I have been visiting India for winter holidays for 20 years and nothing like this has ever happened before - indeed, India has been a virtual c. p. desert for me until now. Its a basically factual account of a true event at the end of 2003.
I was sunbathing on the beach in southern India just before Christmas. My holiday was almost at an end and I wanted to top up my tan. I'd managed to find a rare beach with few visitors. It was in the mid-afternoon when I spotted three indian lads walking along the sea line towards me. As they passed by the shortest of them shouted across to me " Do you want a massage ? ".
It is a usual cry - one I normally ignore; but I was drawn to the lad - about 5ft 5in tall, short black hair, slim hips , broads shoulders and a flashing white smile set off against his black skin. He was 16 years old. He came from a neighbouring State but was with two local, paler boys both a bit taller. One was 17 the other 18.We chatted normally, exchanged pleasantries and small talk. Their english was surprisingy good. The masseur pleaded for work - he needed money for food. The other two lived at home. So I agreed, turned on my back and waited for the massage to begin. It wasnt the best massage but the sun was hot, the sea and sky blue and the cooling wind blew across the sand so it was relaxing, too relaxing.
I was drifting off to sleep when i noticed the massage had stopped. I opened my eyes to notice the lads were running down the beach. The masseur had my leather bag in hand and the older of the other two had my camera. I didn't know if it had been a set up or an opportunist theft. My first thought was how stupid I'd been; my second was to get the bag and camera back. The bag had my passport, rupees and airline ticket. My athletic days are over but I gave chase. It was fruitless. They were running away from me back up the beach towards the dusty road by the palm trees. The sand was hot, I was bare foot. I'd had it. Then extraordinary good fortune shone on me and ill luck on them.
A police jeep drove up to the beach edge. I was shouting and I must have attracted their attention. Three officers jumped out, gave chase and after a short while grabbed the lads. They roughly grabbed them. I reached the group panting heavily and took a while to catch my breath and explain what had occurred. The three were dragged into the back of the jeep. I was angry, hot and just wanted my bag and camera back.
The officer approached me while his two policemen kept a watchful eye over the three. He explained he would be taking them to the police station on the edge of the small town. I'd have to turn up their to make a statement and, alas, I couldn't just take my bag and camera. I'd have to wait. " How long ? " I asked. It was Friday and I was due to fly back to London on Monday. He shrugged apologetically and asked me to go to the police station. Then they all drove away, the lads looking decidedly glum.
I took a motor rickshaw to the police station - a single storey pink building with whitewashed walls and brown ceiling fans switched on for my benefit as protection against the early evening humidity. I waited. At 7pm I met the Officer, gave my statement and with the police eye witness accounts all seemed clear. It was not. The Officer explained that he had to interview the lads, contact their families and this would take some time. "How long ?" I reiterated my earlier question. As long as it takes summarised his reply. He said he would contact me in the morning at my hotel.
The Officer was as good as his word although it was 12 noon by the time he came to see me. He explained the difficulties. It had been impossible to contact any relative of the 16year old out of State masseur. The two local lads' families had been contacted but were poor. I was to understand the importance of this in a while. While we drank some Kingfisher - beer - he said the lads had admitted trying to rob me and that two alternatives were available. The police could take full statements and fill in lots of papers and go to Court probably in about 3 weeks time. He groaned at the amount of officer time that could use up. The alternative - he was quite blunt about this - was for the families or the lads to pay an "unofficial" fine. He meant "backsheesh" - a bribe to the police. The two young officers in their early twenties were unmarried but would need to be paid off. I was not surprised nor was I interested - I was just desperate to get my belongings back. "Ah" he said " not until after the trial or the payment of backsheesh".
"But I fly out on Monday ". He was unmoved. The families were poor he reiterated. The police just couldn't let them go. It was not the Indian way, it might encourage other attacks on tourists if it got around. The way he put it, it was clear what he was saying. If I wanted the bag with the precious tickets and rupees back some of those rupees would be "taxed".I have long discovered that getting angry in India achieves nothing. I kept my cool. "But if I do pay the "backsheesh"" - it was set at 1500 rupees (less than £20.00) - " would the lads just go free ? Surely that would only encourage further thefts ? "
"Well, no - they'd be dealt with on Sunday." he said. He saw my disbelieving look. " Really, we usually do it on Sundays. The civilian workers are off duty that day, we have the station to ourselves - its always the day we give them a 'bamboo massage'. I'd heard of the Indian police using such methods but didnt expect to hear it from the police officer himself. It had been touched on over the years. I'd raised it myself to see if I could find any titillating information on my 'favourite' subject but had gleaned little other than prisoners were caned "unofficially".
"Can I get my things back ?" I said. He nodded. Of course, they'd have to agree. But faced with a choice of one year in prison with rigorous training or a beating, he was sure they'd take the latter. But the choice was still theirs. But then there was still the question of the "backsheesh", he mused.
"How do I know I'd get my possessions back if I give you the rupees and how do I know they'd be punished ?" I was more interested in the former part of the question but beginning to get a _s_e_x_ual interest in the answer to the latter. "How do you know i'd pay up ?" I asked innocently.
"Well" he said " we have checked you have the money in your bag already ". You'd just get the bag and camera back less the 1500 rupees. "You'd get your bag and camera back in the morning after the lads are done. Come and see for yourself. " I was astonished. Had I heard him right. I was being invited to watch the three lads being "dealt with". "8am ok ?"
I went through the gates of the police station at 7 45am. One of the young policemen from Friday was at the front desk. He was about 21 years old. Thin, in an olive uniform of tight trousers and shirt with epulettes, gold numbers and a red flash on the top of the sleeve. On Friday he'd been sombre, today he grinned widely and knowingly. He called to his fellow officer - older about 25 and heavier built. He was more reserved but friendly. I was shown into a large room at the end of a long corridor. White painted, with pale blue doors, a single window high up, a desk and two chairs and a naked light bulb illuminating on one side of the room a kind of trestle table wedged at an angle of 60 degrees against the wall with a hook at the top centre. I looked more closely - the hook was on a sliding device locked at the table's rear by a large wooden dowel. The main officer stood to welcome me, gave me a firm hand shake and gave an order to his man.
He explained the procedure. Each lad would be brought in, one at a time. They'd agreed to the caning to avoid prison. The two local lads were to get 12 strokes - not with a heavy punishment cane but a lighter, thinner one. He gestured to a basket in the corner - there were about 6 of them - straight, rattan types with bobbles on them every 3 inches or so. The masseur would get more. He didnt mention if it was to be over their shorts - they were all in shorts and vests when I last saw them. He asked me to sit; as I did so the two policemen entered with the 18 year old lad between them. He looked sheepish. The policemen had taken off their shirts and wore tight olive green vests with their numbers embroidered in red just below where their right nipple raised a bump.
One officer placed the lad's handcuffed wrists over the hook at the top of the table and once stretched in position his red shorts were removed. The other officer, the older one, picked up a cane and swished it through the air. Again the main policeman shouted in the local dialect. The lad's taught pale green underpants were removed. The officer with the cane - left handed - positioned himself to the lad's right and raised the cane. The clock on the wall had a red second hand, its movement was the only sound in the room. As the hand reached the 'hour' mark, just after 8am, the officer let fly with the cane. The result was stunning. The lad let out a scream. His body buried itself as close to the trestle as was possible. His left leg danced upwards almost trying to put his ankle up to the wounded left buttock. The right leg momentarily left the ground but soon returned to the ground. A white line stretched across the lad's bum which now involuntarily arched outwards away from the table. His body was hairless apart from his armpits and the lower part of his bum.
A full minute elapsed before the second hand of the clock reached the required position again and a further stroke was delivered. So it went on for eleven minutes a stroke each minute. After 6 strokes the boy was crying, after 9 he was shouting. After the final stroke he was left dangling on the table for two or three minutes. I'd witnessed my first ever punishment beating since school back in the 1960ies. Of course, I'd punished in c. p. scenes for 30 years but that was consensual - this was altogether different. I was aroused, so it seemed were the three policemen.
The lad was released, unhandcuffed, allowed to dress - his prick was almost invisible in a mass of black pubic hair. He was still crying as he was escorted out.
The next local lad came into the room. The same procedure, although the trestle was adjusted down a little. His shorts were green again with pale green scants underneath. They were soon removed and the same procedure adopted. The other officer - right handed did the job this time. He was younger but had obviously done this before. The lad started crying almost immediately. He screamed louder than the earlier lad but the same procedure followed - one stroke every minute. He was crying too and the same leg dance followed every stroke only it was the right leg that tried in vain to cover the right buttock. The lad's buttocks were smaller but seemed to mark less. Towards the end , by accident or design one stroke landed low across the high thigh area - it had missed the bum but no one seemed concerned, apart from the lad. Again, he was left hanging on tip toe til he was released, unhandcuffed grabbed his pants and shorts and pulled them up. He left still crying too.
The masseur looked a picture hanging on the table - he struggled to get his toes on the ground. His skin was very dark - a trait of people from the neighbouring State. They were disliked by the local police. It was to show. He had a beautiful arse, big for his height, and a V shaped body. He'd acknowledged me when he entered, something the other two had not done. A courtly nod. He knew the score apparently, even though he was the youngest.
This time both officers took up their canes and stood either side. Again on the second reaching upwards, the right handed officer swung the cane catching the lad mid-bum. He reacted silently. Like the others his body initially tried to bury itself in the table , then the right leg arched upwards, then fell back and thrust his bum outwards. Just at that moment the second officer slashed the cane catching the lad, and me, by surprise. He yelled in pain both legs now dancing frantically up and down. So now I could guess how many more he was to get. He took the 24 strokes well but the last few struck at a resigned, limp body with hardly any reaction. He seemed even incapable of shouting but he was crying loudly. His bum was badly bruised but there were no blood. His handcuffs were removed. Extraordinarilly when he was freed and before putting on his smokey pink briefs, he sported a huge erection. It swung in front violently as he rubbed his arse. He was escorted out, with both officers winking at me as they passed, grinning broadly.
My bag, less 1500 rupees, was handed back to me as was my camera. The chief officer thanked me. He said the local lads would be released at lunch time. The other lad ? I asked. Well he'd be kept in for the night. Sunday, he said, was often a time for the officers on duty to have a feni or two and have some recreational "entertainment" especially the unmarried ones.