KARACHI, April 21: Superintendent Nusrat Hussain Mangan of the central jail considers himself fortunate that he has never had to witness a man being hanged.

''In the two decades I've been in office, posted at various jails around the province of Sindh, luckily for me, I've never had the misfortune of throwing my handkerchief (a silent sign to the hangman to pull the lever) to signal the execution." He is also confident that he "will never have to bear witness to an execution" during his term in office, though Pakistan still carries out the death penalty. He is against this, terming it "judicial killing."

"You really don't get anything out of killing another person," he says. "There are other punishments that can serve a purpose. The prisoner gets a chance to reform and become a useful citizen. By giving a death sentence you just end another man's life. Has it really proved to be a deterrent for heinous crimes? As far I know, only the poor go to the gallows, the rich and the influential, actually get away by coercing, threatening or even compromising with the victims' family."

According to Mangan, in this time and age, "we have to come up with a more progressive way of dispensing justice". But his burly deputy (requesting anonymity) standing beside him has witnessed the execution of some 20 prisoners slapped with the sinister-sounding ‘black warrant' (the letter confirming a death sentence). "It's very disturbing and you never get used to this," he says.

He favours hanging, he says, as this is the "least painful" form of execution.

"Other methods are far more painful -- like lethal injection or the electric chair. Death by hanging occurs within two or three minutes and does not mutilate any part or organ of the body. The only sign you can see is that the neck gets elongated by an inch or two and there is a small wound mark on the right-hand side of the neck where the knot of the noose rubs against the flesh."

From the moment when the session court judge pronounces the death sentence to the time the black warrant is issued, usually a minimum of eight to ten years have passed in Pakistan. In that period, says Mangan, "the prisoner has already died a hundred times."

His deputy nods, in agreement. "They're barely alive. The only thing that keeps them alive, that too barely, is that flicker of hope that a compromise will be reached between families and they will be acquitted even while being taken to the gallows."

The last seven days after the black warrant is received by the prisoner signals the "procedural preparations" for the execution. The execution usually takes place on the last day of the 7-day period "in hope that a last-minute compromise may be reached with the victim's family," says Mangan. At times this is just about reaching an understanding about the ‘diyat' or blood money, he says. He was once able to help reverse a death sentence by arranging the money personally. "It was a paltry sum of Rs 80,000 but the prisoner's family couldn't buy his life even for that."

For the actual execution, the strength of the rope (made of jute and prepared in the prison factory) fits specifications necessary for varying weights of the prisoners set out in the jail manual. "We rehearse and check a day in advance by hanging a sandbag on to the gallows to ensure the hook, the rope and the lever that part the planks are all in working order," the deputy says.

On the night before the execution, he continues, there is "eerie silence" about the jail as everyone knows what is going to happen at sunrise. The condemned prisoner is given "a very light meal". He says his final goodbyes to those who share the cell (10ft by 7ft) with him in the ‘phansi', (the gallows) ward. Most spend the time praying to God.

Execution always takes place immediately after sunrise, after the morning prayers. "The prisoner washes up, prays if he wants to and then walks to the gallows. There has been a case when the prisoner became so nervous that he just couldn't walk and had to be taken on a stretcher," the deputy says. At the threshold before the gallows, the prisoner's face is covered with a black mask. "He is instructed that when the rope is around him, he should keep his eyes closed and his tongue inside his mouth."

The central jail was built in the 1890s and the gallows seem just as old. A small gate leads to a compound. In the middle, after one has climbed up a small flight of mahogany stairs, one finds three rusty-looking, but menacingly strong, hooks. These are for simultaneous hangings. At the time of execution, the compound is filled with twenty or more senior officers. Among others, these must include the superintendent or his deputy, a physician, and a magistrate who will verify the identity of the person to be executed.

After the throwing of the handkerchief and the pull of the lever, the body is left hanging for 30 minutes and then lowered to the ground. The physician examines it and certifies the death of the prisoner. The body is wrapped in a shroud and handed over to the family waiting outside.

"In our jail, there are quite a few people trained to pull the lever, which will tighten the noose around the man's neck and separate the planks he is standing on, making him hang in the air," says Mangan. "The concept of a hired hangman who comes to specially carry out this job is really not applied here in this jail."

At that point a senior warden, in his mid-40s, joins in. He explains that he has been trained for the job and so far has carried out the execution order for about eight people. "I don't think it's an easy job and not everyone has the nerve," he says. Asked if he finds it difficult, he replies laconically: "I just carry out the order and everything else is blanked out. Please don't mention my name, not many people know what I do." — Dawn/The IPS News Service