By Rama Lakshmi
Washington Post Foreign Service
Saturday, August 18, 2007

INDANAKOTHI, India -- For 11 long years, Abdul Kareem was locked in a slow, bitter court battle with his cousin over a wall that divided their two homes and blocked sunlight. Several fights broke out between the two wheat farmers, and family members in both homes were injured.

But for Kareem and his cousin, there was something far worse than all the abusive words and physical blows that were exchanged. It was the ordeal of actually getting to the court -- an arduous and expensive 30-mile journey involving a long walk, a jeep ride, a bus journey and days of endless waiting.

"Each court appearance meant spending money for the travel, food, and cups and cups of tea. It would take six hours of total travel time, and sitting still outside the court all day," said Kareem, 42. "After all this, I would be given yet another date to appear. This case has eaten my life away."

The legal system has now changed dramatically for Kareem and hundreds of thousands of villagers in the rural Mewat district of the northern Indian state of Haryana. Earlier this month, India launched its first mobile court -- an air-conditioned bus that travels to far-flung villages. A judge follows the bus in an air-conditioned sport-utility vehicle.

According to the government, Indian courts are bedeviled with a staggering backlog of 15.6 million cases. It is not uncommon for minor cases to drag on for decades. The new "court-on-wheels" program aims to fill this critical gap in the delivery of justice and could one day be expanded across the country.

"The mobile court brings justice to your door," said Sandeep Singh, the first judge to preside over the court. "And it also reduces the high cost and long delays that poor people undergo in pursuing justice." Singh has handled about 60 cases each day since the mobile court opened for business. Most have involved theft, village fights and disputes over dowries or the slaughter of cows.

Officials said that the mobile court speeds up the judicial process; distance is no longer an excuse for people who would otherwise avoid court appearances. Many vexing cases end in compromise because neighbors and village elders can be called easily to the mobile court in order to exert moral pressure on the feuding parties.

Equipped to handle both civil and criminal cases, the mobile court carries a staff of 12, including a stenographer, judgment writer, usher, attendant and floor sweeper for the bus. The bus has a judge's chamber and an office for staff. Two generators keep the bus engine, the air conditioning and the computers running all day.

The operation appears to be a work in progress. Within the first hour of a court session last week, it became clear that proceedings would not take place inside the bus.

"We are not used to the cold and feel nauseated. We may catch a chill inside the bus court," said Haneef Kareembaksh, a plaintiff lounging under the shade of a tree on a humid afternoon. A few yards away, a gray bus stood in the open courtyard of a small rural police outpost where about 500 villagers squatted on the ground. "We prefer being in the open."

The court proceedings were conducted under a tree with the bare essentials -- a table and two chairs.

In Kareem's case, the judge called for a compromise, but the defendant waved his hand in dismissal and walked away. "I have waited so long, why should I compromise now?" shouted Kareem's cousin Ahmad Chota, 35.

"Go, sit under that tree and talk it out again," said Singh, the judge.

Lawyers tried to broker peace between the cousins, who had walked about 20 minutes through some fields to reach the court.

"You cannot drag the case forever anymore. Now the court has come to you," said Aziz Akhtar, Kareem's attorney. "Either both of you would be acquitted or both convicted today. It is in your interest to settle."

The village chief urged them not to tarnish the honor of the village in the new court. By the end of the day, the cousins had informed the judge that they were willing to make peace. Pleased, the judge closed the file and instructed them to record their statements.

"It will take time, but we will learn to live peacefully," beamed Chota. "A thread that is broken can become one again with a knot."

Not everybody was happy with the new court.

"The mobile court is an excellent system for these villagers. But it is not very convenient for advocates," said Akhtar, who was taking part in 12 cases that day. "We have to travel to all these remote areas that the bus decides to go to. We don't have an office anymore, we have to operate under trees in this dreadful heat. We have to drink muddy water from village hand pumps. No tables. No chairs. No typist. No photocopy. And the worst is that there is no bathroom here."

A senior court official working on the bus said there is a lot of resistance in the judiciary.

"People in the court have asked me to ensure the failure of this system so that they don't get posted on this mobile court next," the official said on condition of anonymity. "It is viewed as a punishment posting."