For The Sunday Tribune | March 20, 1977 I first heard of Kalapani as a boy in an Amritsar village. It was a place familiar to every Punjab villager, for that is where you were bound to be sent, if you were unfortunate enough to kill a neighbour, in a sudden fit of anger. When the 'Session' sahib pronounced ‘Umr Qaid’ on a sultry summer afternoon, while the flies droned around your head, you took a last look at your brother Banta Singh, for you were never likely to see him