Custody by Manju Kapur Page A

it lay in her future but she wanted to work first. Having finished a BA, the family decided she should do a B.Ed., a degree that would always be useful. If she got a job in a government school, she would have security, a steady income, as well as the lighter hours that future matrimony demanded.
    Ishita had begun to apply for teaching posts when a proposal was received. Should a good offer come, insisted her parents, you have to answer its call. Everything else can wait, not this.
    The family was a traditional merchant one, just shifted to South Delhi from Morris Nagar. Their caste was the same, their horoscopes compatible. The boy was twenty-five, shy and inarticulate.
    The prospective in-laws said they wanted a homely family-minded girl, dowry was not a consideration, they had enough money of their own. Suryakanta was their only son, and grandchildren were expected within a year.
    Ishita was hesitant. The women of the family didn’t work, daughters-in-law were obviously expected to devote themselves to home. What about her B.Ed., her desire to be independent?
    A degree would always come in useful, God forbid should anything happen, persuaded her parents. For now, it was better to start on a good note. Stubbornness was not prized in daughters-in-law.
    Ultimately, Ishita saw sense. Though they had yet to exchange a sentence, the boy had smiled beguilingly at her, and at twenty-three, that was her most intimate encounter with a non-relative male. They got married on an auspicious date in summer.
    Both husband and wife found marriage liberating. For Suryakanta a female companion was a novel thing. For five years he had studied hard at the Delhi College of Engineering, now it was time to enjoy himself.
    ‘SK, yaar, you have really changed after marriage,’ said one of their friends as they sat in a restaurant after a film.
    ‘Bhabhi, you should have seen him before. He was like a mouse.’
    Ishita laughed. So far as mouselike qualities were concerned, she had her own share. She slid her hand in her husband’s, felt the answering squeeze and thought how lucky she was. The custom of arranged marriages seemed replete with wisdom, the institution of the joint family a safeguard against any loneliness she might ever feel.
    Her sisters-in-law, school-going Tarakanta, college-going Chandrakanta, were the siblings she had always longed for. She spoiled them as much as she could, helping them with their homework, participating in their shopping.
    The Rajoras congratulated themselves on the successful completion of their life’s duties. Ishita had jumped a notch in the world. Car, address, situation – all better. Her colour too seemed fairer, her hair shinier, her whole bearing more alive.
    As the months wore on, there was no sign of a pregnancy, and Mrs Rajora became uneasy. The couple were young but it was better to prove that the machinery worked early on in the relationship. Producing grandchildren was a moral obligation.
    ‘Beta, you are not taking anything, are you?’ she asked.
    Her daughter blushed. No, why?
    Just like that, responded the mother.
    There was little point in distressing the child, but she could no longer enjoy the sleep of one whose life’s work has been accomplished. Instead she nagged her husband with her fears.
    ‘Take her to the doctor,’ he said finally, ‘I cannot answer all these questions.’
    ‘No, no, her in-laws will say we knew there was something wrong with her. I am not taking her to any doctor.’
    ‘In that case don’t fret, she is a healthy girl, she will conceive.’
    But the mother could no more stop worrying than she could stop breathing. She looked up books on female reproductive health in her library but she didn’t understand a word.
    She buttonholed a gynaecologist neighbour near the elevator, but instead of assurance she got more reasons for alarm. Fifteen per cent of couples were infertile, though not necessarily sterile. Treatments were available, both invasive and