Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 72: Divorce (Mgg, rom, cons, no sex)

I awoke at six as usual with a new purpose in life. I felt renewed somehow, as if cleansed of my sins. When studying the Bible, I learned the word “repent” comes from the Hebrew word meaning “To turn away”. I had turned away and was willing to do so with my life.

I started to cry when I realized just how close I’d come to taking my own life. I vowed to God to try and live my live being worthy of every breath I took from this day forward. I hoped that there would never come a day when I felt such hopelessness and despair that life no longer seemed to have meaning or be worth living.

I looked at my daughter: yes, my daughter, as she lay sleeping on her side. At that moment, I felt everything a parent would feel about seeing their child grow in love, feeling safe in the arms of her father and knowing I’d protect her from any of the evil dangers this life could hold.

This little Indian girl, along with other girls I would sire would know they were loved, cherished and that they were as valuable and precious as any boy ever could be.

I again enfolded her tiny foot in my hand and felt the softness of it, the baby soft purity of an innocent babe and she seemed all the more beautiful in my eyes. I tickled her sole and she flinched, opened her eyes and smiled at me.

She turned and sat up, outstretching her arms and I picked her up and held her to my bosom. I kissed the side of her head and she cooed “Da Da.”

I love the sound of that! “Yes, Baby, Da Da’s here,” I reassured.

Priya and Leeya entered apprehensively and when they saw me smiling and holding Faatina rushed to the bed, relieved that everything was all right.

With a beaming smile, I said to the girls, “Listen, I’ve got a surprise for you two.”

I rubbed Faatina’s back and kissed her head and she again cooed, “Da Da.”

Leeya jumped for joy on the bed as Priya smiled and began to softly cry. “We really are parents aren’t we?” she asked.

“Yes, Beloved,” I said smiling as I held my baby girl. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

With tears of joy on her cheeks, Priya smiled and silently nodded.

I rose and got dressed. When Leeya asked me if I was going to shower, I told I’d done so last night. We said morning prayers and much thanks and praise were offered for the blessings I had been given.

Arriving downstairs, Leeya was all over herself with joy that Faatina had called me Da Da. Mom smiled at me and started to well up and Dad had to cough to hold back a tear. When Monaavi arrived and sat for tea, Leeya shared the good news. Monaavi suddenly burst into tears.

Mom rose and leaning down, hugged her head to her. She asked, “What’s the matter, Sweetie?”

“I’m just so happy for her,” Monaavi replied. “Every time I see a child reach a milestone, especially her, it just makes my heart soar with joy. I love children so much and I have been blessed so much since coming here to teach that I think my heart will break when they grow up and don’t need me anymore; I don’t know what I’ll be left with when they’re gone.”

“They may grow up, Honey,” Mom said encouragingly, “but a child never forgets those that have loved them. You’ll always be a part of them as they’ll always be a part of your life in some way.”

Monaavi sniffled and wiped her tears bashfully as Mom again took her seat. Mom said, “Let me tell you a little story my sister Cinny told me on her deathbed that has been my strength and inspiration all of my life.”

Dad put his paper down as we trained all eyes on her. My mother was going to impart something of enduring value to us and we knew to pay attention. I had long wondered what had motivated my mother to be the pillar of strength for this family and I was hungry for her wisdom.

Mom took a sip of tea, set her cup down and began as a single tear dropped to her cheek, “When Cinny knew her time was near, she took my hand when I was a young woman of twenty three, just like you Monaavi. I was distraught at the thought that my closest friend and sister would die and leave me. Cinny took my hand as I sat next to her on the bed and told me this story:

“Life is like a train ride. We get on, we ride and we get off. We get back on and ride some more. There are accidents and there are delays. At certain stops, there are surprises. Some of these will translate into moments of joy; some will result in profound sorrow.

“When we are born and first board the train, we will meet people we think will be with us for the entire journey. These people are our parents! Sadly, this is far from the truth. Our parents are with us for as long as we absolutely need them: they too have journeys to complete. We live on with the memory of their love, affection, friendship, guidance and their presence.

“There are others who board the train and who eventually become very important to us in turn. These people are our brothers and sisters, spouses, friends and acquaintances, whom we learn to love and cherish.

“Some people consider their journey like a jaunty tour: they go merrily along. Others will encounter many upsets, tears and losses on their journey. Others still will linger on to offer a helping hand to anyone in need.

“Some people on the train will leave an everlasting impression when they get off… Some will get on and off so quickly they scarcely leave a sign that they ever traveled along with you or ever crossed your path.

“We will sometimes be upset that some passengers, whom we love, will choose to sit in another compartment and leave us to travel on their own. Then again, there’s nothing that says we can’t seek them out anyways. Nevertheless, once sought out and found, we may not even be able to sit next to them because that seat will already be taken. That’s okay; everyone’s journey will be filled with hopes, dreams, challenges, setbacks and goodbyes. We must strive to make the best of it, no matter what…

“Remember that at any moment during our journey, any one of our travel companions can have a weak moment and be in need of our help. We too may vacillate or hesitate, even trip… Hopefully we can count on someone being there to be supportive and understanding.

“The bigger mystery of our journey is that we don’t know when our last stop will come. Neither do we know when our travel companions will make theirs: not even those sitting in the seat next to us.

“I know I’ll be sad when I make my final stop, I’m sure of it! My separation from all those friends and acquaintances I’ve made during the train ride will be painful. Leaving those I’m close to and love will be a sad thing. But then again I’m certain that one day I’ll get to the main station only to meet up with everyone else. They’ll be carrying their baggage… Most of which they didn’t have when they boarded. I’ll be glad to see them again. I’ll also be glad to have contributed to their baggage and to have enriched their lives as much as they have contributed to my baggage and enriched my life.

“We are all on this train ride together. After all, we should try to strive to make this ride as pleasant and memorable as we can: right up until we each make that final stop and leave the train for the last time.”

Mom was crying her story, as were we upon listening to it. She composed herself by wiping her face and gave a composing sniffle and finished with, “With that, Cinny kissed me goodbye and said, “Bon Voyage, Sister. I love you dearly,” closed her eyes and fell asleep for the last time.”

Monaavi and Priya fell to my mother’s feet sobbing as Dad and I silently wept. Mom enfolded both girls and said, “I have shared this with you so that you are encouraged and strengthened in knowing that the lifetime of love and care we give to others, especially a child, is a legacy that lives for eternity. Generations of children will talk of what you’ve done for them in their lives and pass this on to their children. If I have given you a small measure of what Cinny has given me, she lives on in all of our hearts.”

Hearing my mother’s word brought a new and clear understanding to what Emmy had said to me last night. I silently praised God for His tender mercies and giving me the privilege to raise Faatina as my own.

Everyone having regained their composure, we finished breakfast with renewed hope in the purposes of our lives: Dad to the office, Monaavi to the girls, Leeya and Attiya to their studies. Priya and I had our daughter and Mom to watch over all of us.

I called the hospital and spoke to Dr. Gupta. He agreed to meet with me at one pm, after which he had to prep for surgery at two-thirty. I informed Priya and Mom of my appointment and they were pleased to hopefully bring this ordeal to an end.

I played with the baby for about an hour then readied myself to leave. At noon, I left for the hospital. I arrived about twelve-forty and made my way to his office and sat outside his office for about twenty minutes when he hurriedly turned the corner. We spotted each other at the same time and he approached me with a smile. We exchanged pleasant greetings and he invited me into his office. We sat and he asked me, “What can I do for you?”

I asked him, “I’m not sure about here in India, but in America there’s such a thing as doctor/patient confidentiality. What I need to speak to you about is private and not to be a part of Faatina’s history.”

“I’m not sure what this is about,” he said cautiously, “but I can assure you that whatever you tell me about my patient is privileged information.”

“What I’m about to say,” I began, “if it was ever revealed, could send me to prison. Do I have your assurance that our conversation will remain confidential?”

“My door is closed, Mr. Michaels,” Dr. Gupta assured, “and I will keep your confidence if this is in regards to my patient.”

“It does,” I replied. “As you know, Faatina’s father is, what shall I say, insensitive and uncaring? Shit, why sugar coat things: he was willing to starve his daughter to death rather than care for her in her disability.”

“Oh my!” he replied. “I thought he was distant and lacked a connection with his daughter but had no idea that she was in that kind of danger. Did you notify the authorities?”

“And say what?” I asked, “That I suspect he won’t provide for his daughter and let her slowly perish? No crime had been committed.”

I went on to explain what happened that day a month ago when I tried to offer my help, including buying him a house and supporting him and his family. I also tried to explain Amaad’s twisted views on Islam and why he may have felt that if he found his daughter a spouse that would absolve him in some way and justified his actions in his mind.

“My wife and I are Muslim,” I began to explain, “as are Faatina and her parents. The only way I could save her and get her removed from her father’s grasp was to agree to marry her with the intention that once he’d signed the guardianship papers turning Faatina’s parental rights over to me, I would raise her as my daughter.

“What I didn’t realize,” I revealed, “Was that under Islamic law, I had inadvertently entered into a valid and binding marriage contract. If I didn’t follow through with the marriage, Amaad would have reported me for having a marriage with an underage girl. I would have been sent to prison and he would have regained custody of Faatina, claiming I used deception to rob him of his parental rights.”

I showed Dr. Gupta the guardianship papers and explained what I’d offered as a dower to Faatina. I finished my story by saying, “As a result of this, and with no other way to save the child’s life, I married her this Monday past.”

“I see,” he said but his look said differently, “I knew that these types of marriages took place, but this is the first experience I’ve had personally. Tell me, has there been consummation?”

“Yes,” I replied, “but not like you think. As long as the child sleeps with her spouse, she has fulfilled her duties as best she is able and the marriage is considered consummated. I haven’t done anything sexual with her; I’ve only slept in the same bed with her. She’s basically an infant and my wife but I have treated her as our infant child.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said relieved, “but where do I fit in, and why are you here?”

“Having legal guardianship, I wish to obtain a divorce from my Islamic marriage to Faatina and raise her as a daughter. If, in the event Faatina recovers from her disabilities and grows to be mature enough to marry, she’ll be able to do so. But here’s where you come in. I need grounds for divorce. If you can provide me with a letter, giving your medical opinion that she may never recover enough to fulfill her duties as a wife: namely to bear and raise a child, I then have grounds and can divorce her.”

“How can I do that?” Dr. Gupta asked. “She may very well recover: what then? I leave myself open to criticism that I may have lied.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, “but the operative word here is may. She may recover. Isn’t it possible she may not?”

“Of course,” he replied, “that’s always a possibility; there’s no way to know that.”

Trying another approach, I asked him, “Let’s think hypothetically for a moment. Let’s say that you had to testify in court regarding her condition: right now, having only the information you now have regarding her disabilities. You were asked the simple yes or no question, ‘Will she make a full and complete recovery and be able to raise a child?’ What would you say?”

“I would say,” he responded, “that she has a 50/50 chance of being capable of raising a child.”

“A 50/50 chance,” I repeated. “Would you, Dr. Gupta, marry a woman that you knew had a 50/50 chance of being not only capable of maturely executing her duties as your spouse, but also in having the capability to foster a child?”

“No I would not.” he replied.

“So,” I said in summation, “in your expert medical opinion as a pediatric neurologist, there’s a good possibility — a 50% probability — she may never reach that level of recovery.”

“Yes,” he answered.

“That,” I concluded, “Dr. Gupta is grounds for divorce. If you could provide a letter to that effect, you wouldn’t be lying. You’re leaving open a 50% chance she’ll recover but at the same time, admitting that she may never recover enough to be a proper mother.”

“You’ve made your case,” Dr. Gupta replied. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”

We chuckled at his remark and I answered his with, “No, I’m just fighting to give a girl that I want to raise as my daughter the chance to have a life of her own. If she recovers, I hope she’ll fall in love, marry and have lots of kids. If she doesn’t, then her mother and father will be there to care for her for the rest of her life: either way, she’ll be loved dearly.”

“I must say, Mr. Michaels,” he responded, “you have put yourself in great jeopardy for this child. Why?”

Hanging my head I replied, “Because, Dr. Gupta, although I’ve come to love India, I’ve seen two cases where a child, simply because she was born a girl, was in danger of being either abused or simply murdered slowly because she was unwanted. God brought Faatina into this world for a purpose. What that purpose is, we’ve yet to see, but she deserves to live and try to be what God intended her to be and contribute her gifts as a human being.”

I had tears running down my cheeks as I concluded, “I lost someone I loved deeply to the disease that afflicted Faatina. It just seems so sad that because a little girl took a drink of water, she should suffer her entire life or possibly die because she was thirsty. I cannot understand how any man could hate a little girl so much he’d rob her of her right to live. She deserves a life and the right to pursue her dreams. I want to give her back her life and her dreams.”

“I agree,” he affirmed. “I have two little girls myself and they are the light of my life. I’ll give you your letter.”

He turned in his chair, booted his computer and typed out the letter. He printed it out, took it from the printer and as he handed it to me he asked with an inquisitive smile, “Now tell me, how’s she really doing?”

I chuckled, smiled and replied, “She’s crawling now and has said, ‘Ma’ and calls me ‘Da Da’.”

“I’m glad,” he replied, “I know she’s in good hands. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Thanks, Dr. Gupta,” I said thanking him as I extended my hand. “I’ll keep you posted on her progress.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he responded. “I always like to hear of my little patients’ successes.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Gupta,” I said shaking his hand, “for everything.”

“My pleasure,” he replied as we shook hands.

“Good day, Dr. Gupta,” I said.

“Good day and good luck, Mr. Michaels,” he replied.

________________________

I arrived home about three-fifteen. I showed Mom, Priya and Monaavi the letter and we were all ecstatic. I called the mosque and asked for the Imam but he was busy so I left a message.

Monaavi returned to her duties with the girls and Priya suggested I try again to get Faatina to go on the potty. No such luck. She sat, played with her fingers, fooled with her dress, anything but go pee. After ten minutes, I let her up and diapered her.

Mom, watching from the sidelines said, “See, I told you it was beginner’s luck. It’ll take time. Just be patient and don’t force the issue or she’ll balk and make your life miserable over this.”

Mom removed all the breakables from the tables so I let the baby play in the living room and went to the dining room. Passing the study, Monaavi was sitting on the floor with the girls. She was leaning and resting her weight on her left arm and had her legs folded under her right side. Her sari was pulled up slightly and I could see her bare feet. She had pretty, slender and narrow feet that were small for her five foot-three inch frame with soft bumps for ankles and small, slender toes that were light pink to match the soles of her feet.

She caught me out of the corner of her eye, turned to look at me and smiled. I returned the smile as she looked back to the girls and I continued to the dining room.

I had a small salad for lunch and was just finishing eating when the Imam called. I explained to him my meeting with Dr. Gupta today and had obtained a letter from him stating that Faatina may possibly never recover from her disabilities enough to properly raise a child and that I would like to begin proceedings for a divorce. He asked me to bring all my documents to his office this evening at seven to discuss the matter. We gave our parting salaams and disconnected.

At afternoon tea, we were all happy to see things progress but were realistically cautious and hopefully optimistic about tonight’s meeting. Only time would tell.

The day ended normally with Monaavi readying herself to leave after the music lesson, Dad arrived home and we got ready to eat dinner. Monaavi left the girls in the study as Attiya played “Mary had a Little Lamb:” with accompanying chords to the melody. It was still an amazing wonder how this child had so effortlessly learned to play! Leeya just sat on the bench beside her and watched her fellow student play with total concentration on her task.

At dinner, Dad was optimistically happy that a divorce was eminent. As always, he was cautious and ended the conversation with, “Well, it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.”

It was beginning to appear that Faatina like to eat her starches and vegetables more than meat. She loved rice, carrots and potatoes. She ate well and didn’t seem to be gaining any weight. Mom commented that she’s burning a lot of calories crawling and was growing just fine.

After dinner, we retreated to the bedroom to say early prayers so I could leave to meet with Imam. After prayers were finished, I grabbed a copy of my will, Faatina’s now legal trust fund papers, the letter of guardianship and Dr. Gupta’s letter. Putting everything into my briefcase, I kissed my wives, Mom and daughter goodbye with good luck wishes from all and left for my meeting.

I arrived at the mosque and sat outside the Imam’s office for about fifteen minutes when he appeared. We gave our obligatory salaams and he ushered me inside to talk. After being seated, I explained what I wanted to do and showed him the papers. He looked over everything and asked me, “So, if an irrevocable divorce is granted, you’ll continue her support?

“Yes, Imam,” I replied. “Faatina’s trust fund will be hers to keep and do with as she wishes should she of legally sound mind to do so. Using the letter of guardianship, I’ll not abandon her care but raise her as my daughter. She will want for nothing and receive any and all care necessary for her recovery.”

Looking at the papers he asked, “And her dower will be paid in full? You won’t rescind this agreement at a later date?”

“No, Imam,” I answered, “It will no longer be called a dower, but a trust fund set up for my child the same as I will do for any of my other children. She’ll be treated equally with children that I may I sire in the future.”

Setting the papers down and removing his glasses he said, “On this basis, since you’re not divorcing her to relieve yourself of the responsibility of her care and welfare, I’ll permit the divorce. Bring her here tomorrow for the proceeding. Do you need witnesses?”

“Yes, Imam, could two clerics act as witnesses?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I will arrange it. Come at two pm here to my office.”

I thanked him, we exchanged salaams and I left for home, happy that things would finally work out. I arrived home about nine to expectant family members waiting for the answer.

I kept a straight face until we were all seated in the living room with Faatina crawling around on the floor. I looked at this infant-like toddler and then looked up at everyone awaiting my answer.

I smiled and said, “Tomorrow at two, Imam will grant the divorce with my assurance that I’ll raise Faatina as my daughter.”

Leeya and Priya “Eeek’ed” out with joy and ran to my lap, each showering kisses on my face. Mom gave a sigh and sat back on the couch and started to cry. Dad slumped in his chair and exclaimed, “Thank you, sweet Jesus!”

After several rounds of familial hugs and kisses, we decided that we’d had enough excitement for one day, and decided to call it a night and get some sleep. Priya, Leeya and I along with our daughter said goodnight and went upstairs for a family night together.

After another unsuccessful attempt at the potty, Priya diapered Faatina and we settled into bed with Leeya on my left, and Faatina in between Priya and me on my right.

I kissed my loves goodnight and Priya cuddled Faatina to her. Instead of sucking her thumb, Faatina latched onto Priya’s breast and began to suck. As Priya brushed the hair from our suckling daughter’s forehead I asked her, “I thought you didn’t like dry nursing her?”

Priya softly replied as she stroked Faatina’s face, “I’ll suckle my daughter but I had trouble thinking I was nursing your wife.”

With that, we fell off to sleep hearing the suckling sounds of our child.

____________________

We were just getting ready to sit for breakfast when Monaavi arrived. Standing at the table Monaavi joined the crowd and was standing between Priya and me. Mom rose from the table, took Monaavi’s face in her hands and began kissing her on both cheeks.

Monaavi blushed a bright pink and asked, “What’s this all about?”

“This,” Mom exclaimed, “is for finding the solution to our problems! Sean will get his divorce today at two!”

Monaavi “Eeek’ed” out in excitement hugging Mom and Priya. She turned to me and for a second, and it looked like she was reaching out to hug me but suddenly pulled back blushing shyly.

The moment was very awkward for all of us. Mom and Priya grinned at each other silently as Monaavi froze, and then looked down blushing with a shy smile. I didn’t know what to say! Dad saw the awkwardness of the moment and clearing his throat said, “Okay kids, let’s eat.”

We sat down and had a hearty meal of eggs and potatoes with toast and jelly. After breakfast, we turned to our daily duties: Dad to work, Monaavi to the girls while Mom, Priya and I got things ready to leave for this afternoon’s trip to the mosque.

At lunch, everyone was too excited to eat, so as Leeya and Attiya chowed down, we simply had tea and talked. Monaavi said that Attiya was progressing with her lessons much more easily and Priya asked why that was.

Monaavi revealed that since Attiya has an innate ability to understand musical terms in her head, all music is nothing more than a series of mathematical equations and progressions. Although Attiya may not consciously understand this, she’s able to subconsciously apply her music theory to her math and it works! She’s now working on a first grade level, which is astounding given the fact that she couldn’t understand numbers at all a few months ago.

She went on to say that Leeya, although five, was doing second grade work without struggling. Monaavi asked if we felt that she should continue home schooling her or would we like for her to enroll in public school. I told her that I’d been home schooled until high school and things worked out well for me and for her to continue as long as Leeya could get her work accredited by the school system.

After the girls had about twenty minutes of “recess” after lunch, Monaavi collected them for the afternoon study session. Priya took Faatina upstairs to get her cleaned up, changed and ready to leave.

Just as we were getting ready to leave, Dad returned home and said, “I’d like to be there, if it’s alright with you.”

“Sure, Dad,” I replied, “But you’ll have to be quiet and just observe along with Mom. There’ll be two clerics acting as witnesses.”

“Fine,” he replied.

Priya came downstairs with Faatina dressed in a black pants set and her hair pulled back in barrettes. We readied ourselves and left. We arrived at the Imam’s office about one-fifty and waited twenty minutes for him to meet with us. As Imam entered his office followed by the two clerics, we followed behind.

The Imam had me stand, holding Faatina with the witnesses on each side. He explained that since I was divorcing a wife who’d not yet reached puberty, this divorce would be irrevocable and that the divorce consists of a formula of divorce, the intention and a declaration.

He informed us that the formula consisted of me stating three times that “I divorce you, Faatina Michaels,” and the intention would contain the conditions of our divorce and the declaration of the first two, three times.

He nodded for me to begin, so I said, “I divorce you, Faatina Michaels with the intention to provide and care for you your entire life as my daughter, if need be and present you with a trust fund of ten million dollars as provided to any of my children yet unborn.”

He then directed me to repeat the declaration. I said twice more, “I irrevocably divorce you Faatina Michaels with the conditions I have promised. I irrevocably divorce you Faatina Michaels with the conditions I have promised.”

Nodding he said, “It is done. Sign the decree of divorce. She is now forbidden to you as a wife irrevocably forever.”

I signed, followed by the two clerics signing the decree and that was that. Under Indian law, Faatina was now my child ward and under Islamic law, she was no longer my wife. I was now free to love and raise this child as my own flesh and blood.

Mom, Priya and Dad gave audible sighs of relief when the document was signed and finished. I gave my thanks for Imam’s understanding in this matter and Priya and I offered our parting salaams then left for home.

Arriving home at about four, we decided to go out to dinner. We invited Monaavi, but she respectfully declined. I think she felt that this was a family moment and didn’t want to intrude despite Mom’s repeated efforts to convince her to come. We invited Pita and Attiya and they were grateful to be included.

Taking two cars, we dropped Monaavi off at home and went to dinner. Pita was shy about ordering what she wanted, but Dad threatened her jokingly with termination if she didn’t order what she really wanted. Once past that hurdle, we settled into a delicious and satisfying meal.

After dinner, we dropped Pita and Attiya at home and made our way to ours. Arriving home about eight, we thankfully ended a day that would shape our lives forever.

After evening prayers and settled in bed, Leeya said, “Can Tina sleep with me?”

“Why?” asked Priya.

“‘Cause,” Leeya replied thrusting out her chest, “‘Tina’s making my boobies grow, see?”

I chuckled and Priya looked at the two dots on Leeya’s chest that still looked like they were painted on. Priya brushed her hand over Leeya pea-sized areola and her tiny BB of a nipple popped up.

Leeya smiled with satisfaction and said, “See, told you so.”

Priya laughed and replied, “If you say so, Sweetie. If you keep growing like that, you’ll have titties when you’re fifteen.”

“Will not!” Leeya shot back like a little snot.

We just laughed and Priya said, “Go ahead, knock yourself out. But I have to tell you, if you nurse her and she gets wet, you’ll have to change her.”

“Okay,” Leeya answered, “But I ain’t doin’ no poopy diapers, I’ll wake Sean for that!”

Having settled the nursing and diaper issue, we settled in for a truly family night’s sleep.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The story about the train ride was something I’d read several years ago, saved and is attributed to an unknown author. When I wrote the paragraph with Monaavi’s remarks, the story came back to me and seemed apropos.