Custody (26 page)

‘But has Raman gone again?’

‘How should I know? It is not as though we talk.’

Mrs Sabharwal was getting increasingly upset. She got up to put the food on the table, unfolding her legs from the takht, groping for her chappals.

Shagun stared at her mother’s feet. The nail polish was chipping – why couldn’t she be more careful? She was young enough – unlike other grandmothers she knew. In the old days, when she came to visit, she and her mother used to go to the beauty parlour in the Godavari Housing Society across the road, in what had once been a garage. Every homeowner in the complex had converted this valuable space into boutiques, tailoring establishments or offices, while their cars jostled around on the inner lanes.

‘When did you last have a pedicure?’

The mother slid her feet under her sari. She knew how particular her daughter was about grooming.

‘If I am not with you, you are going to neglect yourself?’

‘With all this happening you want me to think of pedicures?’

‘Even your hair is looking terrible. All white and patchy at the back.’

‘What to do? If I go there, they will ask me about you. What can I say?’

‘You lie. What business is it of Mrs Mehra’s anyway? People love to pry into the lives of others, I have noticed that. My ex-in-laws were the worst. Thank goodness I will never have to see them again.’

‘Don’t say things like that – they are the children’s grandparents. I wouldn’t like it, if I couldn’t see my two sweet little babas.’

This brought the children back into the conversation, which put Shagun in a ferociously bad mood and forced her mother’s speedy exit into the kitchen.

Next Friday, 6.05, Shagun approached her mother, a look of determined reconciliation on her face. Mrs Sabharwal had spent a wretched week, sleeping badly. How Shagun was sleeping, she could only guess. The sleek gleam on her, the roseate look, the satisfaction that seeped from every pore gave her to understand the nature of the happiness her daughter kept talking about. There were even times when she had to avert her gaze from the girl’s face, what was on it was all too palpable.

‘Now Mama, you know I hate quarrelling with you.’

‘I know, beta, I know,’ said the mother uneasily.

‘Give me some tea, because I have news and I want to tell it to you nicely.’

This so alarmed Mrs Sabharwal she could barely add leaves to the pot, barely notice the chocolate pastries that Shagun now laid onto a plate, or the muduku she put into a bowl, bought for her from the stall outside Sagar in Defence Colony.

‘You shouldn’t buy so much for me, beti,’ she said mechanically.

‘Let me, Mama. Who knows what the future will bring, or for how long I can do it?’

‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘Ashok has finally got his posting to the US.’

‘The US! What about all the cases? The children? The divorce petition?’

‘He was offered this post a year ago, and instead of accepting it, he chose to spend his time in airports, travelling to all the major centres in India, and of course there was that groundwater crisis that made it worse. How can I go on allowing him to be so dislocated?’ said Shagun by way of explanation.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He needs to accept this offer for his career.’

‘Is that what he is saying?’

‘Mama! Obviously not. Should he say he is leaving me and going to the US? He is too much of a man to do such a thing.’

‘But beta, how can you go? But if you don’t go, that also is not good. You must have thought something.’ It was one of Mrs Sabharwal’s fears that having chased too much love, Shagun would die alone and friendless in her old age.

The tea tray was now on the little round dining table in one corner of the living area. Shagun poured her mother’s tea, pushed the chocolate pastries closer, shook some savouries onto a plate and slowly started nibbling. Her eyes fell on the worn sofas, the lamps with their permanently tilted shades, the cushions bought when she was a college student. The posters she had put up on the walls, those too were still there, and from where she sat she could see the thin film of dust on the curling bottom edges.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked her mother.

‘Of how my life has turned out.’

There was no response the mother could trust herself with.

‘You must think it’s all my fault.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Mrs Sabharwal bravely.

Her mother was such a bad liar, thought Shagun. But once everything was settled she would find it easier to accept her broken marriage. As of now the simplest things caused her worry.

‘So if Ashok goes, what about you, the children? Their schools?’

‘When parents have a transferrable job, children end up in boarding school. It’s not so uncommon, you know.’

‘But Roo can’t go to boarding school. And will the courts allow you to take her?’

‘Raman will make sure I can’t take her anywhere. Once he gets to know about the US posting he will promptly get a stay order. Until custody is decided I am stuck. Ashok says he is willing to stay in India as long as necessary, but I can’t allow so much sacrifice, can I?’

No, agreed Mrs Sabharwal. Temporarily he might be blinded by passion, but it was wiser to plan for the moment when his vision returned.

Shagun was silent, her thoughts in Judge Mathur’s chambers. Everybody said that in a custody dispute, the father was awarded the boy, but effectively she had got her son. With each visit to the Academy, Ashok and Arjun bonded. She could see things continuing this way till he finished school at eighteen. After that he would probably study abroad, especially if she was there. Even if Raman did get to see Arjun, the boy was essentially hers. Home, safe and plain.

But Roohi? Roohi was not even three. Suppose she gave her up in order to get a divorce? She could always claim her later. With visitation rights, she would be able to maintain contact, and it would be easy to get Roohi to say she wanted to stay with her mother.

On being explained Shagun’s strategy, Mrs Sabharwal tried to look intelligent. It was of the utmost importance that Shagun get a divorce, but at such a high price?

‘If it will work, nothing like it,’ she said cautiously.

‘Of course it will work, Mama,’ exclaimed the daughter. ‘You don’t think I could give Roohi up just like that? You saw what happened with Arjun?’

‘Yes, I saw. But beti, Roohi is very small.’

‘And I am only going for a short time. I will come back to see her, take her there with me for a while. Raman won’t insist on this jurisdiction of the court nonsense when everything has been settled and he has what he wants. If there is any other way I can get a divorce, tell me.’

There didn’t seem to be.

If Raman was not agreeable, she would never get a divorce. She could go with Ashok, but without marriage the company would neither pay for her ticket (a comparatively small amount) nor for her health insurance (astronomical sums involved).

She could give power of attorney to her poor mother to represent her in court, continue to fight her cases through Madz, but what would be the good? It would take a lifetime and then some. The Indian legal system stank. Justice delayed was justice denied, a truth experienced every day by countless litigants throughout the country.

*

The estranged wife phoned. ‘I want a divorce.’

Raman knew that. She had filed a petition, kidnapped the children, fabricated myriad cruelties, committed perjury, for what but the freedom to marry?

He held the phone tightly, longing to wound. ‘Why ask? It’s already in the court.’

‘I want one now.’

‘I am not going to give you a damn thing unless custody is decided and that too in my favour. If the children become too old, and the issue irrelevant, I will never free you. Never.’

‘So take the children and give me a divorce.’

‘What?’

‘Take them.’

The voice on the other end thickened and the phone was put down. Was this another trick? He didn’t trust her a millimetre, not a millimetre. He dialled Mrs Sabharwal’s number: Shagun is in the bathroom – I will tell her to call you as soon as she comes out.

Ten minutes later the phone rang.

‘So how was your visit to the bathroom?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Were you serious?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Ask my lawyer.’

Again the phone was put down. He knew she couldn’t bear to talk to him, but that was all right. Superstitiously he tried not to hope, but hope came nevertheless in the thought of his children restored, in the freedom from court and the anxiety of its transactions.

Through the day the conviction of her desperation came. Obviously she wanted to marry fast. So, the rumours he had heard were true, Ashok was posted to the US. So far as visa, insurance and ticket was concerned, he knew it was easier to leave India married, but was marriage worth the price of custody? Roohi, who would have almost certainly been awarded to the mother, yes, she would be a gift indeed. Even if it meant Shagun getting what she wanted.

It was a genuine offer. The other side’s lawyer contacted Nandan with a settlement so good that he could not believe his cousin’s luck, nor incidentally his own. He had given him free time, free attention, free advice; everything family loyalty demanded. Moreover, Raman’s misery made it easy to pity the man. Now the light at the end of the tunnel.

That evening the family gathered together in muted triumph. Right had prevailed, the vice-ridden had given in, now to discuss the details, further strengthen their position, and to secure what was theirs.

Mrs Kaushik sat cross-legged on the sofa, raised her nose to the winds and smelt blood. Her hackles rose, her eyes gleamed and the knife she had in her heart, so far too little used, came out. ‘This boy really loved her. He was a generous, good husband. We will see to it that she gets nothing. Nothing. Everything that was joint must be returned to Raman.’

‘She is willing to give up all claims to his property, all maintenance for herself. All she wants is divorce by mutual consent, the custody case dropped and visitation rights. Half the holidays and weekends. Just what the father had.’

‘What about jewellery? She hasn’t said anything about returning that. We gave her so much when she married,’ snapped Mrs Kaushik.

It would have enraged the mother beyond words to know how many more gems Raman had hung on Shagun over the years. Any occasion had warranted a trip to the jewellers. Now he didn’t want to think of those times or that love. He was ashamed of his devotion to his wife, so little had it been returned. In future he would be a different person, harder, wilier, less easy to deceive.

‘Eventually the jewellery will go to Roohi. Let her keep it,’ he now said.

‘Suppose she has another child,’ demanded the vigilant mother.

‘Mummy, Papa, I do not want to discuss this. All I want is to make sure she will not kidnap the children.’

‘If you have custody, where is the question?’

‘You never know – they have already been taken away by force once – I don’t want it to happen again.’

‘Yes,’ said the mother excitedly. ‘She may only be pretending to give the children for the sake of divorce. Once she is abroad it will be easy to just keep them. In this building alone, Mrs Sharma’s daughter-in-law left her husband and quietly took a flight to her sister’s in America with their baby. Mrs Sharma’s son can do nothing.’

This fresh possibility generated a lot of discussion and the evening passed with many scenarios mulled over, as the family united in speculation that covered as wide a territory as possible, physical, financial and emotional.

‘If she can take them out of the country, I will not agree to a divorce,’ Raman eventually said. ‘Even if it means I don’t get Roo.’

Two days later she called. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘You.’

‘How can you prevent children from meeting their mother? I did not stop them from meeting you.’

‘After I won visitation rights.’

‘Well, now I am offering you custody, what more do you want? That I should never see them? No judge will agree to that. And if I am abroad, I should be allowed to bring them on a visit.’

What did it matter what the court allowed or disallowed? In the end it was a question of endurance. Of who had the edge over whom.

‘Raman? Are you listening? We can both benefit, is that so hard to understand?’

‘When have you tried to benefit me?’

‘If that is your attitude, no point talking.’

Next week Shagun’s mother phoned him to say that Roohi was ill and could not see him. If he so desired, she could produce a medical certificate.

They both knew a medical certificate was not worth the paper it was on, any quack doctor would sell you one.

That he could not live without Roohi was something Raman had become conscious of only recently. He had been so used to associating his children with each other that after Arjun left for Dehradun he had found himself, to his surprise, enjoying a totally different parent–child experience. The things he did with his daughter had an added pleasure, partly because there was no attack and counter-attack from an older sibling. He hadn’t realised how much of his attention had been taken up with the more complicated equations the elder brother invariably generated.

Now with Roohi he felt some of the completeness that had been so unthinkingly his for twelve years. He was in bliss when he held her on his lap while he read stories at night, lay next to her while he watched her eyes slowly close in sleep, sat by her side while she ate, stood at the corner of the neighbourhood park watching her play.

Once, twice, thrice. Over three weekends Raman was told that his daughter was sick and couldn’t see him.

‘What is the nature of this illness that lasts so long?’ he demanded of the lying, uneasy grandmother. ‘I have given her the benefit of the doubt, but one more week and I am going to file another application.’

‘Beta, she is really keeping unwell. Nothing serious, though. Just cough, cold, fever, sometimes it gets OK, then again it comes. She is quite weak. The doctor says it is in the air.’