As the gunmen burst into the village of lower-caste Indians, fanning out through the dirt roads and throwing open the doors of the mud houses, Binod Paswan jumped into a grain silo and peered out in horror.

Within hours, witnesses say, upper-caste landlords massacred 58 Dalits, people once known as “untouchables,” most of them agricultural laborers in the eastern state of Bihar who had agitated for higher wages. Seven of them were members of Mr Paswan's family.

The next day he filed a complaint with the police, and investigators soon filed charges. That was 26 years ago. He is still waiting – after contradictory statements and hundreds of court hearings, during which some witnesses are now dead or have impaired vision – for a solution.

“A cry for justice turned into a lifelong nightmare for us,” says 45-year-old Paswan.

In a vast country with no shortage of intractable problems, it is one of the longest-standing and most far-reaching problems: India's staggeringly overburdened justice system.

The country's economy is growing rapidly, technology is reshaping the lives of more than a billion people and national leaders are striving for global power, but India appears to have few answers to the ever-growing backlogs in the courts that are robbing citizens of their rights and disrupting business hinder activities.

There are more than 50 million cases in treatment throughout the country, according to the National Judicial Data Grid – an accumulation that has doubled in the past twenty years. At the current rate, it would take more than 300 years to clean up India's role.

There are many reasons for the backlogs. India has one of the lowest judge-to-population ratios in the world 21 per million people, compared to about 150 in the United States. For decades, Indian leaders and courts have set themselves the goal 50 judges per million people. But there have been no significant funding increases to hire more judges, improve court facilities and digitize proceedings as officials consider other priorities more important.

A rigid system with archaic rules, inherited from the British, also slows down the process. Lawyers conduct endless pleadings and long written submissions. Little has changed, even as government committees have recommended an end to the manual recording of testimonies and the time-consuming procedures of questioning witnesses.

Delays are endemic in both criminal and civil cases. About 77 per cent of prisoners in India awaiting trial, compared to one in three worldwide. Of the more than eleven million pending civil cases, most of which concern disputes over land or other property, almost a quarter are at least five years old.

The countries longest-running legal dispute – a bank liquidation case – was settled last January after 72 years. In June there was a 90-year-old man given life in prison for his involvement in a 42-year-old case.

“What do we do to solve the problem? Frankly, nothing,” Madan Lokur, a former Supreme Court judge, said in a recent interview.

“How long will it take for a decision to be made in your case?” he added. “If you're lucky, maybe in your lifetime.”

Judges hear dozens of cases every day, many of them nuisance reports by the government or citizens. Quick hearings lead to delays – and the backlog is growing.

The Indian government appears to have a direct interest in easing the delays: it is the country's largest litigator, accounting for nearly 50 percent of pending cases.

But successive governments have used the vulnerability of the courts as a political weapon. Fighting between the judiciary and the executive over judicial appointments has reached new heights under the country's current leader, Narendra Modi, who critics say has largely intimidated the courts as he consolidates power within India's institutions.

The Supreme Court remains a last resort for justice, but the justices are often bogged down by less consequential cases such as marital or property disputes. When they do rule, the judges are increasingly seen to favor the government, which has handed out pension benefits to lawyers who appear to be toeing the line, experts say.

And while politicians and opposition activists accused of crimes often spend years in legal limbo, government supporters facing the same issues can more easily get bail.

The glacial pace of India's judiciary was clearly visible one recent morning in Mathura, a city in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh.

Hundreds of prosecutors and defendants wandered aimlessly through the busy hallways of the courthouse, while lawyers with papers under their arms sipped hot milk and ginger tea.

In one corner, a lawyer and police officers joked with a milkman accused more than a decade ago of selling counterfeit products. The inspector who initiated the case never appeared in court and was transferred out of the city. The milkman Mahender, who uses one name, has appeared at dozens of hearings anyway. The judge calls his name, the suspect raises his hand, the inspector and a witness are absent and another hearing date is assigned.

Even attorneys who become plaintiffs can have difficulty navigating the system.

In 1999, an Indian Railways ticket officer overcharged Tungnath Chaturvedi, a lawyer at the Mathura court, by 25 cents. Mr Chaturvedi, 67, said he filed a case not because of the money but because of the officer's attitude.

It took him 120 hearings over 23 years before he received a verdict. Last year, a consumer court ordered the railroad to pay a fine of about $188, as well as the outstanding amount of 25 cents, plus 12 percent interest. Still, Indian Railways approached the highest court in Uttar Pradesh and reduced the fine to $80.

“When I filed the case, I went up and down the five floors of the court every day to attend hearings,” Mr Chaturvedi said. “When the judge ruled in my case, I couldn't walk from my house to the court because of arthritis. And I was already retired. That is the story of the Indian judiciary.”

Many cases are far more serious than a small additional charge, and the toll on those waiting for justice is far greater.

In June 1997, Neelam Krishnamoorthy lost her two children, aged 17 and 13, in a fire at a cinema in New Delhi, killing 59 people.

Her fight to get justice inspired a Netflix series and countless newspaper articles. Her activism led to improved fire safety measures in shopping centers and theaters.

Ten years after the fire, sixteen men, including the cinema owners, staff and safety inspectors, were found guilty of negligence. Four of the men were already dead.

The two brothers who owned the theater, both powerful real estate barons, were jailed for two years, a sentence that Ms. Krishnamoorthy appealed to the Supreme Court. It only ruled in 2015, waiving the sentence and instead fining the brothers; Ms Krishnamoorthy appealed again.

She continues to go around the court and now accuses the brothers of tampering with evidence.

“If I had known that it would take more than 20 years to get even a minimum of justice, I don't think I would have gone to court,” Ms. Krishnamoorthy said. “I would have grabbed a gun and shot the perpetrators; At least then I would have had a sense of justice.”

Justice has also been elusive for the victims of the 1997 village massacre in Bihar. In 2010, a court found 26 people guilty, sixteen of whom received the death penalty and the others life imprisonment. The men challenged the verdict in a higher court, and two years later the verdict was challenged due to lack of evidence acquitted all 26 defendants.

Mr Paswan, along with several other eyewitnesses, appealed to the Supreme Court in 2014. The case has been in court nine times, but Mr Paswan has no idea what is going on.

Days after the massacre, Dalit leaders erected a red-brick memorial just outside his home. The names and ages of the 58 people who died are engraved in Hindi. The dead included twenty-seven women – eight of them pregnant – and sixteen children.

“When I look at this monument, I hear people's cries for help,” Mr Paswan said. “It also serves as a constant reminder of the injustice done to people from lower castes by the courts of this country.”

Sisters Audrey Findlay, 75, and Barbara Rowe, 63, start every weekday with a phone call at 8am. About an hour later, they go to work together at Findlay Rowe, the gift shop they opened 12 years ago. (Previously, they spent 13 years at the same healthcare company, where Ms. Findlay was the CEO and Ms. Rowe was the Payroll Manager.)

At 5 or 6 p.m., the sisters leave work and go home—four houses apart. And after dinner, they reunite for an hour-long walk, easily transitioning into what their adult children (they have nine together) affectionately call their “twin talk.”

“One of us will start a sentence, not finish it, and the other will already answer,” said Ms Findlay.

The sisters have their arguments, as can be expected from two people who often spend most of their days together. But they are determined to stay close and be there for each other.

“Our father was an orphan and he felt very strongly for family,” said Ms Rowe. “We can have a knock-down, drag-out fight, and the next day it’s like, ‘Well, where are we going to eat?'”

More than 80 percent of Americans growing up with at least one sibling, and research shows that those relationships can provide benefits well into adulthood. a Study from 2019 those targeting people in their mid-60s, for example, found that warmth between adult siblings can act as a buffer against loneliness and help increase well-being.

While not much research has been done on how well most adults get along with their siblings, data from the 2015 book “Adult Sibling Relationships” co-authored by Geoffrey Greif, a professor at the University of Maryland School of Social Work , gives some clues. In qualitative interviews with 262 adults, 64 percent said they considered themselves a “good friend” to at least one of their siblings, and 45 percent said they considered at least one of their siblings one of their best friends .

Still, 70 percent said they had ups and downs with their siblings over the course of their lives, said Dr. Greif in an interview, and 8 percent said they were never close.

“Sibling relationships, like all familial relationships, have a degree of ambivalence and ambiguity,” said Dr. Greif — an obvious statement perhaps, but one he says is important for siblings to keep in mind so they don’t set an “impossible standard” for what constitutes a solid relationship.

And he and other therapists who focus on family relationships believe it’s possible to strengthen an adult sibling bond, even if you don’t have (or even want) the kind of intense bond that Ms. Findlay and Ms. Rowe to share. Here are three strategies that can help.

Give each other permission to change.

Nicholas Gant, 40, and his sister Gaybrielle LeAnn, 37, were extremely close as young children – Mr Gant taught his little sister to walk and talk, as family lore goes. But during adolescence, they drifted apart. Mrs. LeAnn described her brother as a talented singer who was kind and charismatic; she said this created a “natural magnetic field” around him that sometimes made it difficult for her to find her own voice.

Both traditionally attended black colleges and universities, or HBCUs, an experience that they say taught them the importance of building community — and helped them “recognize our need for each other,” Mr Gant said. He and Mrs. LeAnn spent their 20s and 30s not only learning about themselves, but also making it a point to stand up for and understand the other sibling: If Mr. Gant, who is a singer, is a show, his sister is in the audience. When Ms. LeAnn recently celebrated eight years since she survived life-threatening blood clots, her brother was there.

“I feel like we’ve really found each other again,” said Mr. Gant. “We kind of fell in love again like siblings.”

Ms. LeAnn credits their “ability to grow and love each other as individuals, and not just as blood relatives” for helping to make them “good friends.”

That willingness to see and embrace a sibling’s growth is important, said Nedra Glover Tawwab, a therapist in Charlotte, NC, and the author of “Drama Free: A Guide to Managing Unhealthy Family Relationships.”

“Sometimes there’s a version of you they remember,” Ms. Tawwab said. For example, an older sibling may continue to think of a younger sibling as the “baby” — even if that baby is 60 years old. “You have to let people evolve and not treat them the way you’ve always treated them,” she said.

To get a better sense of who your sibling is, Whitney Goodman, a licensed marriage and family therapist in Miami, suggested asking regular questions like, “What are you doing right now?” and “What’s going on in your life that I don’t know about?”

“I like people to come back to themselves and think about, how much have I changed, how much have I grown? And how do I want my brother or sister to see me?” said Mrs Goodman. Then consider, “How can I bestow the same grace on them?”

Be aware of the influence of your parents on your dynamics.

All the therapists interviewed for this story noted that no matter how loving parents are, they can make sibling bonding difficult. Dr. Greif said it can help to ask yourself, “Am I being ‘triangulated’ with my sibling and my mother or father?” By which he means: Have you fallen into a pattern of communication with your parent or parents that determines how you feel about your sibling, even though no one intends that?

To avoid that kind of interference, the experts said you can set a simple ground rule: When you talk to your parents or spend time with them, don’t talk about your siblings — especially if the conversation takes the form of gossip.

You may also want to explore whether alleged parental favoritism affects your relationship with a sibling. Survey data suggest 40 percent of Americans feel that their parents had a favorite child, and studies have shown that it is one roadblock to sibling closeness.

“In the study, parental favoritism is one of the biggest influences on how that sibling relationship is going to function, especially in childhood,” Ms Goodman said. ‘That’s the most finite resource, right? A parent’s attention. And siblings can absolutely take that into adulthood.

Families shouldn’t shy away from discussing parental favoritism, Ms Goodman said, although she acknowledged that having such conversations is easier said than done. Adult siblings can benefit from attending therapy together (with or without their parents), even if it’s to deal with things that happened years ago, she said.

Dr. Kramer agreed that having these kinds of direct conversations can help mend “years of resentment” between siblings, “if people are willing to talk about these things and be honest with their perceptions — and gentle with them.” being each other.”

Make time to enjoy each other’s company.

Growing up, Ken LoCicero, 54, and Ricky LoCicero, 58, were best friends and roommates. Growing up, they found a grueling way to spend time together: They ran 50 marathons in 50 states together, a pursuit that spanned more than 20 years.

That might be an extreme example of making time for each other. But, Ms. Goodman said, siblings sometimes lose sight of the fact that their relationship, like any other, requires attention and care. “We often expect family relationships to thrive because someone is related to us, but it doesn’t work that way,” she said.

Siblings need to find ways to have fun together, said Laurie Kramer, a professor of applied psychology at Northeastern University who leads a program that teaches young siblings strategies for getting along. “It’s really hard when all of your interactions are about issues one of you is having,” or when you’re arguing over who’s going to take care of a parent’s needs, she said. “Find times when you can really enjoy each other.”

Sometimes it’s enough to pull out old photos and spend a few minutes reminiscing, Dr. Kramer added.

The LoCicero brothers enjoyed race days and how often they could take their wife and kids and make a weekend of it. But they equally enjoyed the hours spent together training and planning. Sometimes they walked in silence. Other times they talked about work, marriage and children. (The LoCiceros also have a sister who they are close friends with and a brother who died of pancreatic cancer 15 years ago, a painful loss that has made them even closer.)

Though their 50-marathon quest is complete, the brothers still talk on the phone or see each other every few days, living only seven miles apart. “Kenny, I know, will always be available, approachable and willing to listen,” said Ricky. And he believes there is nothing that can change that bond.

“With Ricky, there’s nothing I wouldn’t say out loud,” Ken repeated. To know how committed his brother is to their relationship, and to feel that they can be honest and vulnerable with each other, is, he said, “a gift.”

Mike Shannon, who played in three World Series with the St. Louis Cardinals and then became a favorite of the team’s fans as one of the radio broadcasters for 50 seasons, passed away Saturday. He turned 83.

The cardinals announced the death, but did not give a cause or say where he died. Shannon was hospitalized with Covid-19 in 2020 and later suffered symptoms of long-term Covid.

Shannon was one of the few announcers in baseball history to spend 50 or more years with one team. His longevity was one of the things that endeared him to listeners, along with his exuberance and his passion to see the Cardinals win.

In 2003, when Cardinal slugger Albert Pujols hit a home run after being hit back by Kerry Wood of the Chicago Cubs, Shannon was effusive: “Swing and hello, Fourth of July! Take a ride on that ruined field, big boy! Kerry Wood knocked him down and now Albert is watching him walk around first. He looks at him and says, ‘Sniff that, big boy!’”

Bob Costas, the former NBC sports reporter whose early professional work was in St. Louis said Shannon’s roots there were a key to his success. “He was one of those guys,” he said on the phone, “like Herb Score in Cleveland, Joe Nuxhall in Cincinnati and Jerry Remy in Boston, where it works because he’s local, he’s one of our guys — and, in his case, grew up in St. Louis and was a three-sport star in high school.

Shannon was known for his signature home run call, “Get up, baby, get up!” and for strange and idiosyncratic statements: He called a pop-up a “home run in a phone booth” and a Cardinal win a “monstrous victory,” and he once stated that a young fan hit by a foul ball “will leave the stadium today with a souvenir – not a ball but a nice bruise.”

Joe Buck, who, like his father Jack, was one of Shannon’s radio partners, said over the phone, “His Shannonisms made for a great listening experience, and some things were so illogical. But you should know that he was one of the most sensible people I’ve ever met. He had a keen eye for the game and would have been a great manager.”

Thomas Michael Shannon was born on July 15, 1939 in St. Louis to Thomas and Elizabeth (Richason) Shannon. His father was a police officer and later became a prosecutor.

Mike was an outstanding athlete at Christian Brothers College High School, where he was an all-American football player, and in 1957 he was named the Missouri Prep Player of the Year in both basketball and football. He attended the University of Missouri for a year as a quarterback on a football scholarship. But he was also a baseball candidate, and in 1958 he signed with the Cardinals for what he said in his autobiography was nearly $100,000, even though it was reported to be $40,000 at the time.

After four years in the minor leagues, he played sparingly with the Cardinals in 1962 and 1963, often as a late-innings defensive replacement for big hitter Stan Musial, who was then in the final year of his Hall of Fame career.

Shannon did not follow Musial to the Hall of Fame (although he played with several future Hall of Famers, including Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Orlando Cepeda, and Steve Carlton). But he was a solid player whose two-run home run off the Yankees’ Whitey Ford in Game 1 of the 1964 World Series tied the score at 4–4. The Cardinals won the game 9-5 and won the series in seven games.

In 1967, Shannon moved from right field to third base after the Cardinals acquired Roger Maris from the Yankees. The two became good friends.

St. Louis won the World Series again that year, defeating the Boston Red Sox in seven games. The following year, the Detroit Tigers defeated the Cardinals, also in seven games. Shannon hit a home run in each of those series.

Shannon played until 1970 when he developed membranous nephropathy, an autoimmune disease of the kidneys, which ended his career. He had a career batting average of .255, with 68 home runs and 367 runs batted in, and was elected to the Cardinals’ Hall of Fame in 2014. Two of his teammates recently died: shortstop Dick Groat last month and catcher Tim McCarver, who also had an impressive career as a broadcaster, in February.

Shannon joined the Cardinals’ promotion division in 1971 and became team announcer the following season. In addition to being named Cardinal Games, he was part of NBC’s backup crew for the ‘Game of the Week’ in the 1980s. He retired after the 2021 season.

His survivors include his wife, Lori (Bergman) Shannon; his daughters, Patricia, Peg, and Erin; his sons, Michael Jr., Tim and Dan; 18 grandchildren; and nine great-grandchildren. His first wife, Judith Ann (Bufe) Shannon, died in 2007.

The ball Shannon hit in Game 1 of the 1964 World Series traveled more than 140 yards and broke the “u” in the Budweiser sign in left field at Busch Stadium, causing $5,000 in damage. At first he thought he would have to pay for it.

In his autobiography, “Get Up, Baby!: My Seven Decades with the St. Louis Cardinals” (2022, with Rick Hummel), he recalled: “Gussie Busch, our owner, said in that hoarse voice of his, ‘That is everything correct, friend. You can break down the whole board.” And Gussie paid for it.