Raja Tasleem Abbass: He Signed Judgments, I Write Stories - Both Are His

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Raja Tasleem Abbas

By Sama Zehra

Growing up, my childhood was mostly scarred by turmoil and conflict. The turbulence of those years made it impossible to rely solely on school for an all-around education – I badly needed someone to guide me through.

The guidance finally came from my uncle, Raja Tasleem Abbass. When I was in sixth grade, my uncle started taking regular two-hour classes for my cousins and I, where he helped us brush up on our writing skills and taught us the basics of English Grammar. These teaching duties he placed upon himself beyond his long and exhausting hours at court.

My uncle was deeply passionate about teaching and equally worried about our education. He considered education to be a formative part of one's moral compass and principles. Naturally, the lessons were often centred around ethics and values. Every day at 8:30 at night, he began each class with a 30-minute lecture on moral virtues. Thereafter, we were instructed to write our opinions and takeaways from it.

That was when I first began to write.

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I remember when I was once asked by a school teacher to prepare an essay on 'responsibility'. Instinctively, I rushed to my uncle to take his immediate and“urgent” help (It did feel very urgent then). He started the essay with the sentence,“Sense of responsibility has a paramount role in our lives”. From that day on, for an entire year, I devised a shortcut method from that sentence – I used to replace the word“responsibility” with whatever topic my teacher would me to write an essay on. Be it loyalty, sincerity or any other virtue, the shortcut method always worked – it was a little trick up my sleeve that helped me excel in my writing. Did it make any sense? Perhaps not. But did the teachers absolutely adore my essays? Ofcourse! I was so proud of what my uncle taught me once that I kept using it everywhere.

As time passed and my writing evolved, I realised that it was my writing but his words, my ideas but his style, my opinion but his syntax. The greatest appreciation I ever received – and perhaps the greatest anyone could receive from their mentor – was when, after reading something I had written for college, he said,“It feels like I'm reading something written by myself.”

While my journey of writing initially began entirely under his shadow, over time, my writing process gradually shifted to a more collaborative effort – where I would write and then wait for his comments and feedback, always in awe of his overarching presence in my writing. Thereafter, ever since I began my journey of becoming an advocate, I had hoped to start legal writing from scratch, again under his continued guidance – I had hoped to rely on him completely to come up with new writing tricks – completing another full circle of mentorship and learning.

Little did I know, an unfamiliar storm was quietly waiting at the doorstep of our lives.

Faced with the inescapable grief of losing him and the context of him teaching me the very art of writing, it felt that there would be no other way of honouring him but by bidding him a final goodbye with one a piece of writing. Today I am writing on my own, already aware that this piece won't be perfect without his comments and feedback, but here's to hoping that this piece somehow captures the depth of his personality. Had he been here today, he would have jokingly accused me of stealing all his favourite words – but here's to using his words to write his own story.

The legal career of my uncle began with his position as a Junior Assistant at the District Court in Bandipora, and he was eventually transferred to Kargil. His career started even before he had graduated. He managed a full-time job while simultaneously pursuing a bachelor's degree in Law at the University of Kashmir. During his final year, end-semester exams were scheduled for December/January. However, reaching Srinagar meant navigating roads buried under 4-5 feet of snow, which was almost an impossible task. Yet missing the exams would delay his education - something he simply couldn't afford. So, he decided to figure something out.

At that point, two thoughts weighed heavily on his mind: firstly, how disheartened his mother would be if his education were delayed; and secondly, that his sister had asked him to bring back a Tibetan tea-saucer set. Putting all his faith in God, covering his head with his arms and clutching the porcelain tea set he had just bought, he jumped off the snow-covered Zojila Pass – risking everything for a better life and a brighter future. Surprisingly, he made it to Srinagar – bruised here and there, but well enough to sit the exam and pass it with flying colours. Thinking about it today, one might find it hard to believe such determination exists. But that was Raja Tasleem Abbas for you – a man full of determination and faith.

My grandfather, too, was part of the legal fraternity – a well-known figure, admired for his honesty and work ethic. It was he who passed on the legal legacy to my uncle. After completing his bachelor's degree, my uncle initially joined the Bar and practised with the law firm of Hakim Ishtiyaq Hussain – a man he would praise and speak of fondly, even years after his sad demise. On one occasion, both he and Hakim Ishtiyaq Sahab had gone to court for a case, only to return disheartened by the judge's conduct. At that moment – a mix of despair and hope – Hakim Sahab earnestly encouraged my uncle to consider sitting the judicial services examination. Though initially hesitant and lacking confidence, my uncle eventually agreed. Together, they went to collect the application form and filled it out then and there. That precise moment marked the beginning of his journey to the bench.

The bench he always deserved. The bench he never left.

According to the stories I've been told by my grandparents and by my uncle himself, he studied relentlessly for six months – day and night, without a single break. The only pauses he allowed himself were for the five daily prayers. He had devised a personalised study routine. Each morning, he would wake up at Fajr, offer his prayers, and begin his day by placing five books on one side of the table. His daily goal was simple: read and understand all five, then move them to the other side. Every single day, without fail, he met this goal. At the time, he didn't have much guidance. His language skills were not particularly strong either, so whenever he encountered a difficulty, he had no choice but to sit with it until he figured it out himself.

I remember one story in particular – while studying the Law of Torts, he came across the case of Rylands v. Fletcher. At first, he couldn't quite grasp the reasoning and legal analysis behind it. Confused, he read and re-read the case until he understood every detail. That was his way – no room for confusion, not even an inch of doubt. He loved the law in its entirety: the intricacies, the differing opinions, and the elegance.

On the day of the KCS examination, the exam hall was filled with anxiety and silent, sincere prayers. It was then that my uncle looked down at his clothes and realised,“I'm wearing my torn night T-shirt – and I didn't even notice.” After writing each paper, he would self-assess all his answers and give himself a score. Surprisingly, when the results came out, his self-assessment almost perfectly matched his official marks.

Being the polymath that he was, during the brief time between completing the exam and officially joining the legal fraternity, he served in the J&K Police as a Prosecuting Officer. He was appointed alongside his close friend, Khursheed-Ul-Islam Sir (now a Sessions Judge), and the two of them trained at a base camp in Udhampur. He once told me that while waiting for the results at the training camp, he would often imagine hypothetical cases, write judgments based on his legal reasoning, and sign them off with“Raja Tasleem Abbas, Sub-Judge.”

The wait didn't last long. One day, someone at the camp shouted,“Raja judge ban gaya!” Both he and his friend had passed the examination successfully and were set to join the legal fraternity. He had cleared what once felt like an impossible exam and made a quiet promise to himself – to use this opportunity to help as many people as he could, to spread the message of peace and justice, to become a beacon of hope for the poor, and to deliver justice to every corner of Kashmir. And that is exactly what he did. He became the candle that lit the dark paths of so many.

During the 23 years he served as a judge, beyond his remarkable judgments, he was known for his integrity, honesty, and fearlessness. He never bowed to higher authorities and always stood firmly by his decisions, without hesitation or fear. He distanced himself from any sense of entitlement – avoided entourages, disapproved of flaunting authority, and was firmly against the use of workplace services for personal matters. His principles ran so deep that they extended to the smallest of things – the kind most people would simply overlook.

Recently, I was surprised to know that for even the simplest of tasks – like writing an essay for us, drafting a letter to his children's school administration or simply, jotting down a phone number – he would never use the pen provided by the Court. He had two sets of pen holders, one holding all the office pens which he used strictly for writing court orders or for official purposes and another set, which was bought by him solely for personal use. He was a firm believer in the sanctity of a pen. He would never throw away his empty pens, often saying,“This pen has honoured me – to deliver justice, to gain knowledge, and to share it with so many people. My soul doesn't allow me to get rid of it so easily.”

It was this same reverence for purpose that helped shape my own journey. Our mentor-mentee bond began in my childhood, but it grew even stronger in 2019, when he advised me to sit the All India Law Entrance Examination. He had just returned from a two-week training programme at the Delhi Judicial Academy, hosted at NLU Delhi. At the time, I had no idea what a National Law University was or what it could mean for my future. We discussed it at length, and the very next day, he bought me the Manorama Yearbook, 2019 edition, and instructed me to start covering current affairs as soon as possible. I was confused, a little lost – but under his guidance, I began to explore a completely new path for my career. Studying for an entrance exam at home, especially without proper resources, was incredibly challenging. But he supported me every step of the way. From clearing my countless doubts to explaining complex legal concepts in simple, everyday language – he became the pillar of support I never realised I needed.

I remember being completely perplexed about the difference between murder and culpable homicide. I couldn't quite grasp the nuances between the two. Despite his demanding schedule, he would call me on his way home, walk me through examples, break down the distinctions, and clear every iota of doubt I had. The more questions I asked, the more excited he became to answer them. I was thrilled to finally understand, and I even shared a voice recording of our call with my friends. I vividly remember him, sipping tea and laughing as he said,“This ideally should be a privacy breach. But the law hasn't reached there yet.”

Sometime in August 2020, on the night before my entrance exam for NLU Delhi, he told me something that I carry with me to this day. He said,“You've tried your level best, there is nothing more that you could have done, from now onwards leave everything to God. If this works out, then it was meant for you; however, if it doesn't God surely has bigger plans for you.” These words have stayed with me ever since and have guided me every time I have faced a difficulty.

Once college started, he became an integral part of my life, more than he was before. I used to study cases and assigned readings with him. Honestly, back then I had no idea how to read cases but his sentence by sentence (what he'd call“spoon feeding” approach) helped me go through my initial semesters in law school.

I remember that I had a course on where we read the entire Speluncean Explorers case together – sentence by sentence, partly agreeing and disagreeing, arguing throughout the 10/15 pages of the course. Our disagreements would reach another level while reading the Constitutional Law. For instance, I used to be a staunch J. Iyer fan and he would critique him for not writing to the point judgements and diverting in poetry and lengths of legal jargon. I would give an opinion, he'd question its originality (and rightly so) and say,“This idea is the impact of westernisation and colonisation.” I did not understand anything when he mentioned“Critical Legal Studies” – but nothing stopped the difference in opinions.

We would go back and forth, until everyone would stare at us out of boredom, and I would agree to his point tangentially somewhere. Then I would say,“But you agree that my opinion is at least 50% right” and he'd say,“That's the sign of weakness, you are not confident in your argument anymore.” Finally, in public interest we would stop, and everyone would divert to some other topic.

For as long as I can remember, visiting him everyday, random conversations, and life advice had become part of my life. I wouldn't even call it part of my routine – it was my life. Going back home, sitting in the garden on Sundays, sipping Tea, laughing and chatting was our ideal afternoon. Every weekend I would confirm at dinner,“Would you be home tomorrow?” He would nod, then we'd sit together for as long as we could.

Though office hours were technically Monday to Saturday, I have always seen him working. And even more surprising, I have seen him happy and satisfied while working. I would be so pissed when on weekends he would have people coming home, I would ask“Don't you have court for this?” He'd smile and say,“No, they need my help and advice and they are not very comfortable coming to the court.”

When I say he was a self made man, I mean every ounce of it. He wasn't a man of inherited privilege. He was the embodiment of hard work and self-made success. He truly earned his authority and his seat. Wherever he was posted, he left the fraternity in awe with his disposal rates. He truly invested himself in people's cases. He would often say,“Do Justice considering it to be a part of worship.”

On 15th Feb, when he was admitted in emergency, the first thing he told me was,“Today I completed writing an order and was about to release someone who was in jail for the last 15 years, but due to my ailing health, I had to leave early.” He regretted terribly that he had to leave court before passing that order. This is the first conversation we had at the critical care unit, how does one reach this level of determination?

I often think that (aware of the backstory of how he became a judge) normally a person would be swimming in a pool of hubris. But I never once saw him act superior or as better than the rest. Ego had no space in his world. He would always advise us, never to bow down before money or power. He was the continuing pillar of optimism who would always encourage and motivate everyone to follow their interests and use their potential to the fullest. Nothing was as important to him as self respect, he would repeatedly say,“Don't ever let anyone scratch your self respect, honour it and treasure it.” He wanted to deeply instill in us the principles he always clung to – the principles of fearlessness, self-respect and honesty.

I thought I knew the person he was, but after his passing, I am now discovering,“Who he really was?” I am so proud of the person he was. I am so rejoiced at the fact that he actually“lived” his life and followed the path that he promised to himself at the inception of his legal career.

Though this story is his and not mine – I doubt my story would even exist without him in it. Had he not been my mentor and guiding angel since the very start, I would be in the middle of nowhere. He practically raised me, made me the person that I am today, guided me towards Law then towards better opportunities, and then finally served my future to me on a silver platter. I would not be a fraction of the person that I am today, had he not been by my side calling me,“Jaana” and being the solid rock of support that he was.

Though, fate decided to cut short our mentorship cycle and he may not be there with me physically, he will always live in my writing. His presence will echo in my writing. His words – that I continue to steal – and my writing style (which is inherently his) will carry him forward with me, always. However, he doesn't need anyone to keep him alive. A personality like his is immortalised in the hearts of thousands of people he has helped, in the hearts of numerous students he has mentored, in the hearts of the accused who found light through his work , and everyone who ever had the privilege of knowing him.

I have always been fond of Agha Shahid Ali and his book“Veiled Suite”. However, I never understood his poetry as deeply as I can today. He says,“It rains as I write this. Mad Heart Be Brave.” Today I completely understand it and I hate that I understand it. Agha, it does rain as I am writing this, but I don't know if my mad heart has enough strength to be brave.

My mad heart is just constantly reminded of these lines from my uncle's favourite song:

Gham aur khushi mai faraq na mehsoos ho jahaan

Mai khud ko uss maqam pe laata chalagaya

Mai zindagi ka sath nibhata chalagya.

• Author is student of final year at NLU Delhi

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