Nambardar. He was a Nambardar in prison. He wore yellow-colored clothes – like all the Nambardars. He served me tea, whenever I visited the Jailer. He was polite and kind.   

It was during my third or fourth visit, that I learnt that Nambardars are chosen from among the prisoners – for prison’s administrative work. They ensure better discipline among the prison inmates.

“What do you teach in your class in women’s jail, Madam?” He asked me one day, while the Jailer was not in the office, and I was waiting.

“We listen to them and try to be present for them with love,” I said, not telling him the finer details about our workshop content.

“This is everything — to be present for somebody with love.” He said.

“Why are you here?” His reply had made me curious.

“302”

“I don’t know what 302 is, “I didn’t.

“Murder, “He said.” … And rape. I am in the prison for 14 years. “

I didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t do it, Madam,” he said, placing a cup of tea before me. “Madam, why don’t you conduct classes in the male prison,” He changed the topic quickly.

“Generally…” I had no apparent reason. And I was suddenly not too keen to carry on any conversation with him.

The Jailer was back in the office now, and we had started discussing something about the weekend class.

I avoided looking at the Nambardar when he picked up the empty cup from the table. Suddenly, I was feeling very uncomfortable. I was aware of this change and its reason. I was not too happy with it, but that is how it was.

My discussion with the Jailer was over and I was about to leave his office.

“Thank you, ” I said, when the Nambardar opened the door for me. I tried to smile a smile. His smile looked effortless.

There is no place to hide, no place to go. My Guru takes different forms and meets me anywhere. Everywhere.

— R