chapter 12- The Puja That Tied Us Together
The Malhotra mansion was alive with devotion, the rhythmic chants of Sanskrit mantras blending with the soft jingle of bangles as women hurried through the halls, preparing for the auspicious day. The scent of sandalwood and fresh flowers filled the air, adding to the sacred atmosphere.
Ira, draped in a simple but elegant pink saree, moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, assisting the elders in preparing the offerings for the puja. She arranged the fruits, poured milk into silver vessels, and ensured everything was perfect.
“Bhabhi, all set for the day-long fast?” Kabir, Aarav’s mischievous cousin, leaned against the counter with a smirk.
Anika, standing beside him, giggled. “And the puja? I hope bhaiya won’t run away halfway through.”
Ira smiled at their teasing, but before she could respond, her gaze flickered toward the doorway. Aarav stood there, dressed casually in a white kurta, his sleeves rolled up, his sharp eyes scanning the scene with mild disinterest.
For a second—just a fleeting second—his gaze met hers. Then, just as quickly, he looked away, walking past them without a word.
Kabir chuckled. “I take that as a ‘no comment.’”
Ira bit her lip, suppressing the strange disappointment curling inside her.
The fast was more challenging than Ira had expected. She had never done a Nirjala Vrat (fasting without food or water) before, but she watched Sunita and the other women follow it with complete devotion.
By mid-morning, the lack of food and water made her slightly lightheaded, but she forced herself to push through, focusing on the temple decorations instead. She climbed a stool to adjust the garland over the deity’s idol when a sudden dizziness washed over her.
Before she could steady herself, a hand gripped her waist firmly, keeping her from falling.
Aarav.
She blinked up at him in surprise, her heartbeat unsteady for an entirely different reason now.
Without a word, he reached behind him and grabbed a glass of juice from the nearby table, thrusting it toward her. “Drink.”
Ira hesitated.
His jaw clenched. “No one will know.”
A small part of her was tempted—her body begged for hydration—but she shook her head. “I want to do this properly.”
Aarav exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he placed the glass back. “Suit yourself.”
And just like that, he walked away. But Ira noticed it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Concern.
The morning puja began with grandeur. The entire family gathered in the temple, dressed in their finest. The priest started the rituals, his voice echoing through the hall.
Ira and Aarav sat side by side as a married couple, the sacred fire flickering between them.
Aarav followed the rituals mechanically—his posture straight, his expression blank. But Ira saw the small signs of discomfort—the way his fingers flexed, the way his jaw tensed slightly every time the priest asked him to repeat a mantra.
She leaned in slightly and murmured, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Aarav didn’t look at her, but his response was immediate. “It doesn’t matter.”
It should have felt cold, but it didn’t.
As the ritual progressed, they reached the part where they had to tie a sacred thread around each other’s wrists, symbolizing a vow of protection. When their fingers brushed, a jolt of something unfamiliar passed between them.
Ira looked up at him. His face was unreadable, but he didn’t pull away.
The final moment of the puja arrived. Aarav was handed the sindoor. Without hesitation, he applied it to the parting of Ira’s hair. His pov:- "I never cared for rituals… but why did this moment feel different?"
It was a simple act, a customary one. Yet, for some reason, the air around them shifted.
For a fraction of a second, his eyes lingered on hers.
And for the first time since their wedding, Ira saw something in them she couldn’t quite decipher.
"When he applied the sindoor, it should have felt like just another ritual. But for a fleeting second, his gaze lingered—like he was acknowledging something he refused to say."
The day passed in a blur of prayers, rituals, and family interactions. By dinner, the house had settled into a peaceful lull.
After ensuring that the elders were comfortable and the house was clean, Ira finally took a breath. The day had been long, exhausting, yet fulfilling.
As she walked past the hallway leading to the balcony, she noticed him.
Aarav stood there, gazing at the city lights, his hands shoved into his pockets. The night breeze ruffled his dark hair.
But what caught Ira’s attention was the absence of smoke curling from his fingers.
For the first time, he wasn’t smoking.
She stepped onto the balcony, standing beside him. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Aarav was the first to break it. “You believe in all of this, don’t you?”
Ira turned to him, her voice soft but firm. “It’s not about belief, Aarav. It’s about faith.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “Faith?”
She nodded. “Faith isn’t just about rituals or gods. Sometimes, it’s about the people we choose to stand beside, even when they refuse to believe in anything at all.”
Aarav didn’t respond.
But this time, he didn’t dismiss her words either.
And that was enough.
As the night stretched on, Ira realized—faith wasn’t just about the divine. Sometimes, it was about the silent moments, the unspoken understandings, and the people who didn’t believe… but still stayed.