As the days unfolded, the challenges in my life seemed to multiply, testing my resilience in ways I never imagined. The decision to file for divorce from Prabhas marked the beginning of a tumultuous legal battle, one that would demand my strength and determination at every turn. With each passing day, the proceedings inched forward, dragging me deeper into a web of paperwork, court hearings, and emotional turmoil.
To make matters worse, my son inadvertently stumbled upon private messages between me and Arpit, unaware of the sensitive nature of their content. In a moment of youthful innocence, he shared these messages with his father, unaware of the firestorm he would ignite. Prabhas, seizing the opportunity to inflict further pain and suffering, used the messages as ammunition in their ongoing legal battle, twisting them to suit his own malicious agenda.
The advocate listened to my story with unwavering patience, his eyes filled with empathy as I recounted the years of physical, mental, and emotional abuse I had endured at the hands of Prabhas. With his guidance, I began to compile a timeline of events, detailing each instance of mistreatment and cruelty that I had suffered. As we worked through the details, the advocate offered invaluable assistance, providing me with the support and encouragement I needed to pursue justice. But as our conversation turned to the topic of finances, his demeanor shifted, and he asked about the gold loan I had mentioned.
I explained how I had taken out the loan in a hurry, reissuing it just a few months before I left my in-laws' house, to cover the expenses of Prabhas's accident. The advocate's reaction was one of shock and disbelief as he processed the information.
"You took out a loan for a man who never even considered you as his wife?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with incredulity. The weight of his words hit me like a sledgehammer, driving home the harsh reality of my situation. I had sacrificed so much for a man who had never truly valued or appreciated me—a man who had taken advantage of my love and devotion without ever returning it in kind.
In that moment, I realized just how deeply I had been betrayed, not only by Prabhas but by my own misplaced trust and naivety.
As I recounted the painful details to my lawyer, it felt as though I was reliving those dark moments all over again. The memories of Prabhas's betrayal and the depth of my love for him resurfaced, renewing the pain that I had buried deep within.
One particular incident stood out vividly in my mind—the day Prabhas had lied about going to work, only to spend the day drinking and smoking hash with his friends in Ghaziabad. I had been at home, conducting my tutoring sessions, when a frantic man arrived, breathless and panicked, with news of Prabhas's accident.
In that moment, the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet, and despite the betrayal and heartache I had endured, my love for Prabhas still lingered deep within me. Without a second thought, I gathered what little cash I had and sought help from my neighbors, desperate to reach Prabhas's side.
One kind neighbor agreed to take me to the local clinic in Modinagar, where Prabhas had been admitted. When I arrived, my heart sank at the sight of him lying on a stretcher, blood trickling from a wound on his head. He was unconscious, his condition dire.
The doctors administered basic treatment, but it was clear that Prabhas needed more extensive care, including an X-ray to assess the extent of his injuries. Despite his brother's presence, he remained distant, unwilling to offer any financial assistance to cover the medical expenses.
In that moment, as I stood by Prabhas's side, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, I realized the extent of the sacrifices I had made for a man who had never truly appreciated or valued me.
As the ambulance rushed through the dark, rain-soaked streets towards UPS Nova, a sense of dread weighed heavy on my heart. Prabhas lay unconscious beside me, his brother choosing to stay behind with his cousin, leaving me alone with Babloo, one of Prabhas's friends. As the rain beat down relentlessly outside, the atmosphere inside the ambulance grew tense. Babloo's presence beside me became increasingly unnerving, his attempts at comfort masking a darker intention. With each passing moment, his advances grew bolder, and I felt a sense of panic rising within me.
Suddenly, Babloo's actions took a sinister turn as he began to physically assault me, his hands roaming where they had no right to be. In that moment of terror, I frantically searched for something, anything, to defend myself.
My fingers closed around a rod lying in the corner of the van, and without hesitation, I swung it with all the strength I could muster. The blow struck Babloo with force, leaving him bleeding and stunned.
Summoning every ounce of courage I possessed, I pounded on the small window separating the driver's seat from the back of the van, desperate for help. The driver, alerted by the commotion, brought the van to a screeching halt, dragging Babloo out onto the rain-soaked pavement.
Alone and shaken, I gathered what remained of my dignity, my clothes torn and hair dishevelled, and braced myself for what lay ahead. Despite the horrors I had endured, I refused to let fear consume me. With resolve in my heart, I stepped out of the van and into the harsh glare of the hospital lights, ready to face whatever challenges awaited me.
As Prabhas was rushed into the hospital, his elder cousins were waiting anxiously, ready to spring into action. With their help and the assistance of the hospital staff, Prabhas was swiftly taken for an X-ray to assess the extent of his injuries. Thanks to the influence of one of Prabhas's cousins, who worked at the hospital, we were able to secure a bed without delay.
The news from the X-ray was not encouraging—Prabhas had suffered a shoulder fracture, clotting in the brain, and minor scratches. Surgery was deemed necessary, a prospect that filled me with both dread and determination.
Concerned about the cost of the surgery, I turned to Prabhas's cousin for answers. He informed me that the procedure would likely cost close to a lakh, but assured me that he would do his best to negotiate a discount.
Determined to find a solution, I wasted no time in seeking help from the hospital manager. With my good credit history and previous gold loans to my name, the manager agreed to assist me, offering to issue a new loan with the balance deducted from the previous amounts.
By evening, I had secured an instant loan of one lakh thirty-five thousand rupees, a lifeline that would help cover the cost of Prabhas's surgery. But even as I breathed a sigh of relief, my thoughts turned to my children, alone at home with only their grandmother for company. The road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but I was resolved to do whatever it took to ensure Prabhas's recovery.
As I poured out the details of my tumultuous marriage to the lawyer, his expression shifted from attentive listening to genuine shock and concern. Unable to contain his bewilderment, he posed the question that lingered in his mind: why had I endured such suffering for so long?
My response was simple yet laden with complex emotions. "Because I loved him," I replied, my voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and resignation. It was a love that had defied reason, persisted against all odds, and blinded me to the harsh realities of my situation. Despite the abuse, the betrayal, and the heartache, my love for Prabhas had endured—a beacon of hope in the darkness, a tether anchoring me to a relationship that had long since lost its luster.
In that moment, as I faced the incredulous gaze of the lawyer, I realized the depth of my own vulnerability and the power of love to both uplift and destroy. And though my journey had been fraught with pain and regret, I knew that I would carry the scars of my past with me always, a testament to the enduring strength of the human heart.
As I recounted the harrowing details of my marriage to my lawyer, he listened intently, his expression a mix of empathy and determination. With a reassuring tone, he assured me that no one could stand in the way of obtaining the divorce I sought, and vowed to fight for me with the utmost dedication and skill.
Seeking to build our case, my lawyer inquired about any previous complaints I had filed. I hesitated before recalling an incident where I had called the police after discovering that Prabhas had taken out a loan without my knowledge, using my ID. However, my attempt to seek justice had been met with violence, leaving me battered and unable to pursue further action.
Reflecting on my past, I admitted to my lawyer that divorce had never been a consideration for me. Despite the abuse and betrayal I had endured, the idea of leaving Prabhas had seemed unfathomable. But now, with the support of my lawyer and the prospect of a brighter future ahead, I dared to envision a life free from the shackles of my past.
As I divulged the painful truths of my marriage to my lawyer, I couldn't help but recount the shocking revelation that had shattered my world.
With trembling hands and a voice thick with emotion, I recounted the heartbreaking moment as I relived the nightmare of that fateful day, my lawyer listened intently, his expression a mix of shock and sympathy. With each word, I felt the weight of my past bearing down on me, the memories of pain and violence still fresh in my mind.
But I knew that I had to continue, to speak my truth and lay bare the full extent of the abuse I had endured. The physical assault that had left me battered and bruised, the desperate struggle to protect the life growing within me—it was a story that demanded to be heard, no matter how painful it was to tell.
As I finished recounting the events and a sense of relief washed over me, mingled with a deep sense of sadness and loss. But I also felt a glimmer of hope, knowing that by speaking out, I had taken the first step. Though the road ahead would be long and arduous, I knew that I was not alone. With the support of my lawyer and the strength of my own convictions, I was determined to see this through to the end, no matter what obstacles lay in my path. My lawyer asked me to write each and every incident that happened to me.
Every bruise, every insult, every tear shed in the dead of night found its way onto the pages of my testimony. As I wrote, I felt a sense of catharsis wash over me, the weight of my burden slowly lifting with each word. Though the process was painful, I knew that it was necessary—a crucial step towards reclaiming my voice and asserting my truth in the face of injustice.
Armed with my written testimony, my lawyer assured me that we had a strong case for divorce—one that would finally grant me the freedom and closure I so desperately sought. And as we embarked on this journey together, I knew that I was no longer alone in my fight for justice and liberation.