Chapter 24
Abhinav paused at the doorway to the family sitting room, his hair damp from the shower.
Inside, Rajan’s voice rose dramatically, drawing gasps and laughter from Naina and Sarita. Abhinav did not need details. He knew what was being retold.
He remained just beyond sight.
“And then…” Rajan flung his arms wide, nearly knocking over a vase as he turned toward an unseen opponent. “Hukum just… BAM!”
His fist cut through the air in an exaggerated slow motion.
“One punch! Just one! And Lakshya ji went…” He staggered backward, limbs loose, before dropping with a theatrical splash.
Sarita’s laughter rang out, full and free.
“And the mithai?” Naina leaned forward, perched at the edge of the sofa. “What happened to the mithai?”
Rajan’s face lit up. “Flying everywhere! Orange ladoos rolling across the floor, like little suns in the rain!”
“And what exactly did my brother say?” Naina pressed, unable to contain herself.
Rajan straightened at once, slipping into a dramatic version of Abhinav. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared.
In a deepened voice, he declared, “What you just witnessed is what happens when someone disrespects the future Thakurain of Anand Mahal.”
He held the pose.
Abhinav pressed his lips together.
Naina let out a delighted sound, hands flying to her cheeks. “He actually said that? Exactly that?”
“Exact words, Bai Sa!” Rajan nodded with enthusiasm, leaning deeper into his act. “Meera Chauhan is the woman I love.”
Sarita’s hands tightened in her lap. Her eyes shone.
“And everyone just watched?” Naina asked, breathless.
“Everyone!” Rajan swept an arm across the room. “Guards, staff, Babuji, Gauri Maa Sa, all frozen! Rain pouring down! And Hukum standing there.”
He struck another pose.
Abhinav stepped inside, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Rajan.”
The room froze.
Rajan’s pose collapsed instantly. “H… Hukum…” His voice faltered, color draining from his face. “I was just…”
“Hmm.”
That was enough.
Rajan retreated at once, nearly tripping in his rush to leave. “Sorry, Hukum. Sorry for acting…”
He disappeared.
“Bhai!” Naina squealed, rushing at him.
Abhinav caught her on instinct, a laugh escaping him. She wrapped herself around him as if he had been gone for years, then pulled back to look at him.
“You absolute hero!” she declared. “In the rain! With the punch! This is cinematic!”
He guided her back in, his arm settling around her shoulders. “I see the news travels fast.”
“Fast?” She scoffed. “This has already become folklore.”
He could imagine it. By next week, he would have fought ten men and possibly arrived on horseback.
Naina leaned closer. “And you really said that? About the future Thakurain?”
“Naina.” He tapped her forehead. “Stop being dramatic. You and Maa have been expecting this for days. Don’t act surprised.”
She punched his shoulder. “Of course we knew! We’re not blind!”
Her expression softened. Her hand rose, pinching his cheek. “But knowing and seeing are different.”
She whispered, holding his face now. “I’m proud of you.”
The words settled deep.
“For being yourself,” she added. “Not the version that hides behind work and control. This one. Honest. Open.”
She tilted her head. “A hero.”
“I’m not a hero,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes. “I’m just being honest about what matters.”
Naina studied him, then smiled. “Same thing.”
She brushed damp hair back from his forehead. “Come. Maa is waiting.”
He looked past her.
Sarita had not taken her eyes off him. She rose. The smile on her face was the one he remembered from before. From a time when it had come easily in this family.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. The smile broke against his shoulder. He felt her cry. Tears soaked into his shirt as her hold tightened.
His jaw set.
He had been so careful for so long. The perfect son. The perfect heir. A man who arrived on time, left on time, turned grief into numbers, deadlines and efficiency. He had lit his father’s pyre and kept moving because stopping had never been an option he allowed himself.
He had a mother.
He had a sister who laughed too loudly, argued without fear, pinched his cheek, and watched him fold into himself without knowing how to reach him.
They had all been grieving. And he had carried his grief alone.
His arm tightened around his mother.
She exhaled against him. In relief.
The person his mother had been watching from a distance, the closed-off, controlled version of her son, had softened in these weeks. He had stood in the rain and laughed. Sat shoulder to shoulder with workers in a rattling van. Pressed his palm to his father’s name and allowed himself to feel it.
Meera had done that.
This Haveli had done that.
Sarita drew back after a long moment, her hands rising to his face, holding him tenderly. Childhood lived in that touch. A scraped knee. A broken arm. A boy too intense for his own heart.
Her eyes searched him, wet yet clear. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Her breath eased. Her smile returned, stronger now.
“I will go to Devendra ji properly,” she murmured. “With shagun. Everything as it should be. His daughter will be asked with the respect she deserves.”
“And Meera,” he added, softer. “I need to speak to her first. Alone. Today was a lot. She needs to hear it from me.”
“I’ll make sure you do.”
Her hand brushed his cheek, lingering. “You look like your father.”
The words rested between them, simple, full, long awaited.
She left.
The room settled.
Naina broke the silence, a strangled half-laugh slipping out before she could stop it. Both hands flew to her mouth, eyes shining with more than amusement.
He pointed at her. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything,” came the muffled reply.
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Her hands dropped. The smile remained, wide and unashamed.
“My robot brother,” her voice unsteady, “finally came home.”
He crossed the room and pressed his thumb to her forehead. She accepted it without protest. He sat on the sofa. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
Silence followed. Comfortable. Complete.
Outside, the courtyard breathed after the rain.
◆◆◆
Sarita chose with care. A deep maroon silk-cotton saree, gold along the border. Grace without display.
The shagun tray sat ready. Red cloth, heirloom earrings, sweets, coconut. She lifted it herself.
Naina joined her, composed with visible effort. Two attendants followed with clothes and sweets, and everything that tradition demanded.
They crossed the courtyard. Water rested in shallow pools, reflecting lamplight. The air still held a trace of rain.
Sarita knocked.
The door opened.
Devendra stood there, eyes moving to the tray, then to her. “Thakurain Sa.”
He stepped aside. Gauri appeared behind him, wiping hands against her pallu before joining them together.
Sarita nodded, returning the greeting as she entered.
The room felt small, neat. Gauri straightened the sofa cover and gestured for them to sit.
Sarita placed the tray down and took her seat. Naina sat beside her. The attendants set the remaining items aside and left.
Devendra and Gauri sat opposite them, slightly tense.
“Devendra ji,” Sarita began calmly. “I come with respect. And with purpose.”
Her hand rested on the tray.
“My son loves your daughter. I am here to ask, with full regard for your family, for Meera’s hand in marriage.”
Gauri’s eyes turned to Devendra. He did not answer at once. His attention rested on the tray. After a moment, he leaned forward and moved it aside with both hands, careful, respectful.
“Thakurain Sa,” his voice remained even. “For forty years, I have served your family with loyalty and pride.”
Sarita inclined her head.
“In all that time, I have never refused a request from an Anand.” His hands came together. “But today, I cannot accept this on Meera’s behalf.”
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I asked my daughter what she wants. She has not given her answer. Before anything moves forward, Meera will speak for herself.”
It wasn’t defiance or rejection. Only a father placing his daughter at the center.
Sarita held his gaze. “I respect that.”
The tension in his shoulders eased.
“May I speak with her?” Sarita asked. “Not to pressure her. Only as a mother.”
Devendra looked at Gauri. She gave a small nod.
“She is in her room.” He rose and walked down the hallway, knocking once.
Naina shifted beside Sarita, restless, silent. Gauri watched without comment.
Devendra returned. “She will see you.”
Sarita stood, nodding. She followed him down the corridor. The tray remained where it was.
◆◆◆
Meera sat on the edge of her bed.
She had changed into dry clothes. Her hands kept returning to her temple, her cheek, her neck, tracing the memory of him. Heat lingered there, familiar, unsettling, making her breath catch each time she remembered that moment.
The door opened. She straightened at once, rising from habit.
“Please.” Sarita closed the door behind her. “Sit.”
Meera obeyed, her fingers already reaching for her dupatta, twisting the fabric as if it could anchor her.
Sarita didn’t take the chair.
She crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. Close enough to reach. Not enough to overwhelm. Her hand rested on Meera’s head, warm, reassuring, a touch that carried a mother’s affection.
“Are you alright?”
Meera nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again.
Sarita smiled warmly. Her hand moved, smoothing Meera’s hair. “That is the only honest answer.”
Meera exhaled. Her eyes dropped to her hands.
“I want to tell you something first.” Sarita waited until Meera looked up. “Whatever you choose, you have my love. It does not depend on this. It did not begin today, and it will not change tomorrow. I tell you this so that nothing I say next feels heavy. It is only a mother speaking.”
The tightness in Meera’s chest eased, just a little.
Sarita noticed. “Good.”
She settled more comfortably. “You should also know that Anand men are… not simple.”
Meera blinked.
“Possessive,” Sarita counted on her fingers. “Overwhelming. Convinced of their own logic. Incapable of doing anything in moderation.”
A pause.
“Rajendra once bought an entire flower market because I mentioned I liked dahlias.”
Meera stared at her.
“The whole market,” Sarita repeated. “Not a bouquet. Not a garden. The market. We could not find the furniture for three days.”
A laugh escaped Meera before she could stop it. Small at first, then brighter, free.
Sarita watched, pleased. “So you see what you would be dealing with.”
“I think I have an idea,” Meera managed, breath uneven.
“You have more than an idea.” Sarita’s tone softened. “You may be the only person who has stopped him mid-sentence. Naina has been reporting everything. According to her, you are the only one who tells him no and walks away without reconsidering.”
Meera pressed her lips together, trying and failing to suppress another laugh.
Sarita’s expression warmed further. “She is not wrong. I have been watching. Each time you hold your ground, he changes. A little. He does not know what to do with you. No one has ever refused him. You do.”
Meera turned her face aside, her shoulders shaking.
“Naina,” Sarita continued, calm, “has also informed me that you are, in her exact words, perfect for her brother. You are not intimidated by him, you care for the Haveli, and you laugh at his jokes even when he does not realise he is making them.”
Meera covered her face, laughter slipping through her fingers.
When she lowered her hands, her eyes shone.
Sarita watched for a moment, satisfied. “There. That is better.”
The air in the room eased. The weight remained, though it no longer pressed.
“He wants to speak with you.” The words came out simply. “Alone. He believes you should hear everything from him.”
Meera’s eyes dropped again, her fingers twisting her dupatta.
“Would you meet him?”
Meera closed her eyes for a moment. Rain. His voice. His hand at her face. The way he had held her.
Her breath deepened.
“Yes.” The word came quietly. “I will.”
Sarita’s hand covered hers. “Good.”
She rose.
At the door, she paused and turned back once. “Take your time. And Meera… this home has always been open to you.”
The door closed behind her.
Meera remained where she was. Her fingers rose again, touching her neck, with all she could not yet name.
◆◆◆
Sarita closed Meera’s door and returned to the sitting room.
Naina sat at the edge of the sofa, alert. Devendra and Gauri faced her, composed, waiting. All three looked up as Sarita entered.
She took her seat, hands folded in her lap. “Devendra ji, before I came here, Abhinav asked for one thing.”
Her gaze held his. “That Meera be given the chance to meet him once. Alone. Before she decides. Just the two of them. I asked her. She has agreed.”
Devendra turned to Gauri. Their eyes met. Years of understanding passed between them.
He looked back at Sarita. “When?”
“Tomorrow. Outside the Haveli.”
He considered it, then gave a single nod.
Sarita rose. She lifted the shagun tray and carried it to the small shelf in the corner, where Kul Devi’s photograph watched over the room. She placed the tray there with both hands.
“Let it remain here tonight.” She turned toward them. “Tomorrow, when Meera gives her answer, I will place it in her hands myself.”
Devendra’s eyes moved from the tray to the goddess above it, then to Sarita. His hands came together. The gesture said everything it needed to.