Custody Read online

  ‘A stone. She has to wear a white stone – pearl or moonstone – to counteract the influence of the moon. It has to be two carats, and get the setting such that it touches her skin. It has to be made correctly, only then will it work.’

  ‘Please will you get it made for us?’

  So, no son. Suryakanta’s bloodline was not going to be passed on through her. Besides which, she would be forced to wear an ugly ring, sitting fatly on her finger.

  ‘See, what did I tell you?’ they demanded of each other as they left.

  ‘You lose hope too easily,’ continued the mother. ‘I am doing special pujas to overcome your bad karma. There is a child in your future. Miracles do happen. We will get the stone, then we will see.’

  ‘These people just tell you what you want to hear,’ retorted Ishita. ‘I can’t go on living like this. He doesn’t look at me any more.’

  And what was more important, though she didn’t say it, he doesn’t even touch me any more. In bed all she saw was his back. And last night, he moved into his parents’ bedroom. She felt degraded, a non-person, certainly a non-woman. He was determined there should be nothing left between them.

  She was only twenty-six. She could look for a job, but the meaning of her life came from SK. For three and a half years she had been surrounded by his shy and tender love, she had set down roots in this home, the thought of being expelled from it was heartbreaking.

  Her parents encouraged her to stay. In time sex would wield its magnetic attractions. How long could SK ignore the wife who lived in the same house as him?

  But staying was not easy. The mother began to call her shameless, the sisters refused to talk to her, the father and SK avoided her. She only saw her husband at the dining table – a place to which she now seldom came. Who can eat if they are treated as invisible? She stayed in her room, reading magazines, flicking through TV channels, waiting for it to be late enough so she could take a sleeping pill. And not have the fantasy that Suryakanta would creep into bed, put his arms around her and tell her that he loved her, now and for ever.

  A month of this and it was clear that his love must be completely dead for him to treat her so cruelly.

  She took off the stupid gigantic pearl ring her mother had got for her as she decided she need be humiliated no further.

  If her parents did not want her to kill herself they would have to see reason.

  The parents changed their tactics. Did the family think they could marry and divorce as they pleased? They wanted a cash settlement. With their wealth, 10 lakhs was nothing. They can’t get rid of us so easily, if you come home we can kiss goodbye to everything. What about your future?

  Now besides barrenness his mother accused her of money-grabbing. Did we take a dowry, did we, did we? We were too simple for worldly types such as you.

  You must have known you couldn’t have a child.

  You will never get a paisa from us.

  How long do you think you can go on eating our salt?

  There are ways to deal with shameless women like you.

  In the dark watches of the night Ishita thought they were right, she was shameless. Who stayed where they were not wanted? When she looked in the mirror she saw a plain unloved face, eyes without expression, dull skin, dry lips. She had lost all the weight she had put on since her marriage, her collar bones stuck out, her breasts had shrunk. Even the beggars at the street crossings looked more lively than she. Was this the person holding out for happiness?

  She appealed to the back of the man who now never spoke to her. I can’t go home, I can’t stay here. Just make it possible for our parents to settle, and then I shall get out of your life for ever. I will agree to divorce by mutual consent, otherwise you know how long that can take. I need to leave with dignity. For the sake of the love you once had for me.

  ‘What about you? Asking for 10 lakhs.’

  She heard the disgust in his voice, and for a moment she hated her mother who made her do this. But then in the West did they not give alimony?

  ‘Give what you like. I don’t care. But I must be able to live with some independence. You can marry again, what can I do? My life is over,’ she tried to say without pathos, stating a simple fact.

  The back did not respond, the shoulders drew a little inwards. But Ishita knew Suryakanta had understood her position. He still cared for her, no matter what his parents might maintain. Had they been living by themselves, how different it could have been.

  Poor Ishita, still believing in love, even after circumstances had raked their steely claws across her marriage.

  *

  Two days later, her mother called. ‘They are offering 5 lakhs. What is 5 lakhs—’

  Ishita cut into this: ‘Five lakhs is the price they are willing to pay. And it is me they are paying it to. If you do not want me to come home I will live as a tenant somewhere. I am leaving this house in one week. In fact,’ she lied in a low controlled tone, ‘there is a family close by willing to take me. I will die, or be killed if I continue to stay here, is that what you want? A corpse? You can have it today.’

  Her parents were horrified. Did their daughter really think they did not want her home? They only wanted the best for her. And how could she leave without her jewellery, did she want to gift that to them?

  Ishita had to speak to SK again. Her jewellery was in the family locker, and it was her mother-in-law who had the key. She trusted him to do what was right by her, and to return the pieces she had come with.

  That evening SK handed her a plastic-wrapped packet. She put it in her suitcase without checking its contents. Her clothes were already packed in a steel trunk. She was sure that no one in that family would even consider as returnable all the linen, the kitchenware, the TV, the bedclothes, or the carved wooden bed that had been part of her trousseau. Well, if they wanted to send these things back, fine, if not, fine. She didn’t care.

  It was late at night. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people around in Swarg Nivas to witness her ignominious homecoming. She dialled for a taxi, then called the servant to help with her baggage. He did so without meeting her gaze. No one came out to say goodbye.

  In the taxi her tears fell silently and were wiped away silently. She needed to get all her crying done before she arrived.

  Two and a half lakhs were to be handed to Ishita on the first signing of a mutual-consent divorce. Two and a half more would be given six months later when the final proceedings were over. The interim six months was a period meant for the reconciliation process. What process, thought Ishita drearily, what process? There never was a chance.

  Six months later the divorce was through. Ishita was twenty-seven. Her mother tried to hide the conviction that her daughter’s life was over. Even her father had to admit that the path ahead was obscure.

  After the divorce Ishita resumed her maiden name. There are women who keep their own names once they get married, she told her parents bitterly, I should have been one of them.

  Ordinarily the parents would have shuddered at the inauspiciousness of such an idea, but now everything had changed.

  IX

  The Lovely Detective Agency, Results Guaranteed required a minimum of one month to arrive at their conclusions. In matrimonial cases, they said delicately, they only relied on absolute proof. What constituted absolute proof? demanded Raman. He himself would be satisfied with a brief account of the subject’s activities, places visited, people met, he elaborated, not quite meeting the eye of the sleazy individual who was going to shadow Shagun. Who else but voyeurs would choose such a profession?

  Sleazy was firm. People met could only be documented through photos. In their experience the client’s first reaction was disbelief. Confidentiality was their policy and the negatives would be handed over to Mr Kaushik. Half the fees were payable in advance. In addition they would charge photography costs as well as travel expenses.

  It would only be necessary to confine activities to Delhi, said Mr Kaushik, staring at the man�
��s fat fingers, drumming out a pattern on the glass-covered surface of his Godrej desk. With every suggestion, he felt his dignity crumbling. He hadn’t realised how demeaning this detective business was.

  ‘We need pics of the subject. Face, full-body, recent.’

  It sounded so horribly intimate. He sat in shamed gloominess as he felt the sanctity of his family violated.

  ‘More than one of us will be put on her trail. If we want twenty-four-hour surveillance, that is a must.’

  ‘Twenty-four-hour surveillance? Is that necessary?’

  ‘We always tell our clients the best results are got from this only, and therefore cheaper in the long run.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘So how soon can we expect the pics?’

  ‘Soon enough, don’t worry.’

  Raman left the Lovely Detective Agency, even more sick at heart. He had not thought that possible, but he was learning something every day.

  Family pictures were Shagun’s department.

  ‘Where do you keep our albums?’ he asked that night.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to look at them. Do you mind?’

  She stared at him. Perhaps he was going crazy. ‘Why? In all these years you never asked to look at them.’

  ‘In all these years I had no need to.’

  What was this enigmatic remark supposed to mean? That she should break down over a veiled reference to the changes in their life? Well, he could take his albums and – an Ashok phrase – stuff them up his ass. She smiled absently and when he saw the look on her face that obliterated him completely, Raman was very glad he had gone to the Lovely Detective Agency.

  ‘They are in the last shelf of the bookcase. Be sure to put them back carefully. I don’t want to rearrange them all over again.’

  Once upon a time he had liked the fact that she was so careful about the handsome leather albums that illustrated the family’s twelve-year history. Now as he searched through the pictures of the past, he tried to look for the lies in them. Holidays, school and family events, smiles wreathed across every face, his wife the same charming creature from start to finish, unaffected, tender, posing, it seemed happily, with him and the children.

  She had not even asked why he wanted the albums, how unnatural was that? His face grew stiff with suppressed pain. Quickly he slid two pictures out from beneath the protective sheet.

  Before handing over these precious photographs, he would try and talk to her mother. He knew she would do anything to keep the marriage intact.

  Two days later Shagun visited an ill-at-ease Mrs Sabharwal. ‘What is this mysterious thing you wanted to see me about?’ she asked.

  ‘Raman phoned.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He is worried about you.’

  ‘Rubbish. He is just worried about himself.’

  ‘Beta, give him some credit. After all these years you have suddenly turned against him. Naturally he will look for reasons.’

  ‘Come to the point, Ma. What did he say?’

  ‘He wanted to know if there was something troubling you. He finds you changed, less interested in the children and the household.’

  ‘What a bastard.’

  In the face of this reaction, Mrs Sabharwal did not know how to continue. She had tried to convince Raman that the only thing wrong with Shagun was that she needed a little change. She would look after the children if they went on a holiday, it was not healthy to work so hard, his life was of greater value. If he didn’t want to say anything directly, she could make the suggestion to Shagun.

  Her flustered insistence increased Raman’s suspicions. Abruptly he terminated the call, he was sorry, he had not wanted to cause concern, and this formality from one who had been so close to her increased her grief.

  ‘So? Is he now going to spy on me?’

  ‘Such a thing is beyond him.’

  ‘Then? What did he want?’

  ‘Does he have to want something? Have you forgotten he has been phoning me for twelve years?’

  ‘High time he stopped. Just because his own mother is so horrible, doesn’t mean he can have mine.’

  At this point, Mrs Sabharwal almost gave up, but thinking of the desolation in Raman’s voice, she tried again. Maybe the couple should go on a holiday. He had said he was too busy, but she knew that was just his pride.

  ‘A holiday? Are you mad? Why?’

  ‘It will be good for you two.’

  ‘Who is you two?’

  ‘What kind of question is this? You and Raman – who else? I will keep the children.’

  ‘Did Raman tell you to ask?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then?’

  Her mother watched her lip curl, then burst out with, ‘I think Raman suspects.’

  ‘Nonsense, he is too stupid.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘Why not? Just because you love him doesn’t mean I have to.’

  ‘He is the father of your children.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Give him some respect. Till now you never thought he was stupid.’

  ‘Till now, till now. What did I know till now?’

  ‘Beti, have you ever thought of the consequences of your actions? Even if you don’t care for Raman, for heaven’s sake preserve some appearances. You think all wives love their husbands? But they stay married. You are so idealistic, you don’t think about the long term. What about society, what about your children?’

  Shagun turned her head away. Against the word ‘children’ she had no defence. Drearily she thought yes, what about the children? She couldn’t leave them, she didn’t see how she could take them. Ashok had a transferable job: even if he got an extension, he would eventually go, and she, she would have to stay.

  In this situation all she could do was live from day to day. She didn’t want to hear her mother’s worries, they echoed too precisely her own fears.

  ‘Till now you were a happy wife and mother,’ observed Mrs Sabharwal sorrowfully. ‘If there was something wrong, you never said. Now this man has come to fill your head with rubbish ideas.’

  This was the trouble with her mother, thought Shagun, she just couldn’t leave her past alone.

  *

  After the phone call to his mother-in-law Raman put the photographs of Shagun in his briefcase, only glancing at them briefly. She had been the woman who held his heart in her hand, and though he knew she did not love him with an intensity similar to his own, it hadn’t seemed to matter.

  No longer.

  Once Raman commissioned the Lovely Detective Agency he began his certain descent into hell. How many men needed to initiate something like this? Was the problem that he had married someone too beautiful? His mother had thought so all along and now his mother-in-law’s voice suggested it was just a matter of finding out the details.

  For one month Raman lived in no man’s land. Much of that time was spent on tour. Back home he dreaded the evidence his yearning heart obsessively sought, that his wife had changed towards him. When they were together he felt barriers he was not invited to bridge.

  Shagun was largely unaware of this. Contrary to her mother’s opinion, she was not determined to think ill of her husband, it was just that with her heart full of another man, the married occupant had to be accommodated on the margins.

  It was her children who dragged her back to the reality of the past twelve years, standing like sentinels in the way of what her whole being craved, a life with Ashok Khanna. She owed it to them to try and save her marriage. But the effort was too much, she couldn’t make it in a sustained way. These days she appeared schizophrenic: one minute madly concerned with her children’s well-being, the next abstracted, the next excessively attentive to Raman, the next absorbed in her private world.

  Meanwhile Raman was doing really well at work. The Mang-oh! schemes were bearing fruit, and the fact that there was no one to share his triumph made his success hollow.

  He was certai
n of a big bonus, but the plans mooted with so much pleasure about the World Cup had now soured. His friends were still going ahead with hotel and plane reservations, trying to figure out which combination would allow them to see India play. Shagun’s silence at these sessions made him silent too. Why should he spend his hard-earned money on certain misery? He didn’t want to be trapped with a wife who seemed unaware of his existence.

  The days passed like this and nothing brought relief.

  ‘Darling?’

  Ashok glowed. It had taken so long for her to address him by any endearment that each of them struck him as an achievement.

  ‘Say that word again.’

  ‘No, listen. I think he knows.’

  ‘He does seem rather pulled down.’

  ‘You see.’

  ‘But he is performing brilliantly. And working hard, doing promotional events, getting local celebs and sponsors. He has successfully created a demand for Mang-oh! in six cities, and incidentally increased the sales of water and beverages. We are now moving into permanent commitments, donating refrigerators, refurbishing school canteens, on the condition that only our products are sold. A huge bonus and a special mention await him at the end of the year.’

  Shagun did wish that everything didn’t have to ceaselessly revert back to The Brand. Though perhaps inevitable, it wasn’t nice. When she said this, he only laughed. Ashok didn’t bother to remember all her wishes, her likes and dislikes. She was still getting used to this.

  ‘That’s wonderful – that The Brand is doing so well,’ she now said dutifully.

  ‘You don’t really care, do you?’

  ‘It’s just a drink.’

  ‘It’s my life, or was until I saw you.’

  ‘Well, I hope seeing me won’t affect your career.’

  ‘Are you sure he suspects?’

  ‘He avoids me.’

  ‘All the better for us. So what if you are married? You are mine. I don’t want to share you with anybody.’

  ‘No, seriously.’

  ‘Seriously.’

  She blushed, and he thought for the hundredth time that he could spend his whole life just gazing at her face.