The Best I Could (10 page)

Before Subhas’ departure for India. Standing from left: Chong Thee Kow, Cheng Lai Beng, Ramli, Chye, Mohd Noor, Ah Sai and Philip Pang. Seated from left: Chee Kok Meng, Ismail, Choy Sai Chee, Subhas, Wong Ah Soo and Narainasamy (Sam)

Another studio photo taken before Subhas left for India in 1963. Standing from left: Choo Poh Leong, Chong Thee Kow, Sandanasamy and Lee Chee San. Seated with Subhas is Michael Then.

Hanging out in the fields of Naval Base with friends. From left: Chong Thee Kow, Bernard Pereira, Michael Then, Choo Poh Leong and Lee Chee San (1963)

From left: Bernard Pereira, Choo Poh Leong, Lee Chee San, Michael Then, Subhas and Chong Thee Kow (1963)

Surash, 8 years old, with his first collection of medals and trophies, and already showing potential of much more sporting achievements to come.

Subhas with his trophies for overall junior champion won in Secondary 4 at Naval Base School (1962)

University of Singapore Football Team (1968). Standing from left: Sudheesan, Mansor Marican, Ng, Chan Keng Fook, Rajayah and Lai. Front row from left: James, ‘Tiger’, Pak, Subhas and Gan.

My family left the Base in 1971, about a few months after I was called to the Bar. As my father had retired, he was no longer entitled to living quarters there. We moved to Kampung Wak Hassan, not far from the Base, where my father bought a house with a small garden. The walls of the house were half brick and half wood and the roof was made of zinc. It took a long time to get used to the sound of raindrops hitting the roof but it eventually became therapeutic. We missed Block 9 but were intent on adapting to
kampung
life. We embraced the spirit of
gotong royong
, the Malay concept of doing things together and helping each other in the spirit of goodwill.

The Malays are generally very simple and humble people. They treated us very well, but they sometimes held us in awe because of the careers we had fashioned for ourselves. My elder sister was a doctor in Singapore General Hospital, I was an advocate and solicitor, my younger brother Sudheesan was then a senior officer at the Ministry of Defence, my younger sister then a schoolteacher and my youngest brother Surash later became an air steward with Singapore Airlines (he died in the SQ006 crash in Taipei on October 31, 2000). The
kampung
folk came to us with all sorts of problems including legal, medical and financial issues, and we helped them as much as we could. They often showed their gratitude by giving us food and drinks. During Hari Raya, our house would be filled with festive
kuih
and cookies,
ketupat
and satay. We used to invite our friends from the Base to celebrate with us.

One day while I was in the shower, Sudheesan yelled to me that there were people in the house who wanted to see me. He told me that he thought they were there to discuss a murder case. I was excited and quickly finished my shower. For me, to be briefed for a murder case was the ultimate. I went to the living room trying hard to look nonchalant even though I was trembling with excitement inside. I saw that my mother had already given them tea and made them comfortable. There were three of them—the elderly father of the accused and two others who were relatives. I was told that the accused had been charged with murder and was held in Queenstown Remand Prison. They wanted me to defend him. I told them I was new at the Bar and may not have the necessary experience to do a good job.

The father smiled. “I can’t afford a senior lawyer, Mr Anandan,” he said.

“The state can provide one free of charge,” I replied.

“I’d rather have you,” he said. “The state’s lawyers are probably not so experienced either.”

We discussed fees and he agreed to pay a sum that was equivalent to what it would take some of my classmates working in established law firms nine to 12 months to earn. It was also agreed that they would go to my office in Winchester House to sign the Warrant to Act and to pay a deposit for my services. Winchester House and the Singapore Rubber House flanked the famous Change Alley, which was like a labyrinth in those days, swarming with sailors, tourists and locals looking for bargain goods. Change Alley opened to Raffles Place on one side and Collyer Quay on the other. The site where Raffles Place MRT station is today was then an underground carpark below a public park with fountains and a huge floral clock. I had my office in Winchester House around the time of the infamous Robinsons fire when the department store was razed to the ground. On the Collyer Quay side you could see sampans and bumboats plying the open seas, gleaming in the sunshine.

So I had my first murder brief and capital case—defending a man called Tampines Raja who was charged with the murder of someone known as Beatle Raja. Because I was from Sembawang, I came to be known as Sembawang Raja. It was a tremendous feeling to be taking on the case though, after a few days, I realised the enormous responsibility that came with it. The only penalty for the crime was the death sentence and I had been entrusted to save Tampines Raja from this fate.

I went to Queenstown Remand Prison to see Tampines Raja for the first time. I sat in the visitors’ room with my clerk. Tampines Raja was a young, cheerful man who had turned deadly for a moment at Beatle Raja’s expense. I didn’t know much about Beatle Raja, but as his nickname suggested, he must have been a Beatles fan. When I introduced myself to Tampines Raja, he smiled and said that he had heard about me. In fact, he may have been the person who started calling me Sembawang Raja. I took his instructions and asked several questions, some of which he could answer and some which he couldn’t. I went back to Queenstown Remand Prison many times to discuss his defence with him.

His case was heard in the High Court before two judges, Justice A V Winslow, the presiding judge, and Justice T Kulasekaram. By then, jury systems had been abolished in Singapore. The deputy public prosecutor was Lawrence Ang, who had been my classmate in law school. It was also his first murder case. We were friends and I knew he would be fair and reasonable. The proceedings went on for a few days and one incident stood out for me. While cross-examining one of the prosecution witnesses after a weekend break, I put a question to him alleging something he had said in his examination-in-chief the previous week. The judges couldn’t remember whether he had said it or not as their notes did not mention the facts I had alleged. Nothing in the DPP’s notes reflected what I was alleging either. Justice Winslow asked me what my notes said and I replied that I don’t take notes. Justice Winslow smiled and said he had noticed that. “Well, Mr Anandan, it looks as though it’s a battle between your memory and all our notes,” he said.

I remained silent. Justice Winslow was a great judge. He called for the notes of the court recorder whose job was to record everything in verbatim in shorthand. I told the recorder roughly when the witness was supposed to have said what I was alleging. The verbatim notes showed that I was right. Justice Winslow decided that their notes were useless and that they would rely on my memory from then on.

Unfortunately, Tampines Raja made a mess of his evidence. He departed from what we had discussed he was supposed to say. After his testimony, we made the final submission but I knew I had lost the case even before the verdict. While waiting for it, I went to see Tampines Raja in the lock-up cell of the High Court and asked him why he had changed his story. He looked at me sheepishly and told me that he had discussed his defence with his fellow prison inmates and they thought that the original version was not good enough. So, he amended and embellished it. I was very angry as our defence was based on the truth and the facts supported it. “You’re a fool,” I said angrily as I knew what the consequence would be.

Not long after that, Tampines Raja realised the seriousness of his error when the judgment was delivered. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. It was the first time I heard a death sentence being passed. It was extremely disconcerting to hear the judge pronounce it in such an emotionless way, as if he was proclaiming that the next day would be a holiday. We had to stand up when the death sentence was passed and my knees were trembling. It was sad to hear one human being being told by another that he had to die. As soon as court was adjourned and the accused taken away, the family and relatives sitting in the gallery came running out screaming and wailing. The women fell at my feet and started to cry, repeatedly asking me what had happened and what had gone wrong. Some were blaming me. I was angry and confused, but most of all, I was dejected. It was a terrible experience. That night I got completely drunk and didn’t go home. I had lost my first murder case.