By Farooq ahmad khan.

Life has a curious way of reminding us that knowledge and wisdom are not always the same thing.

Some years ago, a friend of mine purchased a piece of land for ₹20 lakhs. Before the formal documents could be executed, he paid ₹15 lakhs towards the sale consideration. Unfortunately, when the time came to complete the transaction, it emerged that the title of the property was defective.

Naturally disturbed, my friend approached me for advice and assistance. Together we met the broker through whom the transaction had been arranged. To his credit, the broker did not deny having received the money. On the contrary, he candidly admitted it and assured us that he would return the amount. There was, however, a small difficulty. The money had already been spent.

The broker then proposed an alternative solution. He offered another parcel of land, which according to him was free from all defects. The only complication was that the new plot was larger and carried a price tag of ₹20 lakhs.

My friend had already exhausted his resources.

After some discussion, I agreed to contribute the remaining ₹5 lakhs on the understanding that one-fourth of the land would be transferred in my name and three-fourths in the name of my friend.

It seemed a sensible arrangement. My friend would escape from his predicament, and I would acquire a modest investment. More importantly, we were both advocates. We assumed that no broker would dare play tricks with two lawyers.

That assumption proved to be our first mistake.

Believing the broker’s assurances, I issued a cheque of ₹5 lakhs in his favour. The broker accepted it with gratitude and requested us to wait till “next Saturday” when all formalities would be completed.

We agreed.

The next Saturday came.

The broker did not.

Then came another Saturday.

And another.

The only thing that arrived regularly was disappointment.

Soon the broker’s phone began announcing that familiar modern message: “The number you are trying to reach is switched off.”

Many Saturdays came and went. The broker remained faithful only to his absence.

At last we accepted the painful truth. We had been cheated.

What made the situation worse was not merely the loss of money. It was the embarrassment. Two practising advocates, who routinely advise others about prudence and documentation, had themselves fallen prey to promises unsupported by paperwork.

We were reluctant to discuss the matter even with our families. The story sounded too absurd to be true.

Then fate introduced a new character into the drama.

One day I happened to meet a gentleman of impressive proportions—well over six feet in height. After hearing my story, he confidently offered to recover the money for me in exchange for a commission.

His confidence was as tall as him.

Desperate and frustrated, I handed him the broker’s particulars. My friend, however, declined to associate himself with the arrangement. Being a cautious lawyer, he feared that if the broker’s bones were found broken somewhere, uncomfortable questions might follow.

I, on the other hand, was willing to take my chances.

The very next day I received a call.

The tall man triumphantly informed me that he had secured a cheque of ₹5 lakhs from the broker.

I was delighted.

My friend remained sceptical.

As events unfolded, it became apparent that scepticism was the wiser course.

Days passed. Then weeks. The tall man produced explanations with remarkable consistency but produced money with remarkable inconsistency.

Eventually, he handed over five cheques of ₹1 lakh each to me. None were honoured by the bank.

My friend, through his own efforts, managed to obtain three cheques against his claim of ₹15 lakhs.

Those cheques met the same fate.

At that point the story had come full circle. We had trusted the broker and been disappointed. We had trusted the rescuer and been disappointed again.

Yet there remained one institution in which we continued to place our faith—the law.

Today both of us are before the courts, pursuing remedies under Section 138 of the Negotiable Instruments Act. The matter is now where perhaps it should have been from the beginning: before a judicial forum rather than in the hands of promises, assurances and “next Saturdays.”

The experience taught me a lesson that no law book had ever taught.

Fraud does not discriminate between the educated and the uneducated, the lawyer and the layman. It succeeds whenever trust outruns caution.

As for the broker, I still occasionally think of him whenever somebody says, “Come next Saturday.”

The phrase has permanently lost its innocence.

Moral: A defective title can sometimes be discovered in a land record. A defective character usually reveals itself much later.

Farooq Ahmad Khan is an advocate practising before High Court of Jammu & Kashmir and Ladakh.