Page 158 of Lawfully Yours
“My Lord, the petitioner paints himself as a victim of gossip, but let us not forget who the true victim is here—my client, Sadhna Mukherjee. A woman who gave up the prime years of her career to stand by her husband. A woman who endured neglect, humiliation, and abandonment. Now, when she seeks what is rightfully hers under Section 25 of the Hindu Marriage Act, she is accused of extortion.”
Sadhna dabbed at the corner of her eye with a tissue, a perfectly timed gesture. Maanya’s voice softened.
“My lawyer friend, Mr. Nair, here calls the alimony demand excessive. I call it justice. Compensation for years lost, opportunities sacrificed, dignity trampled. The media may exaggerate, yes, but the pain is real.Herpain is real. And I submit that this Court must not allow the petitioner to walk away cheaply after discarding his wife. And now, by demanding that this case be fast-tracked, what do the petitioners’ lawyers really want? To silence my client’s voice. To brush aside her suffering and rush this Court into a decision without hearing her fully. But justice cannot be hurried to suit Mr. Mukherjee’s professional schedule or reputation. Justice takes its time. Justice demands its due.”
Kushal adjusted his cuff, ready to respond.
“My Lord, my client Mr. Mukherjee is not a private man; he is a public figure, a producer, whose projects employ hundreds of technicians, actors, and daily-wage workers. The longer these proceedings drag on, the more livelihoods are at risk. This isn’t merely about a marriage dissolving. It’s about the collateral damage of weaponizing divorce proceedings to ruin a man’s career. That is why fast-tracking is not just desirable, but essential.”
His words landed heavily.
The judge leaned back, interlacing his fingers.
“I have heard both sides. At this stage, I am not deciding the quantum of alimony or the authenticity of media reports. But I do acknowledge the petitioner’s plea for urgency. Celebrity divorces are not a theatre for public amusement, nor should they be allowed to fester as fuel for gossip columns. Justice delayed is, indeed, justice denied.”
His gaze shifted to the gallery. “I am informed that two summoned individuals, Ms. Kamya Bakshi and Ms. Noyonika Talwar, are present in court today?”
The clerk nodded, and both women were asked to rise. Kamya stood first, chin high. Beside her, Noyonika shifted uneasily, hands twisting at her sides, unable to meet Anant’s eyes.
“Good,” the judge continued. “Their presence is noted. Both will be heard during witness examination, once the evidentiary stage begins.” His eyes flicked briefly at Kamya, almost warningly. “Until then, they are directed not to discuss this case in the press or otherwise attempt to influence public opinion. This courtroom, not the media, will decide the facts.”
He then turned a stern eye back to both counsel tables.
“This matter will be fast-tracked. Witness testimonies shall commence at the next hearing. Both parties are directed to fileany documentary evidence they wish to rely on before that date. Let the facts speak, not the tabloids.”
The gavel struck lightly. “Adjourned.”
As everyone rose, the tension in the hall swelled. Anant exhaled a long, shaky breath of relief, while across the aisle, Sadhna leaned into Maanya, whispering furiously, her face tight with indignation. Kamya’s trademark smirk wavered for a moment before she turned on her heel and strutted out. Meanwhile, Kushal’s firm associates guided a visibly uneasy Noyonika out through the side exit, away from the media’s glare.
Kushal snapped his file shut and turned to Anant.
“Don’t speak to the media. Not a word, Anant. One wrong sentence and they’ll twist it into something else.”
“And don’t take Sadhna’s bait if she tries to provoke you outside,” Arundhati added. “No matter what she says, you hold your dignity. You want to win this? Then your silence will speak louder than any accusation.”
Anant nodded gratefully. “Thank you… for today. For fast-tracking this mess. I just hope the court doesn’t buy into that ridiculous alimony figure.”
“Don’t worry,” Kushal said. “We won’t let it happen.”
With that, they walked out. But the moment they stepped through the court doors, reporters swarmed, microphones shoved in their faces, flashbulbs blinding them. Security guards struggled to contain the frenzy, but the barricades couldn’t hold them back.
Arundhati faltered, her files nearly slipping from her grasp as the crowd pressed in. She couldn’t move forward. In an instant, Kushal reached for her. His hand closed firmly around hers, pulling her against him. He cut through the mob with sheer force, shielding her with his body as he carved a path toward his car.
Her heart thudded, not from the chaos, but from the simple, fierce way he held her. Kushal was protective of her even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. His actions did.
By the time they reached his car and slipped past the crowd, Kushal finally let her go. His gaze lingered on her, noticing the restlessness in her eyes, the pale strain on her face. She hadn’t eaten. Not even the sandwiches she had packed this morning.
He opened the driver’s door, pulled out a bottle of water, and thrust it toward her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, brushing it off.
“I’ll decide that, not you,” he snapped. “Drink it. Then get inside the car.”
His commanding tone would have once driven her mad. But today, it only made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t deny. He cared. And she liked it.
But before she could reply, a familiar, venom-laced voice interrupted them.
It was Kamya who sauntered closer.
