Chapter 7

Chapter 7-

“Usse gaslighting kehte hain, Anjali” Dr Sheetal said. “He created an atmosphere where you questioned your own reality.”

Anjali was sitting in an armchair across the table from her therapist. It was her third session with Dr Sheetal, a renowned and competent clinical psychologist with particular experience in women’s issues. 

In the first session, Anjali had tried to narrate the events that had led her there. She spoke as if it had happened to someone else, in the third person. The doctor had quietly called her out for distancing herself from it, she had insisted that there could be no talk of getting over it until the trauma was internalized and acknowledged for what it was. 

Anjali had completely broken down in the second session. Her tears had been incessant as she mourned the loss of her marriage, her child and the family she had lost, those still alive and those who had passed on. What had she done to deserve this fate? 

One question had led to another, and Dr Sheetal had encouraged her to write them down.

On this occasion, therefore, Anjali found herself unusually verbose. In an undercurrent to her barrage of questions, was barely contained rage. 

“I know ki hum Chotey jitney marks nahi laate the par hum koi moorkh bhi nahi the, Sheetalji” she had said, “Humne BA kiya hai, hum teacher banna chahthe the. Matlab, ek time pe hum bachon ko tuition padhaathe the, family ko help karne ke liye. Chotey ko Harvard me MBA ka scholarship toh mila tha par wahan jaana, rehna-sehna…Nani ka ghar toh tha hi par Mamaji ka business utna bhi acha nahi chal raha tha.”

Sheetalji had let her ramble on. 

“Woh toh Chotey ke lautne ke baad, unhone textile company ka takeover kiya” she had continued, “Aur woh successful ho gaya toh ghar ka pura renovation karwaya aur…hum sab thoda comfortable ho gaye. Humaari shaadi bhi kaafi dhoom-dhaam se ki thi…bohot aarse ke baad poore parivaar me wohi ke khushi ka avsar tha aur aaj dekhiye…humaare kehne ka matlab hai ki hume yakeen nahi hota ki hum itne bevakoof kaise…”

Dr Sheetal had cut her off with the comment about gaslighting, Anjali stopped wringing her hands and looked up.

“It’s a form of emotional abuse,” she said, “Abuser apne victim ke ankhon dekhi aur kaano suni baat ko bhi jhoot batatha hain to the point ki victim ko apne aap pe shaq ho jae, khud par se bharosa uth jaye.”

“Aur jab bhi hum sach samajhne ke liye unse koi bhi savaal karthe, choti se choti baat jaise ki… kiska phone tha, ya fir, aap kahan jaa rahe hain” Anjali said, speaking fast as she recollected. “Woh itne naaraaz ho jaathe the jaise ki hum unpe shaq kar rahe ho…jaise hume unpe koi vishwaas hi nahi ho.”

 Dr Sheetal nodded. 

“Aur fir jhadga naa ho isliye humne savaal karna hi chod diya” Anjali said, “Shanti banaye rakhne ke liye humne khud ko hi samjhaa diya ki aakhir woh humaare pathi hain…woh humse jhoot kyun bolenge?”

“It’s a classic trait of narcissistic abusers,” Dr Sheetal said, replacing her glasses on her forehead with a sympathetic smile. “Aap ek pal ke liye bhi apne aap ko ya apne intelligence ko doubt mat kijiye.”

Anjali sat back with a sigh. She could recall many such instances with absurd ease, from the very beginning of her married life. Although she had always believed in God, her religious devoutness had intensified from the need for a distraction and to surrender to a higher power when her life had slipped out of her own control. 

Sheetalji agreed that religion could be a great source of comfort but to always remember that God could only help those who helped themselves. The ideas of surrender and renunciation were not entirely compatible with modern life and the society they lived in.

Anjali could accept that she had been the victim of abuse, physical and emotional, that her husband had taken advantage of her love and trust. But the hardest part was coming to terms with the consequences this had had on her family, on the people she had loved most and her beloved Rajkumari. She tried to explain this to the good doctor. 

“Anjali, losing a baby… it's irreparable.” Dr Sheetal said, leaning forward. “It’s a burden, a pain you will carry with you for the rest of your life. I’m not going to lie to you or give you false hope that time heals everything. In the future, even when the acuteness of this trauma fades, even when you learn to be happy again, perhaps get married and have children…you will never forget this. Only you get to decide how much and how long and in what manner you mourn for your Rajkumari. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Anjali listened intently, not ashamed of her tears anymore. She reached for the box of tissues on the table in front of her as Dr Sheetal continued.

“But as of the others, your living family who also suffered as a consequence of both direct abuse or indirect abuse,” she said, “They love you; they understand what happened to you and a lot of their anger stems from seeing you suffer, it’s not directed at you.”

Anjali told her about visiting Chotey and Khushiji in their new house on his birthday a week ago. She had shown them the evidence she had gathered and expressed an explicit intent to divorce and prosecute Shyam for his crimes. 

They had both been shocked and deeply saddened to hear that the miscarriage had actually been murder, but the rest of the information was not new to them. And though they had sympathized with her, Chotey had been steadfast in his refusal to return home despite her heartfelt apology to them both.

“It seems to me that your brother has a… saviour complex. Circumstances have made him take on a protector role.” Sheetalji said, looking at her notepad now. “You had mentioned that he even married his wife when he suspected her of threatening your marriage, to protect you. It’s only understandable then that he now wishes to protect his wife. Not from you per se, but from the house where she was treated so poorly at one point.”

Anjali nodded slowly, it hurt but it made complete sense. Sheetalji suggested accepting their decision to stay away, acknowledging their need for privacy, their need to recuperate from the turbulence in their marriage and build a more stable relationship together. 

She recommended ways in which Anjali could keep in touch with them without being intrusive and show her brother that she cared for his wife, which Anjali insisted she did and had done, long before Khushiji had become her sister-in-law, recent events notwithstanding.

Anjali left Sheetalji’s office that day feeling more light-hearted than she had in a long time. Even when Mr Roy called that evening to inform her that she would have to appear at the police station the following morning, she was able to contain her panic. Practising some of the breathing exercises Sheetalji had taught her, she reconciled herself to coming face to face with her abuser, hopefully for one last time.

On the following morning, Aman found himself seated in the backseat of ASR’s car with the man himself as Mohanji drove them to the police station. It had been a strange couple of days for Aman, walking on a tightrope. 

On the morning after his birthday, ASR had called him early with an unexpected request. He wanted Aman to make an appointment for Khushiji with the best OBGYN in town. Aman had been so tense that it took him a while to realize the ramifications of the request and the fact that perhaps Anjaliji had left him out of her conversation with ASR the previous evening. 

While he had been relieved, it had led to unforeseen consequences. The same evening, he had been summoned to ASR’s cabin only to find Akash and Mr Roy also in attendance. ASR thrust a file under his nose looking supremely displeased.

“Look at this, I’ve been asking you for months now and what you couldn’t manage with all your connections, my sister has managed to do single-handedly.”

Aman took the folder; recognizing it all too once and pretended to read, to conceal his indignation.

“Par Bhai, Di ne yeh sab manage kaise kiya?” Akash asked, “How did she find a PI and yeh BT…yeh naam toh suna hua lagta hai.”

“Di ne kaha ki she got his contact from a friend. She wouldn’t tell me anything more to maintain her friend’s confidentiality. But the point is, unhone itna sab manage kar liya aur hum…” ASR trailed off, guilt dampening his anger. “Aman, tumhara dhyaan kahan rehta hai aajkal?”

Aman recognised the transference of guilt for what it was and didn’t rise to the bait. 

“BT is the same man we had hired to investigate the button factory,” he said, quietly. He knew he was walking on thin ice. “Actually ASR, I too wanted to hire BT for the job, but he said he was busy with another assignment and that’s why it was taking time to find someone else trustworthy. I guess now we know what the other assignment was.”

ASR didn’t look impressed, his displeasure deepened when Mr Roy began to speak of the legalities involved and reached a crescendo when he said that Anjaliji would need to come to the police station in person for some of the paperwork. Mr Roy insisted that it was unavoidable despite ASR and Akash’s vehement desire to spare their sister the unpleasantness. Though vaguely grateful for the change of topic, Aman had shared their frustration. 

On the fateful day when BT had revealed the full extent of Shyam’s heinous crimes, he had called his contacts in the police soon after dropping Anjaliji home. They had picked up Shyam in his office the same afternoon and he had been in custody since. 

Once Anjaliji had told ASR, he had retained Mr Roy to represent her and somehow Aman’s involvement had slipped through the cracks despite ASR’s guilt and disbelief. Aman felt he really didn’t give his sister enough credit. Nonetheless, they had spent the next few days reviewing the case and as ASR had decided to join his sister at the police station for moral support, Aman found himself on the ride-along. 

Mr Roy was already at the police station when they reached and Anjaliji arrived shortly after with Akash in her wake. ASR hugged her and nodded to his brother. Aman said a formal hello to which she responded with a namaste, all very decorous. 

ASR led her inside and helped her into a seat across the table from the police officer. 

Deception did not come easily to him, his guilt at deceiving ASR and at keeping up this farce was making him fidgety and hyperaware of his surroundings. 

She looked better than he had expected, dressed in a simple but elegant peach coloured cotton saree with a silver border. She was devoid of all jewellery and makeup save for small pearl studs in her ears and her usually open hair tied up in a neat bun at the base of her neck.

He wasn’t really sure what he had expected. The way she had wept in his arms had stayed with him, percolating into his dreams. His nightmares, more accurately. On more than one occasion in the past few weeks, he had woken up with images of scorpions and people getting electrocuted. 

He had told Priya all about them and somehow whenever he voiced his questions to her out loud, the answers popped into his mind of their violation, almost as if she had answered them herself. 

As a fellow human being, as a friend, he was traumatized by what Anjaliji had gone through. But presently, his hands were tied, and he couldn’t offer her any consolation. 

“Rani sahiba!”

They turned in unison as two officers led the handcuffed inmate into the room. 

Both brothers clenched their fists and Anjaliji looked up from the paperwork with a flash of fear in her eyes. She closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths. When she reopened them, there was a deathly calm about them. 

Ignoring Mr Roy’s instructions, Shyam tried to approach her. 

“Yeh sab kya hai Rani Sahiba? Hume toh vishwaas nahi ho raha hai ki aapne…humaari patni ne hume aise jhoote case me fasaaya hai” Shyam said, his handcuffed hands rattling. “Saale sahab se yehi ummeed thi lekin aap…Rani Sahiba?”

“Mat bulaiye hum uss naam se!” she said, sparks of fury escaping her steely countenance. “Humaara naam Anjali hai, Anjali Singh Raizada.”

She asked Mr Roy to get on with the formalities and signed where instructed. When it came to his turn to sign the divorce papers, Shyam point-blank refused. 

“Hume akele me Rani…Anjali se baat karna hai”

ASR’s temper flared, he informed Shyam in no uncertain terms that he would never again be speaking to his sister. 

Shyam ignored him as well and spoke only to Anjaliji. He insisted that he would not sign anything unless she agreed to talk to him first, he claimed that she owed it to him. 

Aman hadn’t realised that he had been holding his breath until it all left him at once, his insides going hollow when she gave in. 

He quietly joined her brother’s protests, advising her against it. She didn't owe the demon anything. 

But reassuring them that she would be alright, she said she wanted to be done with it at the earliest and requested the policemen to make arrangements for them to talk in private.

They escorted Shyam into an interrogation room and handcuffed him to a chair. She was then seated across the table from him and given a buzzer to press in case he tried anything. 

Shut out from the proceedings, ASR was pacing the waiting room impatiently while Akash was on the phone, updating the women of the family. 

Struggling to conceal his own panic, Aman tried to ask Mr Roy if there was no legal precedent to prevent such a conversation. He wasn’t sure of the exact nature of his worry, was it that Shyam would try to hurt her? Or that he would succeed in fooling her again or convincing her of his innocence?

Unable to bear the tension any longer, he offered to step out and arrange for some water bottles. The constable in the outer chamber directed him towards a small shop across the road. 

Don’t fall for it again, Anjali. Stay strong.

He pulled out his phone, wishing fervently that she had hers on her and little realizing how yet another well-intentioned text was going to change the course of her life. 

“Jo Rahim uttam prakrithi ka kari sakath kusang, chandan vish vypaith nahi lipte reheth bhujang.”

He bought the bottles of water and as he crossed back, he wondered if she would even understand. It had been another one of Priya’s favourites and seemed particularly relevant in the context of her snake-like soon to be ex-husband. 

When he entered the waiting room, he found her standing in the centre of a circle formed by her brothers, Mr Roy and the assigned police officer. Everyone seemed to be talking at once and he couldn’t make sense of the commotion.

Looking about desperately, she spotted him and broke away. She reached for a bottle of water, a plea for help in her eyes.

ASR followed her, glowering until she took a sip and recapped the bottle before starting on her again.

“Di, you can’t give in” he was saying, “Woh humaara kuch nahi bigaad saktha, I promise you.”

As she turned to respond to him, Mr Roy quickly explained that Shyam had agreed to sign the divorce papers on one condition- that they drop all criminal charges against him. He had threatened to take her court and promised a long-drawn process of mudslinging and maligning her and her entire family.

Aman turned to her angrily, forgetting himself. “Tell me you didn’t agree!”

She wouldn’t look at him. 

As everyone tried convincing her again, Aman found himself nodding along in agreement.

Anjaliji took a deep breath, held up a hand and shouted, “Enough!”

Everyone stopped to stare at her and at that moment Aman could appreciate that she was not only ASR’s sister, but she was also his elder sister. 

“Humaare parivaar pe jo kaala saaya tha woh ab jaa chuka hai” she said, “Humne faisla kar liya hai aur iske aage iss baare me ya unke baare me koi baat nahi karega.”

No one had anything to say to that. In the calm after the storm, Mr Roy and the policeman stepped out to sort out the technicalities. ASR called Mohanji to bring the car around and ordered Akash to take Di home.

Outside the police station, they huddled beneath the awning as it had started to rain. ASR waited by his sister’s side, seething silently as they waited for Akash to bring his car from the car park.

“Chotey, please gussa mat karo na” Anjali said, “Bura waqt bheet gaya…ab sab acha hi hoga. Tum ho na humaare saath?”

“Di, main hamesha aapke saath hoon but remember one thing,” ASR said, “When I married Khushi…the first time, you were upset with me ki main aapke sawaalon ka jawaab nahi de raha tha. And, that was a mistake. Aaj aap wohi mistake kar rahe ho Di, by not answering my questions.” 

With a stiff hug, ASR stormed off leaving the two of them under the dripping shelter.

With a small, half smile, she turned to Aman and said,

“Har kisiko mukammal jahaan nahi milta” she said, “kabhi zameen toh kabhi aasmaan nahi milta.”

Bewildered, Aman watched her get into the car before stepping out into the rain.