Behind high walls

Fr. John Puthuva is celebrating 25 years as a priest as well as a prison counsellor all over Kerala and in Delhi. He talks about his experiences

Pics: Albin Mathew  

By Shevlin Sebastian 

Harish Nair stared at the wedding card. For a moment, he felt that his heart had stopped. He could feel the blood rush to his head. He blinked, took a deep breath and stared hard at what was written. There was no doubt: his neighbour and childhood friend Monica Kumar, in a Delhi neighbourhood, was getting married to Shiva Prasad, an IT engineer working for a company. A spasm of rage swept through him. ‘Monica is mine,’ he thought. ‘Nobody else can marry her.’

He calmed himself and walked out. Some distance from the house, he googled Shiva’s company and called the office. He managed to secure the home address. When he asked at what time Shiva reported to work, he was told, “2 pm.” 

He looked at his watch. It was only 10.30 a.m. At 24, having just completed his MBA, along with Monica, in the same institution, he was on the lookout for a job. 

So, he was free now. He went to a wholesale market and bought a knife. Thereafter, he went to Shiva’s house, and called him out. As soon as Shiva stepped on the sidewalk, Harish stabbed him twice in the heart. Holding the blood-stained knife, he went to a nearby police station and told the shocked officer, “I killed a man who was supposed to marry my girlfriend. You can arrest me.” 

Not surprisingly, Harish was convicted and sentenced to 12 years in jail. “And it was at Tihar Jail that I met Harish,” says Fr. John Puthuva, who is celebrating 25 years as a priest as well as a prison counsellor. “He is a very nice boy. And he has experienced deep remorse at what he did several times.” 

The story did not end there. Two years after he was incarcerated, Harish secured parole for ten days. He met Monica and confessed his love. She reciprocated. On another visit, they had a registered marriage. And in later years Monica gave birth to their baby daughter. “Harish has a few more years to serve,” says Fr. John. “Monica has a good job. Their love is very strong.” 

Fr. John is recounting this story in the waiting shed for visitors just outside the Kakkanad District Jail in Kochi. The monsoon rain is beating down. In the distance the 20-foot high walls are getting a proper drenching. On the opposite bench sits a young woman with a sleeping baby, his head resting contentedly on her shoulder. But she looks morose. She has probably come to see her husband. 

Another woman in her fifties is holding a transparent plastic packet. A tube of Colgate toothpaste, a toothbrush and a couple of Liril soaps could be seen. Opposite, at some distance away, a small gate within a large gate opens. A policeman sticks his head out and hollers their names. They get up, open their umbrellas and walk towards the gate. 

As Fr. John watches them go, he says, “Sad, isn’t it? It’s such a social embarrassment for the family when a husband or a father is jailed. Relatives keep away. People whisper to each other when they are walking on the street. Children are told not to interact with the convict’s children. Money is short. The wife has to face harsh words from the local grocery store because the dues are mounting.”   

Dressed in a white cassock and with an easy smile, Fr. John provokes respect. A group of schoolboys and girls rush in to take shelter. “Good morning Father,” they say in unison. He smiles happily and greets them back.

He turns to me and says, “You will be surprised to know, like these schoolchildren,  there are many innocent people in jail.” 

Then he recounts an anecdote. A man, Suresh, committed a murder. Then pretending that everything is fine, he went to his friend Anil’s house. “Anil did not know that Suresh had just committed a murder,” says Fr. John. “As a friend, he invited Suresh to stay the night. The next morning Suresh left. But when he was caught by the police, Anil, as his friend, was also arrested. It’s three years now. The case is still going on. So, for no fault of his, Anil is in jail.” 

But, of course, there are hard-core career criminals who kill people for a living. It is to these men that Fr. John offers counselling. “I tell them that the taking of a human life is a grievous sin in any religion,” he tells them. “I ask them to take care of their families, have a belief in God, and learn to behave in a law-abiding way in society.”   

But the road to redemption is not easy. “There are many who belong to gangs and find it difficult to break away,” says the priest. “They feel trapped. Their group has a vice-like grip on them. Having said that there have been many who have managed to break free and lead straight lives once again. Through the support of the jail authorities, we give moral support so that they remain strong.” 

Asked the reasons behind their criminal activities, Fr. John says, “Many murderers come from disturbed family backgrounds. The father might hit the mother. Or he is an alcoholic and hits the boy. Sometimes, they think a murder is an easy way to make money.” 

Criminal activities spans all the classes. “Nowadays, even educated people also commit crimes,” he says. One day, a group of college students in Delhi, coming from good families, came up with the idea of robbing an ATM to make some money. So they selected one in which there was no security guard and no cameras. They managed to break the ATM and take away the money. But unknown to them there was a tiny camera. So they were caught and jailed.

And now three years have gone past as the case drags on. “They are doing their education in the jail,” says Fr. John. “But their parents are anguished. And their names will be permanently there in the police records. In their social circles, their names are forever tarnished.”  

Meanwhile, the rain has stopped. The woman with the baby steps out. She gets into an autorickshaw and is driven off. Soon, the elderly lady also moves away.  

As it become silent, Fr. John slips into a reminiscent mood. “When I was studying at the St. Joseph’s Seminary, at Aluva, once a week we would go and say prayers for the prisoners at the local jails. That’s how I got interested in prison counselling.” 

He has worked in many jails in Kerala, and had a three-year stint at Tihar Jail, from 2013-16. While there, to provide mental relief, he organised football and cricket matches. “[Former cricketers] Yuvraj Singh and Harbhajan Singh inaugurated the cricket tournament,” says Fr. John. “For a football match between India XI and Tihar XI [former Indian captain] Bhaichung Bhutia played.” Of course, India XI won 3-0.  

Sometimes he held variety entertainments. Once, there was a dance programme by boys and girls. While the show was going on, Fr. John noticed a man in his forties, who was sitting in the front row, with tears rolling down his face. “After the programme I asked him why he had cried,” says Fr. John. “He said that when he saw the boys and girls he was thinking about his own children. He missed them terribly. He said, ‘I spent my life trying to earn money and did not spend time with the family. Then I murdered somebody, got caught and now I am in jail’.” 

As our conversation meanders to a close, Fr. John, who is now the parish priest of St George’s Church at Kalady, stands up and says, “There is a special reason I came to this jail today. I want to meet the superintendent so that, during Onam, I want to sponsor a special lunch for the prisoners to celebrate my 25 years.” 

(A shorter version was published in Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South Indian editions and Delhi)