A traffic challan in Dadra & Nagar Haveli and Daman & Diu: one territory, two rulebooks, and no schedule in either.

The question this page asks

Every page in this series puts the same question to a state or a territory. Section 200 of the Motor Vehicles Act permits a government to take money at a counter instead of taking a person to a magistrate. In return the Act asks that government to publish two things by notification: the amount at which a listed offence may be settled, and the officers who are allowed to take it. So: has this jurisdiction done that, and can an ordinary person read the result?

Across thirty-three jurisdictions the answers have run from ninety-seven published rows down to complete silence. We have been consistently unimpressed by silence and have said so in plain words each time.

This territory is the thirty-fourth, and it asks the question back at us in a form we have not met before. Because this is not one jurisdiction that failed to publish a schedule. It is two jurisdictions that were joined together, by a statute passed while the amended Act was already in force, with an express provision keeping each of their laws alive in its own half. So the question stops being “is there a schedule?” and becomes “whose schedule, and where?”

That is a better question, and we were looking forward to answering it.

Two Union territories became one

Until January 2020 there were two separate Union territories on the western side of India, both of them former Portuguese possessions, both of them small, and neither of them touching the other. Dadra and Nagar Haveli sat inland, surrounded by Gujarat and Maharashtra, with its capital at Silvassa. Daman and Diu sat on the coast in two further pieces of its own — Daman on the Gujarat coast north of the Gulf of Khambhat, Diu an island off the Saurashtra peninsula, with the whole of Gujarat between the three of them.

They were merged by the Dadra and Nagar Haveli and Daman and Diu (Merger of Union Territories) Act, 2019 — Act No. 44 of 2019 — which received assent on 9 December 2019. Section 2(a) of that Act defines the appointed day, and section 3 forms the new territory. The appointed day was 26 January 2020.

The merger itself was not controversial and we are not here to argue about whether it was a good idea. Two very small territories with a shared administrative history were put under one administration. What we care about is a narrower thing: what the statute did to the law, and what was done afterwards about enforcement.

Section 17, read slowly

Here is the provision that the rest of this page hangs on. It is short, and it rewards being read word by word rather than skimmed.

Notice what it does and does not do. It does not say that the laws of the two territories are merged. It does not say that one set prevails over the other. It does not say the new administration may pick whichever it prefers. It says each body of law stays where it was.

So on 26 January 2020, the law applicable in Daman was the law that had been applicable in Daman the day before, and the law applicable in Silvassa was the law that had been applicable in Silvassa the day before — even though both towns were now in the same Union territory, under the same Administrator, policed by the same force.

One territory, two rulebooks

That is the condition this territory has been in for more than six years, and it is worth setting out side by side, because it is genuinely unusual and it is the whole reason a reader here needs more than a figure.

Two columns, one territory. And a person stopped on a road somewhere in it is governed by whichever column they happen to be standing in.

Why that is not a technicality

A reasonable objection at this point is that section 17 is boilerplate. Every reorganisation statute in India contains something like it, because the alternative is a legal vacuum on the appointed day, and nobody wants that. Reading too much into it would be a mistake.

We accept the first half of that and not the second. The provision is ordinary; what it leaves behind is not, if nobody acts on it.

And note that the statute itself plainly expected something to follow. That is the next section.

Section 19 and the two-year clock

Parliament did not leave the two rulebooks to sit there indefinitely. The very next part of the Act gives the Central Government a power, and attaches a deadline to it.

Section 19 empowers the Central Government, within two years from the appointed day, to adapt and modify the laws carried over by section 17 — by repealing them, amending them, or making whatever changes are necessary or expedient to bring them into line with the new arrangement.

Two years from 26 January 2020 is 26 January 2022. So the statute itself contained a clear expectation: carry everything over on day one, then spend up to two years tidying it into one working body of law.

The Adaptation Order of 8 October 2020

Something did happen, and we found it. It took a while, because this is not a document that turns up easily, and we want to give its citation properly so that anybody can go and check us.

So the machinery in section 19 was used. Somebody in the Union Territories Division sat down with the carried-over law, worked out what needed changing, and published an order about it eight and a half months after the merger. That is the system working.

What it actually adapted

And here is the part that matters for anybody holding a challan. The Schedule to that Order, in the portion we were able to read, is about local government.

Read that third row again, because it is a model of exactly the thing this page says has not happened for traffic. Faced with two municipal regimes in two halves of one territory, the Order did not leave them sitting there. It picked one — the Dadra and Nagar Haveli regulation of 2004 — extended it across the whole territory, repealed the other two outright, and then named the three councils it was constituting under the single surviving instrument.

An honest limit on that finding

Now the qualification, and we are putting it here rather than in a footnote because it bears directly on how much weight the previous section can carry.

We would also note, for what it is worth, what an adaptation order of this kind does and does not do. It adapts laws that already exist. It is not the instrument by which a government fixes compounding amounts under section 200 — that is a separate notification, by the government of the territory, under a central Act. An adaptation order could tidy up which local rules apply; it would not by itself create the schedule that is missing.

Which means the gap we are describing survives even on the most generous reading of the thirty pages we did not reach.

What was unified in four days

So that is the law. Now the contrast, and it is the sharpest one this series has produced.

So within the motor vehicles field specifically, the merged territory got a unified instrument before it legally existed. Somebody understood that two sets of number plates in one territory would be a problem, worked out what the single answer should be, drafted it, and got it into the Gazette with days to spare.

Six years and eight months later, the same territory has no single answer to the question of what an officer may charge you for riding without a helmet, or which officers are allowed to charge it.

What that contrast is evidence of

We want to be careful about what we draw from this, because the easy conclusion is also the lazy one.

That is the honest version. Two parts of the government moved quickly on things that mattered to the government. The thing that mattered to the person being charged was not on anybody’s list.

The Transport Department of a merged territory

If a single compounding schedule for the merged territory exists anywhere, the obvious place for it is the Transport Department’s own page on the territory’s official website. So that is where we went, and we counted what is there rather than describing it in general terms, because general terms let everybody off.

The page exists. It was last updated in May 2026, so it is maintained. It is not a dead corner of the site.

One Deputy Director, sitting in Daman

The page names exactly one office.

One post, for a territory in three districts spread across two coasts, with a few hundred kilometres of Gujarat between the furthest two. And the office sits at Nani Daman — which is to say, on the Daman and Diu side of the merger, not in Silvassa, which is the territory’s capital and the larger of the two towns.

We are not criticising where a desk is. We mention it because it is one more small sign that the two halves have not become one thing: the capital is in one half and the transport office is in the other, and nothing on the published page explains how a person on the inland side is expected to deal with it.

A department whose website is somebody else’s

The department page carries a field for its own website. Here is what that field points at.

This is a small thing and we are not going to inflate it. Running the national licensing and registration systems is the right decision for a territory this size — building a bespoke portal would be a waste. But a department with no page of its own has no place to publish a schedule even if it wrote one, and that is not a small thing at all.

Four documents

The territory’s website has a document library, organised by department, and it works properly: you can filter by department and read what comes back. The Transport Department filter returns four documents. Not four pages of documents. Four documents.

Those four numbers are the page, really. Everything else is explanation.

What those four are about

So three of the four are one subject in two languages, and the fourth is an advertisement. There is no Act. There is no set of rules. There is no notification of any kind. There is nothing about licences, nothing about permits, nothing about fees, and nothing whatsoever about what an officer may charge at the roadside.

We want to be fair about the ATS booklets, because they are genuinely useful documents. Automated fitness testing is a real reform, the booklets explain it in plain language, and publishing them in Hindi as well as English is the sort of thing departments often skip. Whoever produced them did a good job.

They are just not the thing somebody holding a challan needs.

The whole legal library: two entries

The same document library has a category called “Acts & Rules”, which is where a citizen of this territory would reasonably go looking for the law that governs them. It contains two entries.

One file and one signpost. That is the legal library of a Union territory of India, as published by its own administration, six years after it was created.

Compare that with what we have been shown elsewhere. The Andaman & Nicobar police publish a ninety-seven row schedule of spot fines whose heading cites five separate legal sources, down to the file number of a Supreme Court committee. Ladakh’s transport department names two instruments. Even Arunachal Pradesh, which names only a taxation Act, names something.

The one document we could not open

Honesty about our own gaps, again, in the place where it belongs rather than at the bottom.

A link that did not open, for the fifth time

The second entry on that shelf, and the police department’s own “Acts & Rules” menu item, both point at the India Code website — the government’s central repository of Indian legislation. The police link points at a specific page there.

Neither opened for us. The request simply did not complete.

This is the fifth time in this series that India Code has failed us, and we have recorded each one rather than quietly going round it. We first wrote the problem up on the Chandigarh page and have pointed back at that write-up since. It matters here more than usual, because for this territory India Code is not a convenience — it is where the administration sends you. Half of the published legal library of this Union territory is a link to a site that would not load.

We do also note that the India Code catalogue contains a Dadra and Nagar Haveli and Daman and Diu Motor Vehicles Tax Act of 1974, which we come back to below. Its existence we can confirm from the catalogue listing; its text we have not read, for the same reason.

A gazette published from an IP address

One more small thing, and then we will leave the website alone.

The document library has a category for the Official Gazette. Clicking it does not open a list of gazettes on the territory’s own site. It sends you to a separate portal addressed by a bare IP number — four digits, three dots, no domain name of any kind in front of it.

Two names, one police website

Our standing rule in this series is to look at the police before the transport department, because the police are the ones who issue the paper, and because they have surprised us more than once. It paid off again here, in a way we did not expect.

The territory’s portal has a page for the police. It lists, one under the other, two entries: “Official Website: Police Department, Dadra & Nagar Haveli” and “Official Website: Police Department, Daman & Diu”.

Both of them link to exactly the same single website.

The traffic police page

The police website has a traffic police page, and it is a proper one — written, not a stub. It tells you that the force covers three districts — Daman, Diu, and Dadra and Nagar Haveli — spanning around six hundred square kilometres in total, and it is candid about the pressures: industrial growth, tourism, mixed traffic, and what it calls the erratic behaviour of road users.

It sets out ten objectives. It describes the force’s duties: disciplining road users through education and enforcement, giving first aid to the injured, supporting infrastructure that makes traffic flow safely, and preventing noise and air pollution. It gives two headquarters and a telephone number.

It is, on its own terms, a reasonable page. Somebody wrote it rather than generating it.

The word that never appears

We should be fair about why that might be. A traffic police page is not an instrument, and nobody is legally obliged to put a schedule on a website. The force may well be perfectly disciplined about what it charges. The absence of the word proves nothing about conduct on the road.

But it proves something about the reader’s position. Somebody who gets a piece of paper in Silvassa and wants to know whether the figure on it is right has nowhere to go. The force’s own page, the transport department’s own page, and the territory’s own legal library all fail to answer the question. That is three published sources and zero answers.

Ten objectives and no amounts

There is a particular shape to this that we have now seen often enough to name it. A department publishes its aspirations in detail and its obligations not at all.

The first column costs nothing to publish and commits nobody to anything. The second column is the one that constrains the department, and it is the one that is missing. We do not think that ordering is an accident anywhere, and we have said so on a good many of these pages.

Two headquarters for one force

The traffic police page gives its headquarters as Silvassa and Daman. Two headquarters, one organisation, around six hundred square kilometres of territory.

That is not inefficiency. It is geography doing what geography does: the territory is in separate pieces that do not touch, with another state’s land and in one case a stretch of sea in between, so a single headquarters would be a long way from most of what it was supposed to run.

But it is one more structure that mirrors the legal split rather than crossing it. The old Dadra and Nagar Haveli side has a headquarters. The old Daman and Diu side has a headquarters. The transport office is in Daman. The capital is in Silvassa. And the law, under section 17, is still whatever it was in each half.

One reservation roster

The police website has its own document library, with a category called Rules & Regulations. We opened it expecting standing orders, perhaps a traffic manual.

Reservation rosters are a legitimate and legally required publication and we are not suggesting the force should not have put it up. What we are pointing out is that it is the only thing on that shelf. The rules-and-regulations library of a police force contains one document about staffing and nothing about the exercise of any power over the public.

The cadre that also polices Port Blair

One more fact about this force, and it is the one that closes off the most comfortable excuse.

Its senior officers come from DANIPS — the Delhi, Andaman and Nicobar Islands Police Service, a cadre shared between Delhi, the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the smaller Union territories including this one. The territory’s own websites list DANIPS officers as such.

So the officers running traffic enforcement in Silvassa and Daman are drawn from the same service as the officers running it in Port Blair.

Same service, ninety-seven rows

We wrote the Andaman & Nicobar page immediately before this one, and what we found there is the reason this comparison is not rhetorical.

Same service. Comparable size. Comparable remoteness from Delhi, in different ways. One publishes everything; the other publishes nothing.

So: Daman’s schedule or Silvassa’s?

We came to this territory with a specific question, and it is a better one than the question we take to a single state. Section 17 keeps two bodies of law alive in two halves of one territory. If a compounding schedule under section 200 exists on either side, then the amount an officer may take from you depends on which district you were stopped in — which would be a genuinely interesting and slightly absurd state of affairs, and one worth documenting carefully.

We looked for three separate things.

Three searches, three blanks. The interesting question turns out to have no published answer at all.

The answer we can give

Here is what we are confident saying, and why.

The answer we cannot

Why two silences are worse than one

We have written thirty-three of these pages and we did not expect a merger to make the situation worse rather than simply the same. On reflection it does, and the reason is narrow but real.

That is why the practical advice on this page includes something no other page in the series has needed: write down which district the paper came from. Not because anybody will ask you, but because it determines which law is being applied to you, and the day somebody does publish something, that detail is what will tell you whether it is yours.

The one Act with the territory’s name on it

There is exactly one motor vehicles enactment we found carrying this territory’s name, and its subject is not enforcement.

We should be careful with this one. A tax Act of 1974 predates the merger by forty-six years and predates the current Motor Vehicles Act by fourteen. It was not written instead of a compounding schedule; it was written for a different purpose at a different time, and the fact that it still carries a name that now belongs to a merged territory is just how statute books work.

What makes it worth a section is that it is the fifth time.

A pattern we have now seen five times

Five jurisdictions, and the shape repeats: the motor vehicles law a small administration writes for itself is about collecting money as revenue, and the law about what it may charge you at a counter and who may charge it is left to the centre and then never operated.

We do not think that is a conspiracy. We think it is what happens when one kind of instrument produces a visible receipt into a treasury and the other produces a constraint on the people doing the collecting. One of those gets drafted and the other gets deferred, and nobody ever has to decide not to do it.

A district website where a territory used to be

A small artefact of the merger, which we include because it shows how much of the old arrangement is still lying about.

The former Dadra and Nagar Haveli website still exists, and it is now titled a district website rather than a Union territory website. That re-titling is correct — Dadra and Nagar Haveli is a district now, not a territory — and somebody did it deliberately.

Its Transport Department notices list contains one item: a notice about the hiring of a vehicle, dated 29 October 2020. Nine months after the merger, and nothing since.

So the inland half of the territory has a website that was correctly demoted and then left alone, and the merged territory has a website whose transport library holds four documents. Between the two of them, six years of transport administration has produced five published papers, four of which are about fitness testing and one of which is about hiring a car.

Three districts, two pieces, one territory

It is worth being precise about the shape of this place, because almost every description of it somewhere gets one of the three levels wrong.

That last row is the one that carries legal weight, and it is why the district matters more here than anywhere else we have written about.

The geography argument, and why it fails

There is an argument available to this territory that we want to put properly before we reject it, because on the Lakshadweep page we accepted a version of it and we are not going to pretend otherwise.

So we come down differently here than we did on Lakshadweep, and we think the distinction holds. There the scale argument had force because the thing being governed was genuinely small and legally simple. Here the thing being governed is small and legally split in two, which is the one situation where publishing is worth more rather than less.

What a single schedule would fix

It is easy to complain about a missing document and harder to say what it would actually do. Here is the list, for this territory specifically.

What it would have to say

Four things, and it would fit comfortably on two pages.

We have proposed versions of this on several pages now and nobody has yet explained to us why it would be difficult. It requires no survey, no consultation, no local policy decision about severity, and no money. It requires one officer, one afternoon and one gazette slot.

Why adopting the Act’s own figures is the clean way

The fourth row above is the one that gets argued about, so here is the reasoning.

A government fixing its own figures has to decide, for every compoundable offence, a number somewhere at or below the Act’s maximum. Every one of those decisions is a chance to make a mistake, and the mistakes compound over time as the Act is amended and the schedule is not.

The nearest thing to a counter-example is Assam, which wrote out eighty-eight rows longhand with every single one set at the statutory maximum. That is more work than adopting by reference and achieves the same thing, but it does achieve it: a schedule pinned to the ceiling cannot drift below the Act. If a drafter here prefers the longhand version, it works.

What does not work is nothing, which is what is there now.

What you can check without any local document

Enough about what is missing. If you are holding a piece of paper right now, three things are checkable, and none of them needs this territory to have published anything.

If all three come out clean, pay it, take the receipt, and write the section number on the receipt yourself. That is the right answer for the overwhelming majority of challans in this territory and every other.

The Act’s own figures

Neither half of this merger has published anything, so the central Act is the whole of the written position here. The figures below are our corrected ones: while transcribing the Andaman & Nicobar schedule we discovered three provisions we had been printing wrongly, and the corrections are set out in full on that page.

Those are maximums, not tariffs. An officer may take less. The point of the column is that nobody may lawfully take more, and that holds in Daman, in Diu and in Silvassa whatever section 17 is keeping alive underneath.

The three that arrived in 2025

On 13 January 2025 the whole of section 200(1) was substituted, and three provisions became compoundable for the first time: section 177A, section 192B(3) and section 201. The replacement text is reproduced in full on our Nagaland page.

For most jurisdictions that creates a live problem: an older schedule simply has no row for them, so an officer compounding one of those offences is working without an amount. Here it creates no new problem at all, because there is no schedule to be out of date. That is not a defence of the position; it is just an observation about how little difference an amendment makes to a jurisdiction that never implemented the provision being amended.

What cannot be compounded anywhere

This list is national and it does not change with the territory. If one of these is printed on your paper, no counter can take your money and close it.

The 184 carve-out catches people out. Dangerous driving generally has to go to a court, but the limb about using a hand-held communication device while driving can be settled at a counter. If a phone is what this is about, it is compoundable; if speed or manner of driving is what it is about, it is not.

The half of section 200 people forget

Almost everybody reads section 200 as being about money. It is about two things, and the second one is the one that bites here.

We saw how differently this can be handled only one page ago. The Andaman & Nicobar list marks individual rows with the rank that may deal with them — one row specifies assistant sub-inspector and above. That is one line of text per row, and it answers the second half of section 200 as it goes.

The disqualification nobody mentions

Two of the commonest offences on Indian roads carry three months off the licence in addition to money: riding without a helmet under section 194D, and carrying more people on a two-wheeler than it may lawfully take under section 194C.

Nothing on a challan will tell you that. The paper has a section number, an amount and a place to pay, and the disqualification sits in the Act behind it.

And it travels. This territory runs the national licensing and registration systems, so a licence issued in Silvassa or Daman is an ordinary Indian driving licence and a disqualification recorded against it is recorded for the whole country. The territory is small; the licence is not. If you are settling one of those two sections, that is the thing worth asking about at the counter, and it is worth a short written application if nobody will tell you.

Reading your own challan here

In order, and it takes about ten minutes.

Why the district on the paper matters

This is the one piece of advice on this page that is specific to this territory and nowhere else, so it is worth a paragraph of its own rather than a row in a table.

Everywhere else in India, the place a challan was issued is a matter of convenience — it tells you where to pay and which court would deal with it. Here, because of section 17, it also determines which body of law applies to you. The law in force in Daman is whatever was in force in Daman before the merger; the law in force in Silvassa is whatever was in force there.

Today that makes no practical difference, because neither half has a published schedule, so both halves default to the Act. But the moment anybody produces an instrument — whether out of a file, in answer to a letter, or in a fresh notification — the first question will be which area it applies to, and the second will be which area you were in. If you did not write it down, you will be relying on somebody else’s record.

What is worth asking in writing

Three questions, and the drafting matters more here than on any other page in this series. An information request costs five hundred rupees through us and the statutory fee is ten.

The twist that makes the request work

Question two is the whole craft of it, and we want to explain why, because a reader who writes only question one will get an answer that sounds complete and tells them nothing.

If the answer to all three is that nothing exists on any side, that is worth having on paper — and drafting the request so that it asks all three is the whole of the difficulty. It is a documented instance of a central power that went unoperated through two administrations and a merger, and it is the sort of thing that only becomes visible when somebody bothers to ask in the right words.

What we would actually tell most readers

Everything above is about a gap in the published law. Here is what we would say across a desk to somebody holding a challan from Silvassa.

Where this territory sits after thirty-four

Thirty-four jurisdictions in, some rough shape has emerged, and this one takes a place in it that nothing else occupies.

It is the only entry in the fourth row, and it got there by being the only jurisdiction in India that was created by a merger while the amended Act was already running. Which makes it, for better or worse, the cleanest available test of whether anybody adapts enforcement law when they adapt everything else. On the published record, nobody did.

What a schedule is actually for

We got this wrong early in the series and corrected it on the Tripura page, so we restate it rather than letting the old version stand by implication.

A published compounding schedule does not make roads safer. Safety comes from enforcement actually happening, from the design of the road, and from what follows a crash. A document on a website does none of that.

What a schedule does is protect the person being charged. It is the only thing that lets somebody check a demand for money against a published figure, and the only thing that makes an allegation of overcharging into something a person can actually substantiate. Those are worth having on their own terms, and they are the only claims we make for it.

Across this series we have come to see four distinct jobs a schedule does, and this territory needs the first and the fourth most of all: the citizen’s protection (which Tripura taught us), traceability (Sikkim), routing — telling you whether a thing goes to a counter or a court (Jammu & Kashmir), and an input to what the money is then spent on (Ladakh).

What this page cannot do

It cannot tell you the local figure for your offence, because there is no published local figure on either side of this merger. It cannot tell you which of the two bodies of law section 17 is keeping alive in your district on this subject, because neither has been published. It cannot tell you whether an unpublished instrument exists in a file somewhere.

What it can do is give you the statutory ceiling, the compoundable list, the two sections that cost you three months of licence as well as money, the reason the district on your paper matters here when it matters nowhere else, and the exact wording of a request that cannot be answered with a technically true non-answer.

Thirty-four jurisdictions, counted

This was the thirty-fourth page in the series, and the whole set is now summarised in one place — our state-by-state comparison, which puts the same question to every jurisdiction and counts the answers rather than describing them.

Three things from that count bear directly on this territory.

And the third thing cuts the other way, in this territory’s defence. Of the union territories, the two that have legislatures of their own published nothing, while three of the five without legislatures published something. So a missing law-making power is not the explanation here — the places with the most of it are the places where least was made.

What we could not establish

Our standing practice is to list the doors we could not get through, because a page that only reports what it found is a page you cannot calibrate.

One further note, on a source we deliberately did not use. A local industry association’s website reproduces what it describes as a Transport Department notification for this territory. It is not a government source, and in any case it would not open for us — the address redirects in a loop. We have not used it for anything, and we mention it only so that a reader who finds it knows we saw it and left it alone.

How this page was put together

From the statute, read directly — sections 2, 3, 17 and 19 of Act 44 of 2019, with section 17 quoted word for word above. From the Gazette, for the Adaptation Order, cited by number, part, section, sub-section, date and page. From the Ministry of Road Transport’s own notification number and date for the registration mark. From the territory’s own website and its police force’s own website, where we counted the contents of four separate document libraries item by item rather than characterising them. And from the central Act for every figure in every table.

We did not use any commercial challan or rate-list website for anything, which is a rule we keep for the whole series. Where a document defeated us we have named it in the section it belongs to as well as in the list above.

When a document stops being the answer

Most of this page is about paper, because most challans are a paper problem. A few are not.

If the section on your challan is one that cannot be compounded — drink or drugs, driving on from a crash, dangerous driving other than the phone limb — then there is no counter that can close it and a summons is coming. If a vehicle has been seized and is not coming back. If somebody was hurt. If a licence has been taken under section 206(4) and the three months matter to your work. Those are advocate matters, not drafting matters, and we would rather say so early than sell you a letter that cannot help.

Our directory is free to search and free to send a request through. The request reaches every listed advocate for that area together and whoever is free first takes it. Nobody sees your number until one of them has accepted it.

Court work is for your advocate, whose fee is engaged and paid by you directly; we do not quote, collect or share it.

What we charge

Our own drafting, and the figures are the same here as everywhere.

An information request is five hundred rupees, and on this page it is the instrument that fits, because the entire question is whether a document exists and in which half of the territory. A reply in writing — for a figure above the Act’s ceiling, or a section that should never have been compounded — runs to two thousand five hundred. For the plainer asks there is a simple application at one thousand five hundred. Nothing is charged for using the directory or for putting a request through it.

No part of an advocate’s fee comes to us.

And the one piece of advice thirty-four jurisdictions have not shifted: find the section, look up what the Act permits for it, note which district the paper came from, pay what is owed, and file the receipt.

Questions people ask