CHAPTER 42
The Silent Gods
MEHER
The temple feels different in the afternoons.
The corridors leading to it are quieter, the marble floors cooler under my feet even though the desert heat still presses heavy against the palace walls.
There’s no crowd, no line of pilgrims—there never is here.
This is the royal temple, folded into the heart of the palace itself, its sanctum reserved for family and those allowed into its inner circle.
My dupatta slips slightly as I adjust the brass thali in my hands, the little diya flickering with each step.
Sitara walks just behind me, humming faintly, her feet padding against the floor.
She has always been more devout than me.
I pray, yes, but my connection to God has always felt quieter, less ceremonial, more like whispers under my breath than elaborate rituals.
Maybe it was because I was always angry—because I always wondered why I had to go through hardships.
Why God wasn’t kind to me, if I wasn’t his child.
Why was everything so unfair? But I guess I just didn’t have patience to wait.
If I had known I would get so much respect and love from a man who can make everyone cower, who can have anything, anyone in this world, yet he would choose me, defend me, maybe I would not have been so… so distanced.
The temple doors stand open, carved wood gilded with age, and for a second, I pause on the threshold.
Not because I don’t want to go in. Not because of fear.
Just…because the last time I came here, I was stopped.
Blocked by Rajmata’s sharp voice, her disdain made public in the one place I thought even she might hold back.
Today, she is already inside.
Rajmata sits near the sanctum, her back perfectly straight, her sari draped with precision that makes her look carved out of stone. A brass bell rests in her lap, and her lips move faintly in prayer, but her eyes…her eyes lift the moment mine do.
And disgust settles there, plain as the flame in front of the deity.
It should sting. Perhaps it does. But not in the way she expects. Not in a way that makes me shrink. Because I am not here for her. I am here for Narayan.
I step forward, my chin steady, and cross the threshold. My steps echo softly in the chamber, and I kneel near the murthi without looking her way. The thali trembles faintly in my hands, but I set it down with care, bow my head, and let the silence settle.
Behind me, Sitara gasps suddenly. I turn, startled.
“What happened?”
Her eyes are wide, her hand flying to her forehead. “I forgot, bhabhi-sa—the flowers I collected for the Pooja. I left them in my room. Give me just a few minutes, I’ll run and bring them.”
I nod, a little awkward now under Rajmata’s gaze. “It’s alright. Go.”
She bows quickly, nearly trips on her way out, and then the room is quieter than before. Just me, Narayan, and the steady presence of the woman behind me.
I should begin the aarti. I should ignore her entirely. I tell myself I will. But then—A soft tsk cuts through the silence.
“You might think highly of yourself,” Rajmata says. Her voice is low, controlled, not meant for anyone else’s ears. Which means she knows what she’s doing. She knows this is for me, and me alone.
I don’t respond. My fingers tighten around the matchstick I was about to strike, but I don’t move.
She continues. “Walking in here as if you have earned the right. Sitting there like you belong.”
Her words press against my back like a weight, but I hold still. I focus on the murthi, the serene face of the goddess looking back at me, unchanging, unmoved.
Rajmata’s voice softens, but the poison in it doesn’t. “Do you ever think about what you’re doing to him? Every day, another controversy. Every day, another insult attached to his name. And all because of you.”
My breath catches, but I stay silent. I know she wants a reaction.
“Do you know how many calls I still get? How many whispers I hear? They ask why he tolerates it. Why he defends you. He could have had peace. He could have ruled without question. Instead, he is dragged through mud every morning in the papers because of the woman he chose.”
The words cut deeper than I want to admit. Because I have seen it. The headlines, the questions, the sidelong glances. I know what people say when they think I can’t hear.
“You are only causing him trouble,” she presses, her voice sharpened now. “And you think love will be enough to protect him? Love doesn’t silence critics. Love doesn’t preserve crowns.”
Still, I stay quiet. My throat feels too tight for words.
Then she leans forward and her next sentence lands like a blade.
“I have two more capable sons, Meher. Sons who haven’t lost their minds over a girl. Devraj may have stripped me of rights, but don’t forget—I still know how to take away a crown.”
My head jerks, finally turning to look at her. Her face is calm, too calm, her eyes steady like she’s said nothing out of the ordinary.
Something inside me cracks—not in fear, but in bitter disbelief.
And I laugh. Quietly at first, then fuller, a sound edged with something I can’t name.
She frowns faintly. “What is so amusing?”
“How do you live with yourself?” I ask, and the words spill out before I can stop them. “You sit here in front of God, in a temple, and you talk about crowns and power. You talk about your sons like they are pawns on a board, not people. How do you pray with that much venom in your heart?”
Her eyes narrow.
“Tell me,” I push, my voice rising. “Do you even see him anymore? Raja-sa. Not the king. Not the heir. Your son. The boy who grew up in this palace, the boy who spent his entire life trying to live up to your impossible expectations. Do you remember him?”
The silence that follows feels heavier than her words. Her lips press thin, and for a second, I think I see something flicker in her eyes. But then it’s gone, replaced with cold steel.
“You presume too much,” she says dismissively.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, suddenly exhausted. “I see too much. That’s the problem.”
I stand abruptly, the match falling forgotten into the thali. I don’t want to sit in front of the goddess anymore. Not like this. Not with her shadow pressing in.
I walk out without waiting for Sitara to return, without offering a final bow, my footsteps echoing too loud in the quiet corridor.
And as soon as I’m alone, away from Rajmata’s eyes, the weight of her words finally sinks in.
Because she isn’t entirely wrong, is she?
Controversy after controversy. Raja-sa defending me, standing tall while the world throws stones.
And every time, I tell myself we can bear it together.
But what if it’s too much? What if I am only breaking him, piece by piece, while pretending we are strong?
He has already had one woman, his mother, ruining him.
I don’t want to join the queue. I would rather die than do that to him.
I press my hand against the wall, my breath unsteady.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am selfish. Maybe all I’ve ever done is cause harm to the man I love.
He has gone through enough. More than enough.
And I cannot—will not—be the reason he loses everything.
The thought takes shape slowly, painfully, but once it’s there, I can’t shake it.
This must end.
Whatever it takes, however it hurts—this must end.