Mohammed Afzal’s wife and son (above); Afzal

Meerut. October 12, 2006: Mamu, the hangman from Meerut, is speaking. “It would be an honour to be called by my country to hang the man who attacked our Parliament,” says Mamu, patriotically. “It would be my duty to do so.”

Death pays unexpected dividends to some.

October 20 could be a red-ringed day for Mamu. The son of Kallu who noosed such luminaries as Kehar Singh and Satwant Singh and Ranga-Billa, Mamu is a pro before a channel crew that has hot footed it to his hometown.

Afzal’s trial and his wife’s petition for mercy have had dramatic overtones. Looping between Delhi and Kashmir and Pakistan, with a nudge in Meerut’s direction, the sentence has been viewed variously as the advent of voyeuristic lynching (say human rights groups and activists), the just desserts for a terrorist conspirator (say political parties like the Bharatiya Janata Party, Shiv Sena and others who do not say much including the Congress and other parties, save the Left), balm for a collective conscience (says the Supreme Court) and political tinder for fragile Kashmir (say political organisations active in the Valley).

Does the only person to die for the attack stand a chance for reprieve? Does he deserve one? Here is a dramatised version of events so far.

Cut to December 13, 2001. Parliament House, New Delhi. The house is in session when a band of unidentified armed men attack the seat of Indian democracy. A 35-minute gun battle later, five terrorists, a gardener and six security personnel are dead.

The then-National Democratic Alliance government promptly names the Lashkar-e-Toiba, backed by Pakistan, as the prime suspect.

Seven days later. December 20, 2001. Live from Lodhi Road police station, special cell, New Delhi. A man sits bound to a chair as a zillion flashbulbs go off in his face. He confesses publicly that he was a conspirator in the Parliament attack case. His name: Mohammed Afzal. Half of India makes its mind up one way. The other half says not guilty. Numbers are approximate on either count but what is for certain is that television rating points have zoomed. Later, deputy commissioner of police Ashok Chand, denies any press conference but the high court and Supreme Court note that he lied under oath. A telefilm based on the prosecution’s case is aired repeatedly on a channel before the first court judgement is in.

Delhi Police clinches case. Afzal’s confession recorded.

The five men who attacked Parliament are never identified.

Afzal, a militant who had surrendered to the BSF in 1993 and has been working with the Special Task Force in J&K since, does not have a lawyer when his evidence is recorded.

Sentencing at the trial court. Sessions Court sentences Afzal, Shaukat Hussain and Geelani to death. Afzal asked the court to appoint a lawyer for him and even gave a wish list. No one volunteered. “When Ram Jethmalani offered to defend Geelani, Shiv Sena goons ransacked his office in Mumbai.” Where were the human rights groups? Good question, says Colin Gonsalves, founder of the Human Rights Law Network.

In July 2002, a junior lawyer is appointed as his amicus curiae and Afzal given the right to cross examine the witnesses.

Republic Day, 2001. Ward No 7 high-security ward, Jail No. 2, Tihar Jail. Afzal writes to the All India Committee to Save SAR. Geelani: “Not a single witness was cross questioned on behalf of me by any legal aid... The court did not also give me the recorded statements of the trial, so it was impossible for me to know what the court had recorded.”

Case for the defence: Gonsalves offers to represent Afzal. He meets Afzal thrice in a span of four months, works gratis. Then finds himself accused of asking for death by lethal injection for his client. He subsequently withdraws. “A grave injustice has been done to Afzal. He has become a political pawn in a politically sensitive matter. In India it is not possible to keep a distance from political consequences,” says Gonsalves.

Court is in session. October 29, 2003: Delhi High Court confirms the death sentence of both Mohammad Afzal and Shaukat Hussain but acquits Geelani and Guru.

A wife writes about her husband. In a letter to the Kashmir Times in October 2004, Afzal’s wife Tabassum says: “Ours is the story of many young Kashmiri couples and represents the tragedy facing our people.” She describes how Afzal was attracted to the JKLF movement in 1991, and even went to Pakistan for training. In three months he was back in Kashmir, disillusioned. “You will not perhaps realise that it is very difficult to live as a surrendered militant in Kashmir. In 1997, he started a small business of medicines and surgical instruments.” (excerpts). The next year, they married. He was 28, she 18. Her letter also alleges torture and extortion demands by the security forces. Today, Tabassum is pleading with the President for mercy.

Verdict at the Supreme Court. August 4, 2005: Geelani and Shaukat are acquitted of all charges. Afsan is given 10 years. Afzal’s sentence is upheld. “The incident, which resulted in heavy casualties, has shaken the entire nation and the collective conscience of society will be satisfied if the capital punishment is awarded to the offender.” So says the judgment.

Enter. A martyr’s nephew. Prof Jagmohan Singh, nephew of Bhagat Singh, who was hanged by the British for trying to blow up Parliament, co-authors an open letter with documentary film-maker Anand Patwardhan, to the President and the Prime Minister asking for clemency. “Mohammed Afzal may not be innocent, and we are not appealing for a pardon but for the commutation of the death penalty. Such a bold decision is likely to send a positive signal to the world.”

Or would it tell militants that India is a soft state? Patwardhan tells The Telegraph, “We have become a 16 th century lynch mob. Hanging is like entertainment, catering to a barbaric instinct. Life imprisonment means that today it is not as if you are out in 14 years. When Bhagat Singh was hanged, the British said exactly the same thing we are saying now.”

Between millions of taxpayers who don’t want their money used to feed Afzal in prison, and militants in the valley who don’t want Azal to plead for clemency (the Indian legal system does not allow his sentence to be commuted in the absence of a formal plea for mercy) Afzal’s future hangs by a very short rope.