Marriage Of Deceit

by Pushpa Ramchandani

Chapter5

  Aman and I were taken to Mumbai, Directly to the hospital; Rohit did not opt to accompany us which was good in a way as there was fear of my love for him igniting again; so I had sufficient time to take a calculated decision for my future. In moments of weakness I was almost ready to cave in and agree to get back together. Then finally I summoned courage to take a stand.

  When I caught my reflection in the mirror in the hospital room, my swollen, bruised face with multiple cuts and bluish black edematous patches was barely recognizable, a sudden scream from me scared mum outside the washroom. With shallow breathing and clammy palms I plastered myself against the wall nearby, my gaze fixed on the mirror. Mum came running in and heard my involuntary words, “Rohit, what have you done to my face. I’ll never forgive you for this.”

  Mum’s presence behind my back made me realize that I had divulged the whole incidence in one sentence. She was so horrified, that she yelled, “I knew you were hiding something from me. You were not looking into my eyes to make an eye to eye contact. I am your mother and you concealed the facts from me. How dare he even touch my darling, leave aside beating her?”

  Then she just rushed out of the room, I heard her say, “ Daddy will call the police and get him arrested.” I knew dad was very influential and one call from would send Rohit behind the bars, and why not, mine was a genuine case of assault on a helpless woman. Somewhere in one corner of my mind, I wanted to forgive him. Was there still some love left for him?

  I put all my effort to call her back, and tell her the other part of the story, before plunging into any further action. There was a continuous flow of my non stopping tears. I felt his betrayal was going to vanish into the thin air. In one secret wishful part of myself I would vision him flying to reach me with apologies for all his actions. This was utterly stupid and illusion on my part. Depression was pushing down on me; I had never felt like a loser. I avoided meeting all visitors for fear of being expos, for fear of further discussions. I just lay crunched, hidden under the blanket, feeling ferociously exhausted.

  The plastic surgeon was called and my face fully examined along with a picture of mine, mum requesting him in a very decent tone, “Doctor your expert hand should be visible through the beauty of her face. Not even a single mark should be visible to remind her of the obnoxious incident of the past.”

  The doctor raised his brow, smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and assured her, “Madam let me assure you of the best results.” There was a week of my bandaged face, no talking, no frowning, no laughing, so as to let the grafts take up well. My mouth was quiet but the whole burden was transferred to my brain, which never rested. It was in a tumultuous mode dangling up and down like the blades of a weighing scale calculating the pros and cons of my single parent life. I was torn with physical and mental pain. I felt that despite the plastic surgery, the pain of all the physical wounds on my face and body would remain as fresh as the day they were inflicted.

  I imagined Aman growing up and asking for his father. One determination was rock strong in my mind. No doubt divorce would be the simplest solution, I would let him go, and walk out on him, and so it would almost be as if the whole event never happened. But I will never allow a legal divorce which he would beg for. I would always feel a winner, to let him live with the other woman, who could never get the designation of his wife.

  There was complete metamorphosis of the face after the plastic surgery. All external scars had vanished, and not a single evidence of the injuries was visible. But there were some scars which were deep in the grey matter of my memory mode, which were probably still bleeding and all my efforts to erase them failed. When I saw my reflection in the full wall mirror of my own bed room, I met a stranger in my own house. Everything in my room was the same, except me. Mum came dashing in and exclaimed, “That fool thought he’s going to distort your face and make you ugly for the rest of your life. Now is the time of decision making for you? I don’t think you can even dream of going back to him, after what he has done to you. The humiliation, the mental and physical trauma has shattered us all.”

  “Mum, I have decided never to let myself be the object of his humiliation ever again, but I will get all the money refunded back, because it was a loan.” Then I added in disgust, “I’ll surely not allow him to live lavishly with the other woman with our money.”

  “Asha dear, I just don’t understand where and how we went wrong. I know very well that all the vital components that make a marriage successful are care, respect, commitment, shared goals and compatible priorities. Marriage has to be treated like a partnership instead of some romantic fantasy and hypocrisy. It’s all about two people liking each other. Now a breach has come in your relationship which can never be bridged without a crack.”

  I listened patiently to what mum said, and pondered over it. Suddenly I remembered the times we had spent together, the outpourings of our souls, so fast so deep. “Mum how outrageous a man can get. With my strict and loving upbringing, I had tried my utmost to acclimatize in the conditions that prevailed there. I loved him unconditionally. I could never dream of the entry of another woman in his life. Now I have to fight the disillusionment with my inner strength. It’s all over now; I have to start a new life for Aman.”

  Mum’s tone was soaked in disgust, “When we left from there, he did not have even a spark of remorse or compassion on his face.” I nodded my head in silent agreement and said. “Mum I have learnt that love can help one endure the most brutal of hardships, and it becomes your inner strength.”

  With mum’s compassionate hand on my shoulder, “I know baby, you are sick and tired of making yourself vulnerable again and again and you’ve figured out what you want.” Then she spoke in a concerned tone, “Not giving a legal divorce to him means you also cannot start a new life.”

  I knew what was in her mind and opened up my mind to her, “Mum, once ditched is enough. I will never think of remarrying. Aman is my source of inspiration, to bring him up into a good human being, educate him well and give him the love of both parents is my only aim now.” She thought probably it was too early to discuss this matter so she closed the chapter.

  All my effort to control my brimming eyes from overflowing failed and a stream of tears rolled down my cheeks as I said, “I know marriage is the foundation of a family, and I had wanted mine to be rock strong like yours; a glorious example of a truly loving and sincere marriage. I had wanted security not only for myself but for my children too. Our marriage has crumbled under some emotional pique or the whims of a fickle heart.”

  Then trying to gain my composure I said, “There is this whole post breakup emotional slump to contend with but I know you will respect my decision to end up this marriage. Divorce is the easy way out, but I want to avenge him by not conceding a divorce.” Mum nodded her head in agreeing gesture, took me in her embrace and made me lie in her lap like a toddler, running her fingers tenderly through my hair, in an effort to put me off to sleep.

  Dad sent a legal notice for the return of the loan with immediate effect. The shrewd and cunning planning became evident from the reply, which burnt all the bridges. “The loan was extended to your daughter Asha, who is responsible for the return also. Due to her absence, the business has gone into big losses, if she can come and rectify the status, she may be able to return all the loans.” Attached with the reply were legal documents in which he had taken this smart step of manipulati
ng all loans in my name.

  A part of me said I should go and settle all accounts and bring him to the road, but mum did not want to sacrifice my peace of mind at this cost. So I just tried to draw the curtain and cut off the past four years of my married life and devoted all my love and care to little Aman. Sona’s loss was I great blow for me. She was with me, in my womb, only for four months, and before her entry in this world she was killed by her father. How desperately I had wanted a girl, who would love me like I loved my mother. I had even chosen a name for her. The only consolation was that upbringing of two single parent children would have been very difficult for me. So all my attention, my duties my love and care concentrated on Aman.

  I was well educated, with a master’s degree in business management. So despite all the resistance from my parents I took up a job in Pune. Mum tried her level best to persuade me to stay back with her, but dad was more far sighted and explained to her, “let her be independent. She will keep herself busy, make new friends of her age, or else it will not be long when she goes into depression. More over she will be close by and meeting us on weekends.

  A very good apartment was purchased and furnished to my taste and I was made comfortable there. Mum stayed with me for a fort night, and left a family maid to care of Aman while I was at work. She was the one who had taken care of me in my childhood, so mum was comfortable with her. When she was leaving for Mumbai, I said, “Mum I want to tell you, I feel that nothing I can say would be sufficient to thank you for everything you’ve done to take care of Aman and me. You’ve secured our future also.” My voice trailed off as I wiped the tears that spilled down my cheeks.

  She encircled her arms in an embrace and said in a loving tender tone, “Since when did you learn to thank your own parents for performing their duty?”

  I did not look back, and started a family of my own, of course with full financial and moral support of my parents. My brother Raj used to visit us often; whenever travelling in and out of Mumbai, his midway halt was Pune. Little Aman became very attached to Raj and the picture of his father gradually erased out from his memory. So the tine rolled away. Mum used to convince me at times for a remarriage, but I laid my foot down in a negative answer. I had decided to devote my full devotion to Aman and mold him to grow into a perfect human being carrying no traits of his father.