‘Morality,’ said Tirumalachar, rising and adjusting his turban.
‘You defend man,’ said the Government Advocate. ‘But law says we defend the Truth. The law is right.’
‘The Government Advocate has said the right thing. Now, Accused, continue.’
‘My Lord, I was saying: One day after the whole office was empty and Bhoothalinga Iyer was alone, he said: “Govindan Nair, stay there. I have a job for you.” And he produced the Benares pot that he had hidden deeply in the sample rice sack. There was one sack always in the office. Who would look into it? So he produced the Benares pot and said: “Go to Mutthalinga Nayak Street and in the third house right by the temple Mantap there must be a widow called Meenakshiamma. Please hand over this one hundred and nine rupees. That is all there is in it. I told my wife yesterday to go to the cinema with my son-in-law. She went. I stole this and came here. I opened the office. I had the key. Today I have sent her to the zoo with my son-in-law. Then there is Pattamal’s music at the Victoria Jubilee Hall. Therefore they will come late, but I must return home quietly. I know you are a man with a big heart, so please do this service for me. She will wait for you.”’
‘In English you call this a cock-and-bull story,’ said Tirumalachar.
‘You could, if you so want, call it a hen-and-heifer story,’ said Govindan Nair, and laughed.
‘Who then was the witness?’
‘As one should expect in such a cock-and-bull story, a cat, sir, a cat,’ said Govindan Nair seriously.
The Judge rose and dismissed the court. He called the accused, and said: ‘Please speak the truth.’
And Govindan Nair, with tears running down from his big black eyes, answered: ‘Your Lordship, I speak only the truth. If the world of man does not conform to truth, should truth suffer for that reason? If only you knew how I pray every night and say: “Mother, keep me at the lotus feet of Truth. The judge can give a judgement. The Government Advocate can accuse. Police Inspector Rama Iyer can muster evidence. But the accused alone knows the truth.’
‘How right you are,’ said the judge, flabbergasted. He had never thought of this before. ‘Tell me then, Mr Govindan Nair, how can a judge know the truth?’
‘By being it,’ said Govindan Nair as if it were such a simple matter. After all, he had cut a passage in the wall where Shridhar used to talk to Usha. After all, who could say Bhoothalinga Iyer had not gone to Coimbatore? For example, Abraham could not, as he would lose his job (and with it his green B.S.A. bicycle) if the boss returned. Suppose Shantha’s child were really Bhoothalinga Iyer reborn? Who could know? The cat could, was Govindan Nair’s conviction.
‘Tomorrow I’ll bring the cat to court,’ he said, as if asking the judge’s permission. Of course, what wrong could Govindan Nair have done? Could you ever see a man so innocent? Anybody could see he played with children and the scale. And when one side was heavy, he put two kids on the other side to make the balance go up. Then he brought the needle to a standstill, holding it tight. Thus the balance was created among men. When two things depend on each other for their very existence, neither exists. That is the Law of law.
‘The cat, sir, will do it,’ he said. The judge consented.
Next day I sent Usha with Shantha (the baby was left at home with Tangamma to look after him). The cat was carried in a big cage.
When the court opened its deliberations, the Government Advocate said: ‘My Lord, we are facing judgment against judgment. We must be careful. We have, as witness, a cat.’
‘Why not? We are in Travancore.’
‘I thought so too, Your Lordship. Why should we follow the proceedings of any other court of the world, were it His Majesty’s Privy Council in London? If a cat could be proved to prove any evidence we might set a precedent.’
‘My Lord,’ said Govindan Nair, rising. Crowds had gathered at the courthouse. Such a thing had never happened before. It was not even a political case. (There was no Gandhi in it.) Women were somehow convinced that Govindan Nair was an innocent man. Some of them had seen him in the ration shop. Others had gone to have ration cards issued. Some had noticed him give way to ladies when the bus was overcrowded. Such things are never forgotten by women. They always feed the child in their womb whether the child be there or not. Who knows, some day.
‘My Lord, I am not sure this copy of my signature is correct. Could I have the original?’
‘The original is in the files,’ said the court clerk.
‘How could it be wrong?’
The cat escaped from Shantha’s hand and ran all over the court. Nobody wanted to stop the proceedings or to laugh. Either would be acknowledging that the cat was there. It went right over to the Government Advocate and sat in front of him as if it were going towards itself. The silence was so clear, one could see the movement of the cat’s whiskers. One had no doubt the cat was there. And it knew everything. Each movement was preceded by a withdrawal, recognition, and then the jump. The cat jumped straight on to the judge’s table. And before the attendants could brush it away, it leaped down and fell over one of those huge clay office inkpots kept under tables, and, turning through the back door, went into the record room. The court clerk was looking at the file. The cat did nothing. It stood there. The attendants came and stood watching the cat. Then the cat lay down on the floor and started licking its fur. Govindan Nair was burring something in the court. The attendants, seeing the cat doing nothing, went back to the court.
The cat suddenly jumped on to the shoulder of the clerk and started licking his neck. He felt such sweetness in this, he opened file after file. The cat now jumped over to the table and sat. Usha came from the back, led by an attendant, and took the cat in her arms. The clerk had indeed found the paper.
‘May I see it, Your Lordship?’ asked Govindan Nair.
‘Yes, here it is,’ said the judge, but at the last moment he held it back. For just as he was handing the paper over, the light from the ceiling — a sunbeam, in fact — pierced through the paper, or maybe it was just electric light. Underneath the signature was another signature. When the judge had read it, he handed it over to the Government Advocate. He read it and said: ‘Bhoothalinga Iyer himself signed this. How did this happen?’
‘Yes, sir. That is how it was. Rama Iyer made a slight mistake. After all Bhoothalinga Iyer and he are both Brahmins. He wanted to save Bhoothalinga Iyer. It is plain as could be.’
‘Then why did you admit all that you have admitted?’
‘I have in all honesty admitted nothing.’
‘Oho,’ shouted Tirumalachar.
‘Go on,’ said the judge.
‘Sir, why do we admit then that a chair is a chair?’
‘Why, have you not seen a chair?’
‘Ho, ho!’ shouted the crowd.
‘Has anyone seen a chair?’ asked the judge.
‘Nobody has,’ said the Government Advocate. He was plainly taking sides with the accused.
The judge said: ‘I sit on a chair.’
‘Who?’ asked Govindan Nair.
The judge in fact rose up to see who sat on the chair. He went round and round the table looking at who? There was such silence, the women wept. The cat jumped on to the dais. The attendants said nothing. The Government Advocate was chatting happily with Govindan Nair. Who said there was a case? The clerk was looking for the file to put back the paper. Usha put a garland around the neck of Govindan Nair.
That was the fact. Govindan Nair was not set free. He was free. Nobody is a criminal who has not been proven criminal. The judge had to find himself, and in so doing, he lost his seat. Who sits on the judge’s seat became an important subject of discussion in Travancore High Court. Since then many learned treatises have been written on the subject.