It was early morning and we have been onroad with Mohammed Ayub Khan at the wheels of Leyland 2518 model carrying six Arjun Ultra tractors from the assembly lines of Mahindra plant at Kandivli, Mumbai. A day after I was a victim of highway robbery 10 kilometres before Kolhapur in Maharasthra (more about it in a separate dispatch), it was jointly decided that our night halt would be in an absolutely securitized environment and luckily we found one on NH 4 an hour after we left Dharwad, Karnataka. Yes, we slept well under the guardianship of the lathi-wielding, but limping Abubaker.
Sharp three in the morning, we woke us and ensured we vacated the open lot after a hot cuppa. Bearded Ayub bhai, hailing from Pratapgarh, situated hardly 70 km from Sultanpur in Uttar Pradesh, began the journey which he promised would ensure I would sleep in a pucca bed and mattress instead of on the foam-rubber seat-cum-sleeping berth inside the Leyland cabin over the past 10 days. Soon after we passed Davengere, a man in casuals halted us abruptly in the middle of the road while waving a stick at us. Cursing his fate, Ayub parked the vehicle on the side and got out.
Picking up his papers (vehicle documents) and invoice of material being carried, he crossed the road to the while government vehicle parked on the other side of the NH 4. From inside the Leyland cabin, I could not visualize the gent who was conversing with Ayub bhai, but from the expression of my driver colleague I could see he is distressed. In no time, Ayub was back and gave to vent to his anger by using some unprintable words as an abuse against the officer who he had met.
Prodded, he revealed that the RTO belongs to Davengere and demanded his pound of flesh threatening that he would file a case against Rinku Commercial Carriers Vehicle which Ayub was driving for violating several sections of the Motor Vehicles Act. He was offered two choices: permit RTO to seize the vehicle, go to the court and get it released; or, cough up a fee. A cool bribe is all demanded as if it is RTO’s birth right. Ayub parted with Rs.100 and got himself relieved from the rigmarole of surrendering the vehicle and retrieving the same after a long drawn court procedure.
“I never expected this RTO here,” averred Ayub, “because we had long ago crossed Davengere and now we are in Chitradurga.” If Ayub were to be believed, the RTO Davengere has no business to be waiting like a roadside vulture in Chitradurga territory. I simply have no idea about this “corruption jurisdiction”.
That’s when I asked Ayub whether he had paid the checkpost at Karnataka border when we entered from Maharashtra. He said, “No”. He only paid an “Entry” fee – meaning Rs.300 as bribe to the official at the border. Thereby saving a hefty Rs.1500-2000 fee which goes into the state exchequer with a receipt. This route of crossing any state by paying “entry fee” at the point of entry and exit (another Rs.300 or so) to another corrupt state border official works out much cheaper for the driver than paying upfront a big fat fee to the interstate border and riding with no worries at all. Why drivers prefer the entry option demands another story. We will tackle it at a later stage. But the risk is huge. Drivers confess that given the poor salary conditions of theirs, non-payment of official fee and instead settling for some bribe is their only route to livelihood on highways. Motor maliks, please note.
Before we could recover from the RTO Davengere episode, we spotted half a dozen tilk-sporting, fat and slim guys stopping vehicles on both sides of the highway. Yes, a government vehicle was parked on the other side. We were in Chitradurga territory. Several commercial vehicles were parked on both sides and a long queue of drivers were surrounding the government vehicle. Releasing another unprintable expletive, Ayub jumped out with relevant papers. I decided to go along with him this time to watch the drama from close quarters. A thick moustaichoed – looked like a sidekick of any filmy villain – but with a tikka on his forehand.
“Kya re, kiska gaddi hai?” demanded that fatso.
“RCC ka,” responded Ayub.
I was in ear’s shot and could listen to every syllable uttered.
“Ah, Rinku ka gaddi hai!” The sarcasm in the voice could not go unnoticed.
Ayub “yes”sed.
“Maloom hai, aap kya zuroom kiya hai?” another shot from the fatso.
Ayub remained silent.
There was a long silence.
Meanwhile, I looked into the vehicle and noticed the police uniformed RTO without a cap was sitting in the seat, looking at the document surrendered by another driver and feigning to examine the same. Fair complexion. He would be taller than me, if we were to stand next to each other. A little over six feet.
The fatso told Ayub to go the officer sitting in the car.
Ayub inched towards RTO.
I moved in closer. By now, the RTO gang of coolies noticed my presence near the vehicle. I did not look like a driver or conductor and hence stood like a sore thumb. I knew it.
“Aap kaon?” demanded the fatso.
I smiled at him.
“Aap driver hai? Conductor hai? Truck ka malik hai?” It was fatso again.
“Mein koi nahin hoon,” I responded.
“Phir, aap idhar kya kar raho ho?”
I responded with “Mein aisa e dekh ne ke liye aya hoon”.
“Yeh drama hai kya?” asked the fatso.
I switched over to English and “What is your problem if I stand here. I am curious to know what you guys are upto.”
Fatso quickly looked at RTO inside the vehicle, hinting that he should handle me. The language of English rattles a lot. Not a highway friendly lingo.
Now it was RTO’s turn: “Who are you?”
“How does it matter to you?” I asked him. Then switching over to Hindi, I uttered: “Aapko taqleef kya hai?”
“No, no. You are standing near my vehicle. So I am asking,” he replied.
“I am a citizen of this country. And I have every right to stand wherever I want,” I told him.
He was foxed. I cursed my stupidity for this Hindi film style dialogue.
“You don’t understand me, Sir. Are you with any of these drivers? Owner’s representative?” he asked.
“Am no owner but travelling with him (pointed to Ayub),” I responded.
“Look at this. This man (Ayub) is behaving like a sheep. He is not answering any of our queries. Have you noticed that his vehicle is carrying tractors which are jutting outside the vehicle dimensions. It is illegal. We can challan him, you know?”
I said, “ok”.
“Sir, since you are only a passenger on that vehicle, please go and sit there,” the fatso joined now.
RTO to Ayub: “I have to challan you. Kya karna hai, batao?”
Ayub: “thoda time deeji ye.”
Ayub spoke to someone on his mobile and returned.
RTO: “Yeh Rinku ka gaddi hai!” said suddenlty.
Ayub: “Haan, sirji”.
It is significant to note that RCC has fighting a legal suit against a RTO officer in Davengere/Chitradurga for allegedly beating up their driver and putting them in jail for five days a few months ago. RCC officials during my interaction with them in Anand corporate headquarters shared these details with me and the case is still sub judice.
RCC is a anathema to RTOs in Karnataka. Harassment is to be expected. But one positive effect of this right against highway corrupt practices is that RTOs are a little scared of taking RCC head on because they have come to realize that RCC would not mind fighting them legally.
RTO handed over the documents back to Ayub and looked at him closely.
Now fatso intervened and told Ayub, “ok. Rs.100 de do”.
Ayub pinched a Rs.100 note from his almost empty wallet and tried to give it to RTO.
“Pagal ho gaya hai kya?” shouted the RTO. He was eyeing me at the same time.
He meant that he does not directly receive this “bakshish”, but has to be handed over to one of his gang members.
Ayub parted with Rs.100 to one of the gang members and we walked back to the vehicle.
“Agar, hamara naam RCC nahi hoti to, yeh RTO hamse Rs.300 liya hoga,” said Ayub triumphantly.
Once back in the vehicle, I asked Ayub as to the real identify of these gang.
Much to my surprise, I learnt that except the RTO, others were his private agents who help the government official to abruptly halt commercial vehicles on the highway and help him collect his “unofficial fees”. RTO at the end of each operation, shares a small portion with this private goondas!
Atuylya bharat, such mooch!
My one regret that I was unable to know the identity of the RTO because his nametag pinned on his chest was written in Kannada, not in English. The “MVD” (motor vehicles department?) brass tag pinned on his right shoulder did not glow since he was sitting inside the vehicle, not out in the early morning sun.
One thing I must appreciate. The RTO was up and awake so early in the morning and performing his “duty”. Since he was again sporting tikka, I presumed he almost ought to have bathed and come to the battlefield – nay, the national highway! Look at the amount of trouble he has taken it upon himself! Mera Bharat mahaan, no doubt.
