32
Finally, after the pooja and sacred rituals had ended, Datta and I turned toward my family.
The silence was still hanging heavy, thick with disbelief and emotion - not because of the pooja itself, but because of what they had just witnessed: Dattatriya Agnivanshi, the emotionless, untouchable, feared Chief Minister, had touched my feet. No one had seen it coming. Not even me.
Without hesitation, Datta stepped forward and bowed before my papa, taking his blessings.
My father placed his trembling hand on Datta's head, still in shock.
His eyes flickered to me with a mix of surprise and something softer - approval, perhaps, or relief.
One by one, Datta took blessings from the elders with the same humility, the same grace.
Then, bhabhi came close to me, leaning in, her voice low and teasing, "Wah, seriously, bacha... you found yourself a devotee husband?"
I smiled softly, the corner of my lips twitching with pride and mischief. "I did good kidnapping Gowtham, didn't I?" I whispered back.
Bhabhi let out a quiet laugh, covering her mouth as she nodded, clearly still processing it all. "The best decision you've ever made," she muttered.
Just then, my bhaiyas walked toward me - Bhairava bhaiya in front, followed by Gyan bhaiya and Dyan bhaiya.
They didn't say anything immediately, but the way they looked at me - proud, protective, a little overwhelmed - said enough.
My little brother Utsav was holding my hand tightly, his fingers interlaced with mine as though he didn't want to let go.
Then, Datta turned to me and said softly, "Come, sunshine."
"Where?" I asked, confused.
"Come," he repeated, this time gently taking my hand.
I didn't question him further. I followed him, our fingers entwined, through the temple courtyard and to the open area just outside where rows and rows of people - from children to elders - were seated, waiting.
A long line of volunteers stood ready, and large vessels of food were arranged on the side.
I looked at Datta, confused. "What is-"
"I've prepared prasad for everyone in this town," he whispered, his voice filled with something gentle and profound.
"I got my sunshine... so the whole world deserves the blessing.
I want them to eat this and bless you - for a long, healthy, happy life.
So you'll always be strong. So you'll always be with me. "
I bit my lower lip, trying to stop the tears that burned at the edges of my eyes. But it was too late.
I looked at him through the tears and whispered, "Don't do all this, Datta... it's too much..."
He turned to me, brushing away the tear that had slipped down my cheek with the softest touch. "Don't cry, sunshine," he said, his voice low and steady. "You deserve all of this. Every bit of it."
Then he left my side and walked forward, picking up the rice bucket and beginning to serve prasad to the people with his own hands - without any arrogance, without any need for attention. He did it like a man giving thanks for a divine gift.
As I stood there watching him, Bhairava bhaiya came to my side and gently wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I looked up at him and saw a faint smile on his face.
"Thank god Gowtham ran away from that wedding," Bhairava bhaiya murmured. "Or else we would've lost this gem."
Gyan bhaiya nodded silently, his expression firm, but proud.
Dyan bhaiya, as usual, said nothing - but his eyes never left Dattatriya. He was watching him serve, not with suspicion, but with deep, curious intensity. It was rare to see Dyan quiet for this long.
Just then, Utsav tugged my hand, and I looked down at him. "Dii," he said in a soft voice.
"Ha, mera bacha?" I asked, brushing his hair back.
"Jiju is the best," he declared and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug.
I blinked back tears again and hugged him close, my eyes finding Datta in the crowd. He was still serving - focused, peaceful, and strangely... content.
A moment later, Papa and Bhabhi came and stood beside me, their gazes fixed on Dattatriya. No one said anything, but I could feel the silent understanding that passed between us all.
For the first time in years, I felt like I had found peace in this chaos - and the man who created that peace was the same man everyone feared. But not me.
I had found my home in him.
I walked quietly toward the car, my heart still heavy from everything Datta had done, but my arms already reaching for the one soul that always made everything feel lighter - my baby, Sheraa.
He was just waking up, his big blue eyes blinking slowly, his tiny paws rubbing at them sleepily.
My heart melted instantly. "Aw, my sweet little snow leopard cub," I whispered, scooping him up into my arms gently.
He let out a soft yawn, nuzzling into my chest, still a little drowsy but calm in my hold.
I turned to the head of our security team. "Pass me Sheraa's essentials bag," I said, and they immediately handed it over.
Unzipping it, I pulled out his feeding bottle - already filled with warm milk, exactly how he liked it.
"Sorry, bacha," I murmured softly, "Mama didn't bring meat today.
We're in a temple, so we'll manage with milk for now, hmm?
" He gave a soft mewl as if understanding, and then immediately began drinking from the bottle as I held it to his mouth.
I smiled down at him, brushing his soft fur, kissing his head. "You're such a good boy."
Once he was done, I adjusted the cloth on my shoulder, nestled him carefully against me, and began walking back toward where the rest of my family stood. The moment I stepped closer, a few gasps and soft chuckles echoed around.
"Is that... a leopard cub?" someone murmured from the crowd.
Sheraa was now fully awake, his eyes darting around curiously, his ears twitching as he looked at all the food, people, and noise. He clung closer to me, but not out of fear - just comfort.
As I walked back toward Datta, I saw him glance up mid-serving. His eyes met mine and instantly softened when he saw Sheraa in my arms. A flicker of a rare smile touched his lips.
I came to stand beside him. "Look who's awake," I said gently.
He leaned down just a little, rubbing Sheraa's head with a tenderness no one would ever believe existed in Dattatriya Agnivanshi. "Hey, little warrior," he murmured. "Had a good nap?"
Sheraa licked his finger in response, and Datta's smile deepened - just enough for me to see it.
And in that moment - my hand in one of Datta's, Sheraa cradled in the other - surrounded by my family, and a hundred strangers receiving blessings in the form of food - I realized something.
This wasn't just a moment.
This was my life now.
And it was perfect.
Sheraa was now curled up happily in Utsav's arms, playfully pawing at his sleeves while Utsav giggled, completely engrossed in his little companion. The sight made my heart warm - the chaos of the past few days felt far away in that simple moment of joy.
I quietly sat down beside Dattatriya as the volunteers began serving us prasad. The fragrant aroma of the temple food - simple, warm, and made with pure devotion - filled the air.
Datta took a bite first, then gently turned to me and held out a morsel toward my mouth. "Eat, sunshine," he whispered softly.
I looked at him, the way he said it - so tender, so ours - and opened my mouth, eating from his hand.
We didn't speak more after that. There was no need.
He quietly finished the rest of my leftover portion, eyes closed like he was savoring it with reverence, and I just watched, a soft calm settling between us.
Once we were done, I got up and washed my hands nearby, and as I turned, he wordlessly removed his shawl and offered it to me to wipe my hands. I smiled at that - it was such a Datta thing to do. I gently wiped my hands and arms with it, then folded it neatly and gave it back.
We walked together to where our family stood, everyone ready to leave.
Just as we were about to step out of the temple premises, I noticed four people standing near the entrance, being blocked by Datta's security team.
Something about them made me pause - they weren't protesting or causing a scene. They just stood there... waiting.
"Why are your men not letting that family come in, Datta?" I asked curiously, touching his arm.
He turned to look. The second his eyes landed on them, I saw it - the way his jaw tightened, his body stiffened. His entire presence shifted from warmth to cold steel.
My father glanced at the group and asked, "Aren't they... your father, Dattatriya?"
I frowned and turned to Papa, confused. "His father?"
I looked back at the man who now stared at Datta with a face full of something I couldn't name - pain? Regret? Desperation?
"Dattatriya," the man called out softly, voice almost pleading.
But Datta immediately raised his hand and cut him off coldly. "Didn't I tell you never to show me your face again? You and your family?"
A young girl beside the man stepped forward, her eyes misting. "Bhaiya-" she began.
But he didn't let her finish.
"I'm not your 'bhaiya,'" he said, voice low and cutting. "I have only one sister. And that is my Adya. No one else."
His face had changed entirely now. Not the calm, professional mask he wore in public, nor the quiet softness he reserved for me and Sheraa. No - this face was laced with fury, grief, and hate. His voice was like stone, and his eyes were darker than I'd ever seen.
"Dattatriya beta-" the older woman tried, her voice trembling.
"I'm not your beta," he snapped. "How many times do I have to say that?"
She fell silent instantly, lowering her head. The young man with them said nothing, only stared at Dattatriya - like he wanted to speak, but couldn't. His eyes, though - they held the same longing I'd seen earlier. A silent kind of heartbreak.
Just then, Adya walked in from the side path, smiling until her eyes landed on the group at the gate. Her smile vanished instantly. She didn't say a word. She simply walked straight to Dattatriya and stood by his side - close, protective.
But I noticed something no one else did.
Gyan bhaiya's hand had quietly found hers.
It was subtle - hidden between folds of clothing and angles of silence - but it was there. A silent gesture of strength.
I didn't say anything. I just watched.
Whatever this was... this rift... this old wound - it was far deeper than I had imagined. And whatever pain lived in Dattatriya's heart because of them, it still burned. Fierce and unhealed.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Do vote