Confessions of a Young Judge / Bharat Chugh

A young boy was produced before me,
his abject poverty and emaciation was for all to see.

In a rich India of poor people, 
being poor was his crime, 
the ‘Welfare State’ naturally decided that 
he should serve his jail time. 

He was accused of selling ‘tea’, 
without licence in a train, 
he was a migrant…
you could see his sheer pain; 
with that torn shirt, 
as if modesty was just for the rich.
Law or Justice, I couldn’t, 
at first, pick which.

The law required me to punish him, 
it’s dry, blindfold diktat and arbitrary whim; 
I chose to exonerate him, 
but didn’t say anything.

How could I ask him not to earn his bread -
when the state couldn’t bring…
Could I think of a more honorable way, 
this boy could have earned a living - 
selling honest tea - with fair billing. 

If I went by the strict letter 
of the law and did fine, 
I wouldn’t be able to sleep with 
the already vexed conscience of mine. 

For legal authority was there, 
but moral authority I had none, 
my nation’s law had somewhat failed, 
and poverty had won!