Custody Page 18

  Arjun did not recognise this unfamiliar man. Never had he known Raman to have gone to his school, to sound so eager and breathless. Finally his silence penetrated the father’s eloquence.

  ‘Beta, at least tell me this, why have you stopped going to school? Is there any problem?’ Tears threatened Raman’s voice, and he struggled against them. He did not want to frighten his son, God only knew what he had been through.

  Arjun began to wish he hadn’t made this phone call.

  ‘Beta, should I bring you home? Just tell me where to come.’

  ‘Next month I will take the Dehradun Public Academy entrance test, Papa.’

  ‘Why? You go to a very good school, the best in Delhi. What are they doing to you?’

  Silence.

  Wrong thing to say.

  ‘Beta, is it your idea to change schools? Is something upsetting you?’

  More silence proved that this too was the wrong thing to say.

  ‘I want you to be happy, wherever you are.’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Tell your mother, if you stay with me, you will see her every weekend. And if there is some trouble in school, I will sort it out with the teachers, but you have to let me know.’

  As he was talking, the father heard a gentle click followed by the dial tone.

  Had someone come into the room? The boy had sounded so distant. But he had called him, he was reaching out, Raman had to do something.

  He would phone the Principal of DPA, tell them that he would file a case of wrongful confinement if they admitted his son. Schools are wary of legal tangles, they would immediately back away.

  And such a school! Snobbish, isolated, obsessed with the old-boy network. He disliked the DPA alumni he knew, fucked up, assuming entitlement, aggressive when denied it, stuck in a time warp. Ashok Khanna was a good example of a basically intelligent person gone dreadfully wrong. His behaviour suggested a lack of moral training.

  Dehradun Public Academy was a colonial hangover, VV an embodiment of modern cosmopolitan India. Arjun had finished the elementary Hindi immersion section only last year, and was barely into the very different experience of the English middle school. You had to go through all of Vivekananda Vidyalaya to benefit from its pan-Indian ethos.

  That evening Raman reached his cousin’s office in Mayur Vihar Market before Nandan. He sat in the small outside room sipping syrupy tea, waiting, waiting, more desperate than he had ever been.

  But then every time he came he thought he was more desperate than he had ever been. So far his private life lurched from nightmare to nightmare.

  In contrast to Nandan. Surrounded by his parents, wife and twins, the breadwinner and centre of his family, his cousin gleamed with contentment. He often said, ‘I am a simple man and I want a simple life.’ Any vindication he must have felt as he witnessed Raman’s downfall, he was kind enough to keep to himself.

  The door opened. Nandan entered, wiping his face which sweated easily. ‘Bring two teas,’ he told his peon as he gestured his cousin into the inner office. ‘Do you want some samosas? The corner halwai is an expert.’

  Samosas. He too had once been able to devote thought to teatime snacks. But now he merely shook his head as he entered the office to receive the relief of practical planning.

  ‘We need to file another interim application.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘She is sending him away.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dehradun.’

  ‘Boarding?’

  ‘Yes. He is already in a good school but she wants to uproot him only to make sure he will be far from me.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Arjun phoned.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘He didn’t say much.’

  ‘Did he say he didn’t want to go?’

  This gave Raman pause. How to explain to Nandan the variations of his son’s breath, the quality of his silence, the visual image of a frightened eleven-year-old getting in touch with his father after many months?

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘But still she is making an attempt to remove him from the jurisdiction of the court. We can certainly try to prevent that.’

  ‘Also, why should he go away to boarding school? He is going to VV. People kill to get into VV.’

  ‘The court will look at the best interests of the child. Did he say when he was going?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He has to get admission first. Apparently the exams are in October.’

  ‘That doesn’t give us much time.’

  ‘But if he gets in he will only go next April.’

  ‘We will file a stay order against removal.’

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘That he is being forcibly sent to boarding school.’

  ‘He didn’t actually say this in so many words. They might have brainwashed him into wanting to go.’

  That was the trouble with Raman. He lacked the killer instinct. Arre, you want the child, you have to assert such things. But he sought to harass the mother without affecting the boy. Such things were rarely possible.

  ‘The judge will probably talk to him. Find out what his wishes are.’

  ‘Say the mother has prevented me from seeing the children for months. That she is living with her lover, and they are being exposed to evil influences.’

  ‘We have already said all that in our main petition.’

  ‘Say it again.’

  ‘You have to keep in mind that in the case of marital disputes, boarding school may be considered a good option.’

  ‘So she can do anything she wants? Deprive me of my children just like that?’

  ‘No. But keep in mind that in boarding school you can visit him.’

  Irritated, Raman brushed this palliative aside. Normally Nandan was quick to understand the nuisance value of legal procedures.

  ‘I want her thwarted. She thinks she can make me invisible, that a father’s rights can be ignored. I am going to fight her every inch of the way. You have to help.’

  ‘What am I here for? Just be prepared for the judge to decide it is in the child’s best interest to be away from disputing parties.’

  ‘I am prepared.’

  What a terrible life his cousin must be leading, thought Nandan, as he instructed his junior to draw up a standard plea for staying the boy’s removal from the court’s jurisdiction.

  ‘I phoned Papa.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘I told you he wants to keep us apart. He has filed a case against me. A case in court. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is this the first time you have phoned him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She should have told Arjun not to contact his father. But she found it easier to treat her husband as unmentionable, unnameable, unseeable.

  ‘Well, what did he say?’

  ‘He sounded surprised.’

  Of course. It must have been a shock. For a moment she put herself in his shoes, then quickly drew back to her own.

  ‘Did you say anything about DPA? Going there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘We hardly talked.’

  ‘Then why did you phone him?’

  ‘Just.’

  ‘Are you missing your father?’

  No response.

  Shagun looked at her son. He continued to eat, his long eyelashes spread against the pink and white of his cheek. She loved gazing at him, he was so handsome. And once he went to the Academy he would get that open confident laughing look many of the boys there had. Right now, the expression on his face was shut in, wary, guarded.

  He had become paler ever since he had stopped playing games. She sighed. Arjun glanced at her; she took his hand and squeezed it.

  *

  Three days later the interim application notice was served at Shagun’s official address.

 
Mrs Sabharwal looked at this fresh invitation to despair. By now she too felt that the best thing for Arjun would be to go to Dehradun. How long could such a situation last, not attending school? If his father had been around, this would not have happened. She picked up the phone.

  Her daughter’s silence at this news unsettled her.

  ‘Beta?’ she asked into the void.

  ‘Still here.’

  ‘I am saying this notice from the court has come.’

  ‘I heard you the first time, Mama.’

  ‘Shall I open it?’

  ‘You won’t understand the contents.’

  That was true enough, but one had to say something, do something.

  Shagun and Ashok in Madan Singh’s home office, GK I:

  ‘You have to understand that they will do everything to prevent the child’s being removed,’ pointed out Madz.

  ‘Even if it is in the child’s best interest to go to a better school?’ demanded Ashok.

  ‘We will make a case of course, but not everyone will think it is better.’

  ‘Right now he is not going to any school,’ put in Shagun.

  ‘We will say all that, don’t worry. And of course the judge will look at the child’s best interest, ask him why he is not going to school, what does he want?’

  ‘How soon before it is heard?’

  ‘If nobody tries to delay, shouldn’t take too long.’

  And then visitation rights, asked Shagun? If granted, wouldn’t that deprive Raman of all incentive to divorce? Why would he want her happy?

  ‘You can’t do much about visitation rights – you have to reconcile yourselves to that, the judge will grant them.’

  ‘It’s confusing for the children – first there then here then there,’ reasoned Shagun, ‘surely that can’t be in their best interests.’

  ‘They do link best interests with the biological parents, rightly or wrongly,’ reasoned Madz in turn.

  ‘Admissions can’t wait,’ said Ashok impatiently.

  ‘The judge knows that. I have every expectation that this application will be heard quickly.’

  A few days later Raman received a call from his estranged wife.

  ‘Why have you filed this application?’

  ‘Why have you withdrawn him from his school? A perfectly good school, where he was happy, had friends, did well.’

  ‘He needs to start a new life.’

  ‘That’s what you think. You want to send him to a self-obsessed all-boys institution where he will be subject to the kind of bullying and fagging that will scar him for the rest of his life. You need my consent, or hasn’t your lawyer told you that I am the natural guardian?’

  ‘And hasn’t your lawyer told you that custody can go to either parent?’

  ‘And hasn’t your lawyer told you that custody of a male child belongs to the father?’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Shagun as she slammed the phone down to look at her problem and to come to one conclusion. The child had to personally reject the father, personally choose DPA, personally convince the judge.

  XVIII

  In October Arjun took the DPA entrance exam at Vasant Valley School, the Delhi centre. For three hours parents waited outside, chatted, drank coffee, compared schools, compared children, looked nervous. Shagun sat in a corner, her eyes fixed unmoving on a magazine. She saw her son’s face in the pages, saw his eight school-going years, contented successful years, from which he was now being torn because of the complications in her life.

  A little older – or a little younger – and this situation would not have arisen. Roo went wherever she was sent, while a more mature Arjun would not have developed pains no one could explain.

  Her mind went unwillingly to Raman’s words. Bullying and fagging. Lifelong scars. All boys. She had asked Ashok, had there been any molesting cases? Were younger boys bullied by older ones? Were teachers sufficiently vigilant? Ashok had laughed, did she want to protect Arjun from the world? Would she say he was scarred? Immediately she became defensive and the question was never answered.

  Well, it was no longer in her hands. If Arjun got through, that would be a sign, if he didn’t, that would be another sign, she thought, rustling more magazine pages, not really wanting to know what Fareed Zakaria had to say about the world, but opinions were useful in social conversation.

  Arjun passed the written exams, and was now eligible for the interview in December, one of 200. The three of them drove to Dehradun the day before, Arjun sitting next to the man in front, preparing for possible questions in general knowledge and current events. Ashok grilled him on his reading, his interests, his strong points, his talents, sport preferences, how would he contribute to the school?, what would he do if … various hypothetical situations followed.

  Shagun listened from the back seat, noticing how well her boy performed in these tests of Ashok’s. If nothing else, DPA had brought them closer.

  Next morning at school. An hour of hanging around then finally Arjun’s turn. He disappeared into the Principal’s office from which he would emerge fifteen minutes later, his fate decided.

  Never before had he been in such a position, said Ashok, as they waited anxiously outside, but the boy would do well, he was clearly bright.

  Well, smiled Shagun as she used the word for the first time in this connection, he had never been a parent before.

  Arjun emerged. They pounced on him: how, what, and did you? Nothing unexpected was asked, he replied. He read out a poetry passage, did the mental maths, defined temperature without using the word temperature, answered questions about his likes and dislikes.

  These fifteen minutes could be the most important in his life, said the new father expansively. Now they could only wait and see, but Arjun was not to get tense, he had a good feeling just from his conversations with the teachers.

  And Shagun could kiss the ground her lover walked on, she was so grateful for everything he had done.

  By end January the phone call came: your son has been selected. Out of thousands, he had been one of the few to cross the finish line. He was such a lucky boy, wasn’t he?

  The intervening two months were spent in getting medical tests done, getting clothes made, sending measurements to the DPA tailor, and stitching number 2341 onto every blessed thing. Through all these preparations was the cold fear that Raman could stop Arjun’s going.

  A date in February had been fixed for hearing of arguments. They had a month in which to make sure that Arjun was so keen to go to DPA that he would steadfastly maintain this in the face of the most sceptical judge.

  Shagun alone could not create this enthusiasm. Her son would leave all he knew, and her own heart was too wavering. Ashok knew no such uncertainty. There was now a point to sharing his memories: the boy needed to be inspired, and through him his mother. During dinner he described going to the roof of Shivalik House at night, staying there till dawn without a teacher knowing. He spoke of stealing lichis from the trees in the compound given out on hire, how they distracted the old guard, threw stones to bring down the fruit, that though still unripe had all the sweetness of the forbidden. He spoke of their mid-term mountain expeditions, the most fun in the upper classes, when they arranged the trek by themselves, and knew the unfettered companionship of being alone with friends.

  Once a boy wrote up the mandatory logbook – sights seen, money spent, halting points, etc. – all in twenty-four hours and then had taken the train home to Jullunder for the remaining four days! Another made up the whole log but was caught – foolishly he had described flaming rhododendrons when the season was over. PP house got many demerit points as a result.

  Mother and son giggled. Arjun’s after-dinner thoughts were full of what he heard – could he ever talk like this about VV? He liked it, but once he left, he left. Even his father had never shared school stories with him.

  Meanwhile in a tiny part of her heart Shagun fantasised about the day when Ashok would share similar anecdotes with Roo, show a similar inter
est in her schooling and her future. She could see he found it difficult to relate to such a small girl. When Roo was there, Ashok at best bestowed an absent-minded caress, at worst ignored her completely.

  When she tried to get him involved, he looked uncomprehending. Once he laughed and said, give me time – I’m not an instant father, you know.

  But you were an instant lover.

  Look who I had to love.

  He reached out to touch her, and the children slipped from both their minds.

  February 16th.

  The day for arguments. Raman is so nervous he spends a lot of time in the bathroom. He will meet his son after months, in a court, with the devil woman by his side. Nandan had cautioned him not to expect too much – and he did not expect too much, he really didn’t.

  ‘Remember you must focus on the larger issue,’ said Nandan.

  ‘What is the larger issue? All I want is to see my children. It’s seven months, do you realise, seven months?’ His voice broke.

  Nandan wished for the millionth time that family obligations did not extend to the legal sphere. But they did, and he carried on his shoulders the burden of Raman’s anguish, along with the knowledge of a system that was not going to provide any relief soon. ‘With the removal-from-jurisdiction application, the judge will most probably, 99 per cent, resolve the visitation rights as well,’ he now said. ‘They won’t be able to delay, so good for us.’

  As Raman remained unresponsive, Nandan tried to buck him up by pointing out the many silver linings in this particular cloud. No matter what the decision, he would be better off than before.

  ‘You remember all I have told you?’ Shagun asked on the way to Tees Hazari.

  Arjun nodded, though in fact it was humanly impossible to retain everything she had said over the past two weeks.

  Now she did a recap. He had to tell the judge he hated VV, she had a letter from school to prove that he hadn’t been attending for months. His uncle Nandan, who was his father’s lawyer, might try and suggest he was being kept home by force. All he had to do was tell the truth.

  His father might want to speak to him, but he must only do what he felt like, OK, beta?