Based on a true story from a young Man working in Indian Court !
A divorce case was ongoing. Today, it was finally resolved. Standing in
court, the man asked the judge:
"Sir, can’t there be a ‘Section 294’ for men too?"
The judge stared at him, speechless. The man broke down in tears and
continued:
"Forgive me, Sir. Everyone knows about Section 498A these days. Men like
us don’t need anything that grand. Even half of it—like a ‘Section 294’—could
save many innocent men in this world. Laws, I guess, are not made for
men."
Was the man's statement satire or sheer despair? Holding his mother’s hand
tightly, the 32-year-old man, Suman Majumdar, walked out of the court premises
after the case was settled. I stood there watching them leave, my vision
blurred, my heart resonating with a strange, sharp ache. I couldn't tell if it
was sorrow or something else.
I've been a court clerk for three years now. During this time, I’ve
witnessed numerous divorce cases unfold before me. But nothing ever left a scar
on my heart like this case. I don't know this man personally, yet I felt a
deep, inexplicable pain for him.
These days, the courts are filled with stories of broken relationships. Had
I not been working here, I wouldn’t have known how harsh life could be.
One of the judges I work under is someone I deeply respect. He’s kind and
speaks beautifully. One day, I went to his house for some urgent work. While
chatting, he said:
"Rakesh, it’s time for you to get married. How long will you live alone
like this?"
I jokingly replied:
"Sir, I’m doing fine. I have my job, I cook for myself, and I eat what I
like. I’m happy being alone. Besides, seeing so many broken marriages in court
has made me lose all interest in marriage. Living alone has its own
charm—you’re your own boss."
Hearing this, the judge burst out laughing and said, "It’s your life,
Rakesh, and you have every right to live it your way."
I added, "But Sir, no matter how much we say we’ll live life on our own
terms, can we really? At home, my mother is pressuring me to get married. Let’s
see what life has in store. But yes, eventually, we all have to settle
down."
Life can put anyone in unexpected situations. Could that young man, Suman,
have imagined ten months ago that his marriage of only ten months would end in
such a manner?
Suman is neither my friend nor a relative, yet I feel compelled to tell his
story. He isn’t a government employee but a successful businessman. After his
father’s sudden passing, he took over the family business and managed it well.
His family wasn’t struggling; they owned a house in Malda town.
However, just days after his wedding, Suman’s mother was diagnosed with
cancer. His household consisted of his ailing mother and his wife, Nandini. All
Suman wanted was a peaceful life. But peace was exactly what Nandini couldn’t
offer.
Suman and Nandini’s marriage had been arranged. Before the wedding, Suman
believed Nandini was the perfect match for him—a simple girl from a
lower-middle-class family who would understand him. But Nandini only understood
the value of money.
After Suman’s mother’s cancer diagnosis, Nandini declared she couldn’t live
with a cancer patient and demanded that Suman buy her a separate flat. Suman
replied,
"How is that possible? My mother is unwell. I can’t leave her in this
condition."
To this, Nandini said,
"Then give me 25 lakh rupees. I’ll stay at my parents’ house."
Shocked, Suman said,
"How can you even say something like this? I can’t give you that."
From then on, the quarrels began. Nandini demanded ₹20,000 a month for her
personal expenses, threatening to leave if her demand wasn’t met. Reluctantly,
Suman agreed and gave her ₹20,000 for the first two months. But Nandini wasn’t
satisfied. She soon demanded another ₹10,000.
"I can’t," Suman replied firmly.
"Then why did you marry me? I didn’t marry you for nothing,"
Nandini retorted.
The arguments escalated, and Nandini filed a case against Suman and his
mother, alleging domestic violence and demanding ₹50 lakh. Ultimately, the case
was settled for ₹24 lakh.
When Suman stood in court, he said:
"Sir, the money I am paying today is from my business. ₹15 lakh is from my
business earnings, ₹4 lakh from my mother’s savings, and ₹5 lakh borrowed from
others. If I sell my house in Malda, I could raise another ₹40 lakh. I’m
willing to give her ₹64 lakh, but I refuse to live with a woman like her.
Please grant me my freedom, Sir. I want to spend the rest of my life on my own
terms."
What level of suffering compels a person to speak this way? I wondered how
Nandini could stoop so low. I didn’t hear her side of the story, but I knew
Suman was telling the truth.
Suman’s plight reminded me of my own past. Years ago, when I was a
university student, I was in a relationship with a girl for five years. That
girl was Nandini. Back then, I did everything I could for her—fulfilling all
her wishes within my modest means. But in the end, she left me, saying,
"What’s your worth? How much money do you earn?"
Today, I finally understood Nandini’s true nature. She hasn’t changed one
bit.
As I watched Suman leave, I thought about how many innocent men get trapped
in false cases, losing their wealth and peace of mind.
For men, there’s no ‘Section 498A.’ There’s no court to understand their
pain. Liberation, for them, comes only after losing everything—money, property,
and dignity. Divorce isn’t always sorrow; sometimes, it’s the ultimate freedom.
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