chapter 7 The Sudden Misfortune and the Fight for Justice
My father had always been a man of principles, a man who took pride in his integrity and commitment to the work he did. His strong sense of honesty and justice was the very foundation of his character. It was one of the reasons why, despite his struggles, he was a beloved figure in our community and at work. But what happened next was something none of us could have foreseen, a turn of events that would test his values, his spirit, and our entire family in ways we had never imagined.
For as long as I could remember, my father had been a dedicated employee at the Northern Railways. He had always followed the rules, worked diligently, and earned the respect of his peers. But he wasn’t just a worker; he was also an active member of the railway union, a man who stood up for the rights of his fellow workers, always pushing for fairness and transparency in the workplace. His unwavering commitment to doing what was right often placed him in direct conflict with those who chose shortcuts, and it was precisely this integrity that would lead to his downfall.
The Honest Act that Became His Undoing
One day, while working at the railway station, my father stumbled upon a scam—a large-scale one. He discovered that some high-ranking officers at the station were selling coal meant for the railway engines to outside private agencies. This wasn't a one-time mistake; it was an ongoing practice, with even some of the lower-rank employees taking their cut from this illicit transaction.
My father, a man of unwavering integrity, couldn't stand idly by. Despite the risk, he quietly launched an investigation and reported the issue to the appropriate government officials. His complaint led to the capture of a truck loaded with coal that had been illegally diverted for private use. It was a massive blow to the corrupt officers, and as expected, they didn’t take kindly to being exposed. Not only had my father made himself a target for their wrath, but he had also angered several of the lower-ranked employees who were benefiting from the scam.
What followed was a period of tension. The environment at work grew hostile. My father, once respected and trusted, became a soft target for the vengeful officers and employees who wanted retribution. But my father didn’t back down. He continued to fight for the rights of the workers, even though he knew it would cost him. He knew that sometimes doing the right thing meant making enemies, but it was a price he was willing to pay.
The Trap: A Sting Operation
Then came the day when everything changed.
One evening, after a long day at work, my father was preparing to leave the railway station. He went to the parking area to fetch his scooter, only to be approached by a group of senior officers. They told him they needed to inspect his belongings. Naturally, my father didn’t suspect anything and allowed them to inspect his scooter. What they found next shocked him to his core.
Inside the storage compartment of his scooter was a can of paint—a specific type of paint used by the railway department. It was the same paint used for marking railway tracks and equipment, and it was strictly controlled by the department. The officers immediately arrested him, accusing him of theft. My father, bewildered and confused, denied any wrongdoing. He tried to explain that he had no idea how the paint had gotten into his scooter, but the officers were relentless.
They took him to Ambala, a city far away from home, where he was supposed to spend the night in jail until his bail hearing the following day. My mother, unaware of the situation, was at home when suddenly, at around 5:40 pm, a group of people arrived at our house with the news. They assured her that they were doing everything they could to get him released, but the anxiety in her voice was unmistakable.
A Family in Crisis
The news hit my mother like a thunderclap. She rushed to my father’s friends’ houses, seeking their help, and they promised her that they would try their best to get my father out of jail. It was nearly dark by the time she returned home. The weight of the uncertainty hung heavily in the air. My mother’s eyes were filled with worry as she paced back and forth, wondering what would happen next. What if he lost his job? What if he was sent to jail for something he didn’t do?
As she returned home, we heard something strange—loud music coming from my father’s sister's house. She had arrived at my grandmother’s place, and the sounds of a party filled the air. It was as if they were celebrating our misfortune. My mother, still in shock, couldn’t understand how anyone could behave in such a heartless manner. The music blared until late in the evening, and the laughter from their home echoed in our house, a painful reminder of the cruelty of some people.
It was as if the universe had conspired against us. Our darkest hour had become a source of amusement for some. My mother’s face bore the weight of a thousand fears—what would happen if my father was imprisoned? How would she manage everything on her own? It was an unbearable thought.
The Legal Battle Begins
The next morning, my father was presented before the railway magistrate in Ambala, where he was granted bail after spending two nights in jail. But despite his release, the ordeal wasn’t over. He wasn’t allowed to return to work until further orders, which meant the financial strain on our family began to mount.
We hired a solicitor to represent my father, and with their help, he was given the option to receive half pay while remaining at home. But there was another catch. The solicitor also informed my father that he could settle the matter by paying a fine of Rs. 200, but that would require him to admit to the crime of theft. Alternatively, my father could fight the legal battle, which would take 3 to 5 years and be costly, but he would not be labeled a thief.
My father, a man of unshakable integrity, chose the latter. He refused to be falsely labeled as a criminal. The decision was made: he would fight the legal battle, no matter how long it took or how expensive it became. But the fight was exhausting.
The Silent Toll: A Man Broken
For the next several months, my father stayed at home, his spirit worn thin. The endless waiting, the uncertainty, and the legal battle took a toll on him. He was no longer the vibrant, hardworking man he once was. He spent most of his days sleeping, only waking up when it was time to visit the doctor. My mother, now fully aware of how broken he had become, started to urge him to return to work. But my father refused. He didn’t want to go back to his job; he wanted to do something bigger, something that could help people like him—victims of injustice, of being wrongfully accused.
But as the months passed, my father’s mental state continued to deteriorate. He had withdrawn from everything, even from the family. And then, another incident occurred that made everything worse. A man who had always been jealous of my father, a lazy and unreliable employee, was found putting the same paint that had been discovered in my father’s scooter into someone else’s vehicle. This man had always resented my father’s success and reputation in the railway workers' union. The realization hit my father like a punch in the gut—this was the same person who had sabotaged him, planting the paint in his scooter to frame him.
This discovery, while vindicating, only served to fuel the flames of anger and bitterness that had been building inside my father. He had been fighting for so long, but he was beginning to feel that his honesty, his integrity, were cursed in a world that didn’t reward such things.
The Counsel of Dr. Keshav Ram
It was during this time that my mother sought counsel from Dr. Keshav Ram, the psychiatrist who had been treating my father. Dr. Keshav Ram, a man of wisdom and compassion, continued to be a source of support for our family. He reminded us time and time again that depression was not a disease; it was a state of mind, one that could be overcome with perseverance, love, and the right support system. He encouraged my father to keep going, to hold on to the belief that honesty and integrity would eventually be rewarded.
But as time went on, my father’s faith in the world continued to erode. He saw the corruption, the deceit, and the manipulation around him, and he began to question everything he had believed in. His desire to create something bigger, something that could help others, became stronger. But his energy, his spirit, had been drained by the long battle. My mother, concerned for his health, urged him to take his job back, but he remained steadfast in his desire to create a new life—a life outside of the limitations that his job had placed on him.
Conclusion: The Journey Continues
The legal battle continued, but so did my father’s personal battle. He had lost the strength he once had, and it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the weight of what had happened. Yet, through it all, my mother stood by his side. Her support never wavered. She continued to take care of him, to encourage him, and to hold the family together.
As we look back on those dark days, we realize that my father’s journey was not just about fighting a legal battle. It was about rediscovering his purpose, finding the strength to continue, and never giving up on the belief that one day, justice would prevail. Even in the face of adversity, his spirit never fully broke. It bent, it faltered, but it never snapped. And that, in itself, was a victory.
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