The Easy Day Was Yesterday (16 page)

Sitting in the cage was beyond boring and I was looking for something to do. I wished I had a book to read — just something to take my mind off this crappy situation. Then the loud-talking guard walked into my cage. ‘ARE YOU OKAY TODAY?’ he yelled.

‘Yes, thank you, Sir, I’m okay.’

‘ARE YOU A JOURNALIST?’

‘No, but I train journalists in safety,’ I replied, wondering where he got his information.

He handed me a newspaper. ‘YOUR JOURNALIST FRIENDS ARE PROTESTING AT THE BORDER TODAY, AND THERE IS A STORY ABOUT YOU HERE,’ he yelled and pointed to an article written in Hindi. He read the article aloud; it said something about an Australian journalist being arrested at the border for not having a visa. I asked if I could keep the article and he gave me the paper.

Indian police arrest IFJ officer

POST REPORT

BIRATNAGAR, May 26 — Indian Police arrested Paul Jordan, training officer of International Journalists Federation (IFJ), along with Post correspondent Ujjwal Acharya from the bordering Jogbani area, Sunday
.

Upon completion of a three-day training program for journalists of eastern Nepal, Australian citizen Jordan and Acharya had reached Jogbani when they were suddenly arrested by the Indian police. Following the arrest, Jordan and Acharya were taken to the police station in Jogbani
.

Since no charges were pressed against Acharya, he was released the same day while Jordan is still in police detention. Jordan was shifted to Arriya Jail in Bihar on Monday
.

Acharya said, “The police arrested us from near the no man’s land area while we were being questioned by the local Indian Immigration Office.”

Meanwhile, Morang Chapter of Federation of Nepalese Journalists (FNJ) has appealed the Indian authorities to release Jordan as there is no legitimate grounds for the arrest. However, the Indian side has claimed that Jordan has breached international law
.

“The Indian Police has decided to press charges against Jordan at the district court on Tuesday,” said Shambhu Bhandari, FNJ Morang chair
.

Jordan had come to Nepal at the invitation of FNJ to facilitate training for Nepalese journalists. He was to facilitate another training session in Mahendranagar from Tuesday, which has been cancelled following his arrest
.

As I flicked through the pages looking at the ads and reading the odd English words, I came across a Sudoku puzzle. I’d never done one of these puzzles before but I was bored like never before and the Sudoku was just what I wanted, although I realised I would need a pen. I walked into the administration office and asked Manish if I could borrow a pen from him. He didn’t look too happy, so I asked if the money left by the Inspector could be used to buy a pen. He reluctantly agreed to lend me a pen. Back in the cell I got to work on the puzzle. Apparently this one was listed as hard and, after about five numbers, I had totally cocked it up. So I found a blank place in the newspaper and drew a new puzzle, entered the original numbers and started again. This time I took it slowly and considered each entry and it occupied my mind for some time.

Manish came to my cage and told me to go to the Warden’s office immediately. I thought this had to be good news and that I’d be released from this hell. I walked into his office and he pointed to the phone. I had no idea who could be calling me and, as I picked up the phone, I hoped for a miracle.

‘Hello.’

I didn’t get the miracle, but the next best thing — Sallie.

‘Hi there, are you okay?’

‘I’m okay, how are you?’

‘Good, but listen, the Australian High Commission guys are coming tomorrow to see you. Don’t worry, you’ll be out of there soon. I went to SBS last night and when Amrita finished reading the news she spoke to the SP. He said you have nothing to worry about and will be out of there as soon as the reports are written.’

‘That’s great, thanks so much.’

‘Trevor is aware of the situation and I brief him a few times a day on any changes. He has also spoken to Dave. Between both of them they will keep an eye on your house.’

‘Okay, that’s good, but ask Trevor not to tell Mum or Dad. They don’t need the worry. Hey, I need to go. The Warden has been very kind to me and asked that I keep this very short.’

‘Okay, I love you so much.’

‘I love you too, bye.’

‘Thank you, Mr Sing.’

‘It is okay, but it is against regulations to accept a call. She cannot call again.’ ‘Okay, I understand, thank you.’

I wandered back to the cage walking ridiculously slowly and contemplating being in this dump for another night — unbelievable! I decided to have a bucket bath and wash some of the sweat off and then spend some quality time pacing my cage; there were areas of my new house that I hadn’t explored. At 7.00 pm Ugly Guard motioned for me to get inside the cage and locked the sliding bar. I stood holding the bars wondering if I should get my steel cup and drag it along the bars like they do in the movies. As I thought of this, I contemplated the bars and, more importantly, how I could get through them.

The only time I could escape this rat-infested dump was at night and through the bars. The bars were painted a filthy red, rusty colour. I thought that if I had a small hacksaw (perhaps baked inside a cake) I could cut 90% of the way through two bars and then fill those cut marks with some putty made from ground rust, paint and water. On the night of my escape I could simply cut the rest of the way through and be outside my cage. Another option was to only make one cut through the sliding bar, although with all the movement of the sliding bar the putty could fall out of the cut and might be noticed by a guard. And anyway, that would only get me outside my cell. I would then have to get past the guards and over the five-metre flat concrete wall. Sure, I could free climb the sections where the concrete render had fallen from the brickwork, but the reality was that I was crap at climbing in the Regiment, and had spent most of the time as the second climber hanging from the protection rather than the rock face. There was one section of the wall that offered a better chance of scaling. Next to the big door to access the administration building there was an outdoor kitchen where some prisoners churned out hundreds of chapattis every day. If I was able to get on top of the kitchen roof then I would only have a three-metre wall to climb, which would be easier given that I’m 6 feet 2 inches (188 centimetres) tall and so would have more than half the wall covered. But I would still have to get across the yard and over the wall without being seen by the patrolling guards. Without outside help, this would be a challenge. However, I believed I’d only be here for a day or so and therefore I didn’t need to spend too much time planning my escape. But it was always good to have a plan just in case.

About 15 minutes after lock-up, the Hari Krishnas opened up with their tambourines and happy songs, so I leaned against the bars and enjoyed the nightly chant. The Warden arrived at about 7.30 for his nightly rounds and a quick chat and, shortly after, Manish came with three chapattis and a bowl of vomit — well, that’s what it looked like, anyway. We had a quick chat, then Manish was gone into the darkness. I threw the food into the plastic bag hanging from a nail which was my daily bin and dragged my hessian sack and pillow up against the back wall to lean against while I worked on the Sudoku puzzle. At around midnight I decided to try to get some sleep, so I removed the light bulb and stored it in the pocket of the Calvins, then pulled the thin cotton sheet over me to try to fend off the mosquito squadron during the night.

Wednesday 28 May

At 3.00 in the morning a prisoner in the hospital cell next door started singing. I use the term ‘hospital’ loosely as that’s what it was called. There were eight prisoners crammed into a cell the same size as mine with no special care or treatment. They were sleeping on the ground just like me, only they were jammed in where I at least had space. In fact, compared to the rest of the prisoners, I was in the penthouse while they were in the shithouse. The singing was bloody awful and enough to prevent any further sleep, so I got up, dug out my light bulb from my Calvins, connected it and did some more Sudoku. In the last six hours of Sudoku, I’d managed to add one number. I’m crap at Sudoku, but it certainly occupied my mind. Obviously some prisoners in the hospital cell thought as much of the singing as I did, because about 30 minutes into it, an argument started. There was yelling and screaming and then it stopped, and I could hear someone copping a solid beating. The beating was ruthless and the sounds of the hits were joined by the victim’s screams of pain and cries for help. Those damned guards shone their torches in my eyes every hour, but didn’t appear when someone needed help. How had this become my life?

At 5.00 am the cage was opened with a morning ‘arrggh’ from the caveman. I didn’t bounce out of ‘bed’ as fast as I did on the first day, but slowly sat up and got myself together. I could feel my body suffering from the effects of only a few hours’ sleep over the past few days and the dramatically reduced food intake. I threw on the sarong and my boots and joined my fellow prisoners at the drain. On the way I noticed that I was now getting nods and the odd ‘morning Sir’ from my fellow prisoners. ‘Morning,’ I would always reply, although I remained intent on keeping my distance as much as possible. I’d seen the film
Midnight Express
, so I knew what could happen in prison when a group of men is thrown together for years on end. I knew if any of that was pushed in my direction, it would be violent, people would be hurt and I could lose my single cage. So I stayed clear of the others as much as possible.

When I wandered back into my cage the same old man was in there sweeping out. This time he had a bucket of water and was using his straw broom to mop the place. So I waited out the front until he was finished and watched the prison come to life. Some prisoners undid their bundle of blankets stored in the yard and spread them out for the day using the blankets to stake their claim over a small area of the yard. Some went for a morning walk around the yard, while others started the nasal-passage-cleansing process. At this point I retreated to my cage. The old man had finished and I thanked him and then wondered what the hell I was going to do. The old man reappeared and motioned for me to have a wash. I picked up my towel, small blue bucket and soap and walked to the pump outside my cage. It seemed the best location for a wash as the pump was positioned next to a raised slab of concrete which provided a relatively clean surface on which to stand or squat while bathing. The old man had the big communal bucket full of water waiting for me. So I dropped the sarong on a dry section of concrete and, in my massive jocks, began the process of bathing in front of an audience of 580. Even though I had a layer of sweat on my body and looked forward to a wash, the water was very cold and always a shock to the system — like when you first dive into a mountain stream. After emptying the first bucket to wet my body, I soaped up while the old man filled another bucket to rinse off. I lathered up to clean all the sweat off and placed the soap on the concrete. The old man grabbed it and went to wash my back. ‘Whoa there, mate, don’t even think about it.’

He insisted and so did I and I’m sure he wasn’t going to try that again. I poured a couple of blue buckets of water over me to rinse the soap, then the old man picked up the entire big communal bucket and poured it over me. Bloody hell, I thought I was going to drown. I dried myself and forced my wet feet into my boots being careful not to touch the soles where I was certain some as yet undiscovered hideous disease was waiting to pounce. Perhaps I should donate my shoes to science when I got out of here. Back in the cage I hid from the prying eyes behind the narrow wall of concrete that supported the gate and changed into dry jocks. Then the old man came in, took my wet jocks, washed them and hung them on a piece of string in front of my cage. I protested, but he insisted. Okay mate, whatever rocks your boat. I started to think I had my own slave.

Back in the cage, I wondered what the hell I was going to do to kill some time. The Sudoku was good, but it was getting boring. A fellow prisoner wandered straight past Ugly Guard and into my cage and told me we should walk in the mornings. I had rejected all other offers and approaches by other prisoners, but this guy seemed genuine and certainly had the measure of the guards. ‘Okay then.’ I walked past Ugly Guard and nodded to him. He knew where I was going, but there was no indication he gave a shit. We did a very slow circuit of the yard and the other prisoner told me that most prisoners walked in the morning and evening as it was good for the health.

‘My name is Satya,’ he said, speaking reasonably good English.

‘My name is Paul,’ I said, shaking his hand.

‘You are very interesting for the other prisoners.’

‘Yes, I can see that. I hope they get bored with me soon.’

‘Maybe. Why are you here?’

‘I mistakenly crossed the border by a few metres and they arrested me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeh, oh. What did you do?’

‘I was a politician.’

‘Oh, okay. But that’s not a crime.’

‘I fought against corruption.’

‘That’s admirable, but a challenge in this country. So, fighting corruption is a crime?’

‘No. But the magistrate in my district was very corrupt, a dishonest man, so I crushed him.’

‘What do you mean you crushed him?’ How?’

‘With a piece of wood. I hit him over the head. He bled a lot.’

I had to stifle a laugh. This was brilliant.

‘How long are you here for?’

‘Three months. I only have four weeks to go.’

‘Do you think what you did was right?’

‘Next time I will take a different action, maybe diplomacy.’

‘Yeh, probably a good idea.’

We completed three slow laps of the yard before he deposited me back at my cage. I decided to rest for a while. The old man entered the cage and, motioning with his hands to his mouth, said the word ‘kanake’.

‘I’m okay,’ I said, ‘I’m not hungry.’