By- Surjeet Aribam
The verdict had been delivered
I’d won the case,
Fighting for a minister’s son
Accused of killing a boy his age
Cheerful handshakes
And warm embraces in our camp,
Impotent rage, downcast eyes
And tears in the other camp
I looked at the scale of justice,
Wondering whether justice had been done
Then, across the room.
I espied the boy’s mother
Unexpectedly, our eyes met
But I became uneasy to meet her gaze—
A gaze full of pain, hurt and anguish
And silently saying, “at the altar of gold
Justice is being crucified”
I looked away, feeling ashamed
And unable to meet her gaze
Yes, as professional ethics go,
I’ve done nothing wrong.
The minister engaged me
And I agreed to fight his son’s case
But mainly for the large fee,
To bring justice is not our job,
It is jury’s job.
My job is to win the case.
Now I won the case.
But still after winning it,
Something keeps tugging at me,
Asking, “Have you barter away
Your soul for a few silvers?”
