“Radha hazir ho! Jeewan hazir ho!” screamed the guard.
Two young figures appear on the scene, followed by their black robes.
The clerk checks their credentials.

The assistant orders them to give their thumb impressions.
Something is being said to the wooly hairs.
The black robes speak, continuous and soft.
Gradually, voices mount and there is heightened tension in the room. As a passive spectator, I am witness to these proceedings, day after day, hour after hour. I often wonder that with this rate of marriages and the breakups thereafter, very soon I might see these proceedings minutes after minute.

Between ire and anger, are the two bodies, seemingly quiet. Their faces are canvas of emotions – some temporary, fluctuating, and rapidly changing; some permanent.

As they move out, it is turn of the other two beings, followed by their respective black robes and then the other, and the other. The same occurs with differential intensities, ranging between rages to the squeaks and sobs.
As I hear and observe, what do I see? What do I feel? The human ego assume, that they are the unique beings endowed with the seven senses, capability to think and the capacity to feel. For the human race I am just an assemblage of brick and mortar, fitted with iron beams and pillars, inside and painted with the faded shade of white, outside.

To tell you the truth, I am more human than these humans. I have seen the estranged husband emotionally thrashing his wife, the estranged wife mentally assaulting her husband. I have wailed with the vanquished wife. My heart has grieved for the disillusioned husband. During the intense battle of allegations and counter-allegations for the custody of the child, I have often cried with the child.
Seeing the mass of estranged men, women and families, every day, I wonder whether I have become part of the same system, immune to the tragedy called marriage.

During the silence of the night, I am witness to another debate. It is much quieter. I can hear. I can think. I can understand. I wonder whether something same is happening with each of the estranged couples or something unique is occurring to each of them? Are they the prisoners of their culture, their norms or is it because of their nascent impulse to fall in love or to enter in the sacred chambers of marriage.

Day after day, I hear the same story. The finer details may vary. For each of the petitioner, his experience is incomparable. I am a testimony to rumblings of thousands of lives. I have constructed my own reality. I can see it happening all before my eyes. In a fraction of minute, I can go through, what took a decade to unfold. I can see how it grew – the connects and the disconnects. Following the same trajectory, from the issues, to the individuals, to the family and later encompassing all – humans and things, relations and material.
I doubt if any of the individual, who is followed by his respective black robes, think likewise?  I have spent thousands of sleepless nights speculating whether everyone’s journey is alike? Are they responsible for this fate of ending in this courtroom? Or is it destined for all of them to be here, in my arms, at the same instance? They are strangers, yet strangely familiar. All sailing in the same boat.

In moments of contemplation, I speculate, Is it her? Or is it him? Or something else that led both of them, here? At such times, I hear mutiny of voices in my ear. I have to look around, to check, if I am loud enough to attract the attention of the people present in the dead surroundings of courtroom.

At times, I wonder. Should they go out together, as one? Or is there any point in reading the same book all over again, when the petitioners know its end? I believe some of the petitioners had read it hundreds of times. They tried, tried and tried again. How do they proceed, if they do not desire to retreat?

I often wonder if this place is meant for an amicable and civil fight between a man and a woman, then why they come in large groups, surrounded by family and friends. As the years pass, gradually all these people vanish and the two souls are left alone, to fight their own battles, off course, their white robes, never leave them alone! They are here to stick!

In jovial times, my favourite activity is to make couples out of these estranged men and women. How often I have found humans with a heart of gold, entrapped with each other. I wish it was so simple. I have often sneaked in the conversations of the friends and families of the petitioners. Through them I have been introduced to the concept of God, creator of these couples. I have heard millions of abuses being heralded towards Him. Rather, I feel pity for His fate. These conversations have led to the greatest mysteries of my youth. It took me years of research to understand the finer nuances of the concepts of love, marriage and love marriage. Now, I hear about a new concept called live-in relationship. God forbid! I thank God, for making me the way I am and sparing me from this vicious circle of being human!

In my role as an agony aunt, I advise the seeking souls to let the time be the greatest healer. I secretly guide them to indulge in collective amnesia called forgive and forget. Deep inside me, I am worried about each of them. Will they ever be able to arrive at that starting point where this culminating journey began? I am an old courtroom, falling apart, yet I refuse to believe that everything is dated, that every relationship comes with an expiry date. The petitioners who have come here months after months for decades are like my children. I have seen the venom behind the smiling eyes. I have felt the intensity behind the blank face. I have heard their silent prayers. I wish them goodness. I wish them a future. I hope they are able to take the colossal step to move beyond, beyond and beyond.