How One Man’s Marriage Unravelled Into Accusations, Courts, and a Fight for Dignity
By Syed Majid Gilani
When Arman’s family chose Rukhsar as his bride, their expectation was modest: a peaceful home, a kind partner, and a future built on trust. Wealth and social standing never entered the equation. What they noticed in her was simplicity—an unassuming nature that suggested she would be a loyal companion. But simplicity, as Arman would learn, can sometimes hide more than it reveals. What appeared humble was only a well-practiced façade. And once the mask slipped, his life began to fracture.
Arman entered marriage with the quiet optimism many young men carry. He wanted a home that woke up to smiles, evenings that ended in conversation, and a life anchored in shared respect. When children eventually arrived, his happiness doubled. Their laughter filled the home, and their presence strengthened his belief that he was living the life he had always prayed for. For years, he saw himself as fortunate—blessed with his parents’ affection, a stable home, and a family he believed was united.
But the slow unraveling came quietly. Rukhsar’s warmth faded. Conversations turned into cold silences. Care became indifference. At first, Arman dismissed these changes as normal disagreements found in any marriage. But the pattern became impossible to ignore. Layer by layer, it became clear that her emotional investment in the marriage had been shallow. Under the same roof, she lived more like a strategist than a partner—calculating, distant, and always measuring what more she believed she deserved.
Coming from a modest household herself, Rukhsar found it difficult—oddly—to settle into a home that offered stability and space. She complained openly that even the spacious rooms were “too small,” hinting not at discomfort but dissatisfaction. Her demands grew louder and bolder. It was no longer about adjusting to a new environment; it was about elevating her sense of power. Her marriage, encouraged by her parents, had been guided not by affection but by the security of Arman’s predictable income. Once inside the home, her behavior hardened. She showed little respect to Arman’s dignity, treated his aging parents with coldness, and turned minor disagreements into prolonged confrontations.
Eventually, the demands sharpened. Passing remarks about money became firm instructions. She insisted on taking control of Arman’s finances, leaving him with little decision-making power. It was not the money itself but the authority she sought—a household where she dictated terms and he complied without resistance.
Yet Arman didn’t break. With the same patience that guided his relationships, he refused to surrender his autonomy. His calmness, instead of soothing, seemed to agitate her further. Unable to dominate him within the home, she took the conflict outside. Police stations, women’s commissions, neighbors, relatives, even his workplace—she turned them into arenas for allegation. Each complaint, each visit, seemed designed to pressure, corner, and humiliate him.
Then came the final blow. More than a decade after their marriage, with her family’s active support, Rukhsar filed domestic violence and dowry harassment complaints against Arman and his parents. The irony would have been laughable had the consequences not been so painful. Neither Arman nor his family had ever demanded dowry. Rukhsar’s parents, with limited means, were never in a position to offer any. In fact, the marriage had been built on understanding, not transactions. Yet the same silence and simplicity the families once shared were now twisted into accusations of greed and coercion.
Standing accused in police stations, appearing in court hearings, responding to notices he did not deserve—these experiences scarred Arman more deeply than anything he had endured inside the home. Watching his elderly parents dragged into legal battles left him struggling to understand how easily truth could be buried under false charges.
Arman’s ordeal might sound like a single man’s complaint, but he has seen enough in the corridors of courts, police cells, women’s commissions, and mediation rooms to know he is not alone. Scores of men, he says, navigate similar ordeals—false cases filed in moments of anger or strategy, marriages collapsing into legal warfare, and children weaponized in the aftermath. Yet he also acknowledges that not all complaints are false. In many cases, women do suffer real abuse, including dowry extortion and violence. But the rise of frivolous, retaliatory, or exaggerated claims is equally real, he says—an issue increasingly highlighted by groups advocating for men’s mental health and legal protection.
The deepest wound, however, was not legal—it was emotional. When conflict entered the lives of his children, Arman felt the ground shift beneath him. The same little ones whose laughter once filled the house now became bargaining tools in a larger battle. Their young minds were fed stories he could not counter, creating a distance no father should have to witness. Losing daily contact with them felt like losing a part of his own existence.
Even now, Arman meets men facing broken homes, lost reputations, and children pulled away from them. And yet, he also watches the justice system—judges, investigators, mediators—sort through claims with fairness. In many cases, the truth reemerges through patient legal scrutiny. Falsehoods fall apart under evidence. And some semblance of justice returns.
Through it all, Arman has remained remarkably steady. He has met humiliation, accusation, and betrayal with restraint. He chose silence over retaliation, dignity over rage. His attachment to his children kept him grounded. Even separated from them, he never turned away emotionally. Every prayer he makes includes their names. Every quiet moment carries the hope that they will one day understand.
His story is not unusual in today’s fractured social landscape. Homes crumble under ego and hardened attitudes. Children become pawns between parents. Love is overshadowed by control. And families that once promised warmth turn cold.
Yet Arman refuses to see the world through bitterness. He believes not all marriages fall this way, not all partners manipulate, not all conflicts become wars. There are many women, he says, who are loyal, patient, and full of grace. And there are many men, too, who remain steadfast, caring, and committed even in difficult marriages. Goodness, he insists, still exists—quietly but consistently.
Arman’s journey remains unfinished. He has lost peace but kept dignity. He has been betrayed but not broken. He has suffered but not surrendered his belief in fairness. What remains uncertain is how the next chapter unfolds. Will the truth he has held onto finally surface? Will the accusations against him collapse under the weight of facts? Will his children one day see the father who never abandoned them in heart?
Time, he says, will answer. For now, he walks with the weight of truth and the faith that Allah, who sees intentions unseen by others, will reveal everything when the moment is right. On that day, he hopes the shadows cast over his life will lift, leaving only clarity behind.
And perhaps then, Arman’s long, quiet patience will speak louder than every allegation thrown at him.
The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of this newspaper. The author can be reached at [email protected]
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