama was born at the age of fifteen."
"Wrong." The typist typed, "It is wrong to state that Rama was born at the age of fifteen."
There was some murmuring around the courtroom. Someone shouted, "Don't insult my God!" The giggly judge said, "Damn. If this was a movie, I'd have a gavel in my hand, and I could say, 'Order! Order!' I'll retire in six months without ever having said it!"
"Learned Brother!" came the groan.

"Where was Rama born on that night?"
"In Ayodhya."
"Can you show me the palace on this map?" the lawyer said, taking out a map of Ayodhya.
The witness peered at the map closely and pointed to a spot and said, "Here!"
It was the place right under the central dome of the destroyed mosque.
"But you said you hadn't seen him being born."
"Well, that was the delivery room in the palace."
"Delivery room?"
"Yes. There were so many women in the palace, and so many children being born that the palace had one. You know, I can even tell you where he was conceived."
"Conceived? I thought the king just gave his wives some nectar and they conceived."
The witness erupted into a volcano of laughter. "Valmiki wrote in metaphors you know! Nectar! Hahahaha!"
The giggly judge roared with laughter. "Learned Brother!"
Then the judge asked, "What do you mean by lots of children being born?" The typist began to type, when the judge asked him not to.
"Oh, the palace was a fairly wild place, My Lord. If you played your cards right, you could get fairly lucky."
"Damn. I'm telling you. I should've been born five thousand years ago."

"Lets get back to the point here," the lawyer continued, "Babies were usually born in this 'delivery room'. But not necessarily."
"I don't know of a baby who wasn't."
"Rama?"
"He was."
"Did you see him being born?"
"No."
The typist typed away, the plaintiff's lawyer exasperatedly stoop up and said, "My Lords! I have already gone through this. The Amar Chitra Katha clearly shows a room where the queens are lying on beds. This must be a delivery room."
"That's a matter for argument, My Lords! No point raising it now."
"Yes, Counsel. Go on with the cross-examination."
"How do you know the delivery room was at this exact spot."
"I have seen it. I used to go there to bless the children."
"Did you bless Rama there?"
"No..."
Type, type.

"Now, PW 677, lets come to the other important question. What were you doing in the year of 1528?"
"AD or BC?"
"AD."
"There was a Kumbh-Mela at Sangam. I came down from the Himalayas for it. I lost my brother there."
"Did you pass via Ayodhya?"
Guiltily, the witness said, "Yes. We aren't supposed to have any material pleasures, according to our dharma. But you see, I had a sentimental attachment to the land of my birth. So, I came here."
"Did you see a mosque in the city?"
"They were building one."
"Were 'they' Babur?"
"No. 'They' were some masons and daily labourers."
"Did Babur commission the mosque?"
"I don't know who Babur is."
The judge whispered to his brother, "He doesn't know Babur. No wonder he hasn't got a haircut. Teehee."
The other judge whispered back, "Really, Learned Brother, are you on drugs?"
"Abbey, Learned Brother, you were the one arguing yesterday that the place of birth is a juristic person."
"Well, it is!"
"God save this country from judges like you."
"Just for that, I'm going to dissent."
"Learned Brothers! Maintain decorum!" the third judge said.

"PW 677, do you know Humayun?"
"Of course! He was this monkey who used to hang around Rama."
Type, type.

The lawyer, quite pleased with himself, said, "I have no more questions."
***