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April 30, 2023

East Holpura Prison

His darkest fear was now real.

It jumped up at him, manifesting itself in the form of two dozen middle-aged men. They all wore similar clothes, bore similar stenches and stared similarly at the young newcomer in their barrack at East Holpura Prison. Some of them had large untreated bruises on their bodies. Some others walked around in the limited space, their knees coming tantalisingly close to his trembling Adam's apple.

Yet, these things didn't scare him, at least not as much as the reason behind his predicament. All through his life of 18 years, he had had a nagging hunch that he was a bad person on every conceivable count. An arrogant kid whose insanely high IQ was not enough to see right from wrong. An individual who coldly invested in friends and could never feel human emotions for them.

And in that moment, Sanath Dhananjaya Raman, sitting resignedly on his haunches in the sweltering prison cell, confirmed to himself that he was now a certifiably bad person.

Sanath relived the dramatic sequence of events that had unfolded in the last few weeks. He had been seized by the police after successfully attempting to stab his friend on stage using a trophy. In a rush of adrenaline, he had attempted to flee the scene, but the sheer strength of the police force ensured that he couldn't get far. "Did you attempt to murder Mr. Deep Kiran?" the senior officer had bellowed. Sanath looked confused at this seemingly simple question and then slowly nodded his head. His mind had felt hazy over the last half hour, but it had just begun to clear up during this interrogation. Next to him sat one of the many witnesses of his assault. His name was Dr. G.R. Pillai, the chief guest of the award ceremony in which the incident had taken place.

"Is that a yes?" the officer continued.

"Yes," said Sanath softly. His voice shook out of something more than just fear, and his eyes had a strange tinge of redness to them. The police officer noticed this immediately.

"Were you under influence of the drug Dilasil?" he asked. Sanath was looking at the officer's identity card, which read 'Officer Harivin', as he strained his mind to comprehend the question. He knew what Dilasil was - a newly discovered drug which was declared illegal to consume. The drug could be smoked or ingested orally. It was said to provide the best high a person could ask for, but could also make one incredibly violent on sudden human touch, or in the presence of a crowd.

"Well?" asked Harivin, still expecting an answer. "Did you, or did you not consume Dilasil today or yesterday?"

Sanath did not really remember. He remembered having smoked some other drug for the first time a couple of days back, on the request of his friends, but that was safe and wasn't Dilasil. At least, that was what he had inferred when his friends assured him that it wasn't illegal. He had enjoyed it a lot and remembered yearning for more. Deep Kiran, along with his roommate Jagan Vardha had good-naturedly ribbed him that night, joking that he would become a Dilasil addict very soon.

"I'm not exactly sure," mumbled Sanath.

"What sort of an answer is that, you idiot?" barked Harivin. "Are you still high?"

"No, uh, j-just give me a second." Once again, Sanath rolled his mind back two days. It was very possible that he had gone back to the same place where his friends had taken him. It was primarily an eating joint just outside their college campus, but the main attraction for students was the variety of mild-yet-pleasure-inducing substances sold at the juice counter at dirt-cheap prices. It was here that Sanath had been coaxed into trying out the other drug. Now, he wondered if he had come to the same counter again that night alone, buying some Dilasil to consume later. He believed he was definitely capable of such extreme steps.

And then, an image popped up in his mind. He could see himself waking up suddenly at the stroke of midnight and going there, asking the dealer for Dilasil. With every minute, this picture became clearer and clearer. It appeared to be a classic case of teenage impulsiveness - experimentation taken too far without a guiding hand, all in the pursuit of momentary, manufactured joy.

"Yes, I did," said Sanath, finally.

“When?”

Sanath thought again. He could see himself consuming it on any of the last two days, at any time of the day.

“Last couple of days,” he said, too tired and scandalized to picture himself further.

"Okay," said Harivin, making a few notes. "Illegal consumption, attempted murder and act of murder," he muttered to his subordinate. “Strip-search him for possession of drugs or cash. And get the urine test done for confirmation of substance abuse.”

“Uh, C-Could you please let me know what… what is happening here,” asked Sanath, his cracking voice barely understandable. “I don’t know the law very well.”

Harivin scowled at him for a good few seconds, before he relented and said, “Dr. Pillai here has just filed a first information report, or FIR against you for your act of killing. You will be taken into police custody right away. You have an option of presenting your defence in the magistrate court in a couple of days. But judging by your confession here, I don’t believe you have a good case for yourself anyway. If the court believes the same, they will order for us to investigate and prepare a chargesheet against you, where we will state the exact crimes that you have committed along with supporting evidence. The court will use this to decide your terms of punishment, which I’m guessing would be at least 10 years of imprisonment for you.”

Sanath tried to nod stoically but was too overwhelmed by what he had just heard. At that moment, he could almost see a hologram of a visual representation of his career being ripped apart, right in front of his eyes. And when he saw this, the tears began pouring down, faster than Sanath could wipe them away. Neither the police officer nor Dr. Pillai offered him any sympathy, and Sanath neither expected nor felt deserving of any sympathy.

Sanath later realized that he wasn’t obliged to answer all those questions right then. Though he wasn’t conversant with the law, he had vaguely come across this legal right on some website a while ago. Yet, he asked himself, did it really matter when he was so clearly guilty?

As Harivin had predicted, Sanath would go on to be handed a ten-year jail sentence by the magistrate court. But if the rumours that Sanath heard in his barrack were true, it would, in practice, take much longer than ten years to 'actually be out of jail'. The police had taken just around 3 weeks to prepare a full-fledged chargesheet against him. Additionally, they had started investigating the smaller pockets of the town, as there was clearly an illegal Dilasil supply chain in existence.

*****

A prison official struck the bars thrice with a rod, signalling that it was time for the inmates to get their lunch. This snapped Sanath out of his thoughts, as he proceeded in the direction of the other inmates. Once the court had declared him officially guilty and his sentence determined, he was given a prisoner’s bank account which would be loaded with around 2500 Rs every month. He would have to be judicious with his usage of money, though he wasn’t quite sure about the ways in which he could use money here.

Sanath noticed that a majority of the prisoners followed the signboard which said ‘Regular food counter’ while the others went in another direction. Sanath decided to follow the larger crowd.

*****

The queue for all the regular counters were huge. Sanath wondered how many hours it would take for him to get his bowl of rice and 2 rotis, which would require him to traverse two separate queues, one after the other. Just then, one of the inmates nudged him from behind. He was in jail clothes, like most of the others. He was 6 feet tall, a foot taller than Sanath, had a sagging belly and sported a thick curling moustache. Sanath knew it was a silly thought, but the man didn’t seem like the kind of person who would have been friendly even in his life outside jail.

“Hey,” he said, giving Sanath a couple of 30 Rs coupons. Stand in the rice queue and get two more rice bowls, one for me and one for Shilp,” pointing at the inmate standing next to him. “We’ll get rotis for all of us to save time. Give me Rs. 20, will you?”

Sanath nodded and gave it to him. This seemed rational and harmless enough. And as a result, they were able to get their food within in half of Sanath’s initial time estimate. It was only after they received their food that Sanath realized the downside of this idea – he would have to eat along with the other inmates. The main problem was not just his bad social skills, but the realization that he would have to be judicious with what he revealed about himself to these strangers. He made a mental note to stay strong. And something told him that he would have to make such mental notes every hour for the next umpteen years of his existence here.

“So,” said Shilp, as he, Sanath and the other inmate (who had identified himself as Thakam) sat on the floor in the corner of the common area. “Is this your first week, Sanath?”

Sanath nodded. His eyes were watering as he fought with fury to avoid vomiting out his first mouthful of jail food. He tried to assure himself that it would get better. Thakam noticed this and gave a wry smile. “Yes, the food is bad and will remain so. There are a few counters in the other room which serve more edible food. But they cost a mountain.”

“Who goes there, then?” asked...