Then I started talking to a boy, and he became persistent, even bringing up marriage. I refused. I said, “I only talk to you, share some conversations, but I have no feelings for you. This can’t happen. I’m already married, okay?” But he wouldn’t listen.
He didn’t understand and came to my house. He even spoke to my sister-in-law, but I didn’t like him at all. I had no interest in him because I was already broken by my earlier marriage. All I ever got was betrayal. My marriage had been arranged in such a terrible place—people had suspicions that the groom was mentally unwell, but they still went through with it, thinking, “What does it matter? We don’t have money to send Mona anywhere else, so let’s just do it.”
I used to hear all this, but I was helpless. I didn’t know much and couldn’t do anything, so that’s how I got married. I didn’t want any more trouble, so I kept my distance. But living alone was difficult—everyone’s eyes were on me. People thought, “I wish she were my girlfriend.”
These days, people don’t care if someone is married or not; they just see a woman. So, living alone is really hard. But if God is with you, everything becomes easier. If not, it’s all difficult. I have complete faith in God. Whenever I need something, I ask Him and then work hard, because even God says, “If you put in the effort, I will stand by you.” It’s not like He can hand down money from above; He can only support you.
I got scared of that boy’s behavior. I left all my belongings there and returned to my parents’ house with my kids, coinciding with Rakhi, so no one would suspect why I was really coming home. I stayed there a few days and decided to look for a job in that area. I told my sister-in-law, “Bhabhi, I’d like to stay here and find a job.”
She’s somewhat understanding, so I tell her everything. When she agreed, I felt a bit happy and started searching for work. My brother was in Bikaner, Rajasthan, but jobs were scarce—few companies and low salaries. I wasn’t sure what to do.
I read the newspaper daily, looking for job ads. Eventually, I found work at a shop in Junagarh. I called immediately and went. Junagarh is a tourist spot where many foreigners visit. There’s a store there that stays open day and night, selling water, cold drinks, bread, pastries, and other snacks—always busy. I worked there from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.
So I started working again and enrolled my kids in a local school. Then, about ten months later, calls came from my in-laws, saying, “I’ll handle everything. Bring the kids to Dehri. Please send Mona here.” My brother initially refused, but they kept insisting: “No, I’ll manage.”
Then my husband’s younger brother began calling. He spoke to my brother. He was in the army and was building a house in Dehri. He took me to see his house and said, “Once it’s finished, you can live here and enroll the kids in the model school.”
My brother kept saying no at first, but finally agreed and dropped me off in Dehri. My brother-in-law said, “While my house is under construction, you can stay at your sister’s place.” At that sister’s home, only she and her daughter lived there. She was due to go to Kanpur in about four months. So I stayed there with my two kids.
This meant five people were living there: my sister, her daughter, me, and my two daughters. I paid for everyone’s expenses. My in-laws only sent some rice and, at times, covered school fees. Otherwise, I covered everything from my own pocket. My in-laws assumed my brother was paying, but that wasn’t true; I was bearing the costs myself.
I managed like that for four or five months. Then my in-laws stopped paying my daughter’s school fees, saying, “I can’t afford it anymore.” So, what could I do? They said, “Come back to the village. Kids here study just fine—what’s so special about you? Teach them in the village.” That’s how things went.
I was stuck. I had around 100,000 rupees, but it was getting used up quickly in daily expenses at my sister’s place, especially since I wasn’t working right then. I was worried about my daughters’ future and education. Finally, in frustration, I went to the police station and explained everything, saying I wanted my share of the land so I could farm and educate my children. A lot happened, but eventually I got two bighas of land and was effectively separated from the rest. They stopped sending me the rice I used to receive.
It was June by then. Starting that month, all expenses fell on me alone. I got no money from them. How was I supposed to eat or pay the school fees? I somehow got through June and July. In August, I began farming. My brother gave me 6,000 rupees and my sister Pinky gave me 4,000. I needed 10,000 total. I asked for just enough because I didn’t want a big loan—just enough to get started.
Neither my brother nor my sister ever asked for that money back. Still, I only borrowed that exact amount. It was the first time in my life I’d borrowed money. One of my sisters, who had given me the money, called and said, “Mona, don’t do farming. You don’t know anything about it.” I said, “Still, I’ll do it.” I went to the village and started farming. I stayed there two months with my kids. They worked hard too.
They traveled from the village to school in Dehri every day. School started at 8, so they’d leave at 6 a.m. to arrive on time. That’s how life went. After a few months, the harvest was ready, and my share of the property was legally separated. All I got from the harvest were two sacks of wheat. They said, “That’s all we have left,” and the villagers naturally sided with my in-laws.
What else could I do? I managed food with whatever small savings I had. Then I returned to my sister’s place. My other sister wasn’t much help—she showed no sympathy. She harassed me constantly, saying, “You’re freeloading in my house. Anywhere else, you’d pay rent.” It was a daily torment.
Imagine how I was living. I just clung to my faith that God would make things right eventually. Luckily, the harvest was actually quite good. After my children’s final exams, I took them back to the village and decided not to return. I started sending them to school from there. By then, they’d moved on to 3rd and 4th grades. My sister kept telling me, “Go away. I’m not obligated to keep you.” But I stayed because I didn’t want people at my in-laws’ place to speak badly of me for renting a separate place so soon. I put up with it for a year, though I secretly searched for a rental home from the village itself. My kids were often struggling. Sometimes they’d come home late at night, and I’d cry, praying to God. That was the situation.
When I finally found a two-room place, I rented it. By God’s grace, it was in a good area and only cost 2,000 rupees a month. Then I called my brother and said, “Bhaiya, please give me 2,000 a month, just for a little while.” He began sending me 2,000 each month, as others advised.
Time passed. I got a small amount from farming, and my brother paid the rent. But after seven months, the rent rose to 2,200. Now what? I informed my brother, but he could only afford 2,000—he was already struggling with that. My mother started lecturing me every month. I felt very bad and told them to stop sending money altogether. So it stopped.
Then I searched for a job on my own. I thought maybe I’d work in a clothing shop or somewhere else. After many months of looking, I found work at a tiffin center. I’d go there at 4 a.m. and come back by 7:30. Gradually, time passed. With that job and some earnings from the farm, I managed okay. The good thing was that this job provided food for my kids. I’d prepare tiffin in the morning, and they’d let me pack some for my children. I explained my kids went to school and needed lunch, and they agreed because they liked my cooking. They also covered my daily commute of 20 rupees, which I saved by walking 7 kilometers each way.
That’s how I spent my days—years went by like that. Eventually, my expenses for the children grew, but my job’s pay didn’t. So I started thinking of going elsewhere for work and leaving my daughters behind, now that they were older. I often asked them, “Should I go somewhere else to work? Can you two manage on your own?” But they were still young—one in sixth grade, the other in seventh. On top of that, they were both girls, and I myself am a woman. Our situation was complicated and uncertain. Life felt very difficult.
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