57
It had been a few months since that day - the most painful and terrifying day of my life.
But I'd come a long way. My body had healed, and my heart.
.. it was slowly getting there too. The sting of not being able to conceive still lingered quietly in dark corners of my soul, but with Dattatriya constantly reminding me that I was his everything, and my family drowning me in warmth and chaos - I had learned to breathe again.
Especially Dattatriya. That man didn't just love me - he worshipped me. And his beast mode in bed? Yeah... definitely part of my therapy.
*
Today was special.
We were going to Mahakal Temple for a big family pooja - a fresh beginning, a spiritual cleanse.
I wore a beautiful red silk saree with a golden border. My hair was loose with fresh jasmine woven in, and I'd kept my makeup light - just a little sindoor and a soft red bindi. The mangalsutra around my neck felt heavier today - in a good way.
And my husband? Damn.
Dattatriya came out in a black silk kurta, sleeves folded, jawline sharper than my eyeliner. I blinked, once. Twice.
"You planning to kill me, CM saab?" I teased, circling him.
He smirked, pulling me close by the waist, careful of my sari pleats. "I should be asking you that, Mrs. Agnivanshi. Red saree? Open hair? Jasmine flowers? What are you trying to do - get me arrested for public indecency?"
I laughed. "I just want to be traditional."
"You look like temptation in silk," he murmured against my ear, his hand briefly brushing over my waist. I shivered.
"We're going to the temple, Datta!"
"I'll do my praying after we return," he winked, stepping back with that sinful smirk.
*
We drove to the Mahakal Temple with Sharaa in the backseat, chewing on his meat quietly like a good boy. Once we arrived, I stepped out carefully and the first thing I heard-
"Diiiii!"
Utsav came barrelling toward me, nearly knocking over a flower stall in the process. He hugged me tightly.
"You look so pretty in red! Dattatriya jiju will faint for sure," he whispered, and I giggled.
Then came Bhairava bhaiya, holding a giggling Jayash, and Arya bhabhi glowing beside him in a pale pink saree.
"You're glowing today," Arya smiled, hugging me.
"That's called post-married bliss glow," Bhairava bhaiya added smugly.
Then Dyan bhaiya walked over holding his very pregnant Swarna bhabhi - eight months now - and she was muttering something about her swollen feet.
Gyan bhaiya followed with Adya bhabhi, whose belly had just started showing.
I gasped. "ADYA! YOU'RE GLOWING!"
"She's acting like it's her first pregnancy, and not mine," Gyan grumbled playfully.
"Because I'm cuter than you," Adya retorted, sticking her tongue out.
I was still laughing when I heard a familiar voice from behind.
"Katha..."
I turned. My heart stopped.
"PAPA?!"
I ran to him without a second thought. My father - Sahadev Choudhury - stood in a white kurta with his arms wide open. I launched into his embrace, tears immediately welling in my eyes.
"Papa," I whispered, hugging him tight. "You came..."
He kissed the top of my head. "Of course I came, meri jaan. I couldn't miss your moment with Mahakal. You've been through enough. Now only good days."
"Promise?" I whispered.
"I give you my life, not just promise," he said, voice thick.
Then I turned and hugged Dattatriya's parents - Pooja and Shiva Agnivanshi - who had also arrived.
"Maa, Papa," I said warmly, hugging them both. "Thank you for everything."
Pooja maa cupped my face. "You are the daughter too just like Adya and Athira. You've brought joy to our home."
Shiva Papa nodded. "And strength. You're stronger than most men I know."
Dattatriya greeted everyone, but his eyes kept flicking to me - protective, possessive, proud.
And I? I stayed close to my papa, my head on his shoulder like I used to as a child.
Because no matter how old I grew, there was something about a father's arms that made every pain - even the silent ones - hurt a little less.
I stood before the mighty Mahakal, my hands folded, head bowed, but my heart screaming silently.
"Why did you take the one thing that would have been my light? My baby? My happiness? Why did you do this to me?"
There was no anger in my expression. Only a calm sorrow.
"But Mahakal... my Datta is your biggest devotee. He bows only to you. How could you let this happen to him? To us? Please... please give us the happiness we deserve. If not for me... for him..."
I blinked away the tear that escaped and quickly wiped my face before anyone saw.
Datta's hand found mine. "What happened, sunshine?" he whispered, worry in his voice.
I forced a soft smile and shook my head. "Nothing... just felt something in the air," I lied.
He didn't press. He never did. He knew when to give me space.
*
After the pooja, like always, Dattatriya had organized maha prasad for everyone. Rows and rows of people sat on mats - villagers, pilgrims, wandering sadhus - and we, the Choudhury-Agnivanshi clan, served them with our own hands.
Laughter echoed, the aroma of food filled the air, and my red saree fluttered in the breeze as I moved around, plate after plate.
But suddenly... my eyes caught something.
A little boy - no more than three or four - crouched near the edge of the crowd. Two slightly older boys were pushing him, laughing cruelly. The little boy didn't fight back. He just sat there, shielding his head.
My heart stopped.
I rushed over immediately.
"HEY!" I snapped. "Why are you hitting him?!"
The two bullies froze at my sharp voice, and the sheer presence of me - Katha Choudhury Agnivanshi - was enough to make them scramble in fear and run off.
I knelt slowly, gently pulling the small boy behind me. His clothes were ripped, face streaked with mud, lips dry, and hair unkempt. He clutched a tiny broken wooden toy in his hand - as if that was all he owned.
He looked up at me with the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen.
God.
He was so beautiful.
I softened my voice. "Hi, baby," I said gently.
He blinked and then looked away shyly, his fingers curling around the toy tighter.
"H-hi..." he whispered, his voice tiny and hoarse.
I smiled and sat cross-legged before him. "What's your name, love?"
He hesitated, eyes unsure, as if waiting for me to yell like others probably had.
"Me... me... Nirmay," he finally said in broken speech.
"Nirmay," I repeated softly, as if it was the most precious name I'd ever heard. "That's such a beautiful name."
He looked down. "M-mummy... no mummy..." he whispered.
My heart cracked.
"No mummy?" I whispered, cupping his face gently. He flinched at first, but then leaned into my palm.
He was so small. His cheeks were sunken. His arms too thin for a child his age.
"How old are you, jaan?" I asked softly.
He lifted three tiny fingers. "Tee..."
"Three?" I asked.
He nodded slowly.
My throat tightened. Three years old... alone... living on the streets?
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and gently wiped his muddy cheek with the end of my saree. "Did you eat anything today?"
He shook his head.
"Do you want to eat?" I asked.
He hesitated, then gave a slow nod.
I smiled warmly and opened my arms. "Can I carry you, Nirmay?"
He looked at me again, scared... but something in him softened. He slowly stepped into my lap, wrapping his tiny hands around my neck. His skin was cold, and his chest heaved gently with silent relief.
I held him tightly - protectively - like he belonged there all along.
Like fate had brought him straight to my arms.
And for the first time in months, I felt something light up inside me.
Maybe... just maybe... Mahakal had a different answer to my prayer.
Not one born from my body... but one given straight from heaven.
I gently carried the little boy-Nirmay-to the prasad area. He was featherlight in my arms, too small, too thin for a child who should've been giggling and running around. His cheeks were hollow, his clothes torn, and his wide eyes looked at the plate of food like it was a miracle.
I sat down with him in my lap, cradling him close as I began feeding him warm bites of khichdi and halwa from the prasad.
He didn't speak, he just ate-and oh, how he ate.
Desperately. Hungrily. His tiny hands clutched the edge of the plate, and he looked up at me between bites, as if asking permission to keep going.
My heart twisted with each mouthful he swallowed.
Just then, I felt someone sit beside me. I didn't even need to turn-I knew who it was by the calm silence that followed.
"He's cute," Dattatriya said softly, his voice unusually gentle.
"I know," I whispered, still feeding Nirmay, who had now begun resting his small head against my chest, like he felt safe there.
"You want him, don't you?" he asked after a moment.
I looked at him and smiled with tears in my eyes. "You know me too well," I whispered.
There was a silence between us, thick and sacred. The kind that didn't need filling.
"What if... what if this is Mahakal's sign, Datta?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if... as He took away something from us, He gave us this angel instead? A part of our light, just in a different form."
Dattatriya didn't answer immediately. He looked at me, then at the small boy sleeping gently in my arms. And then, as if every unspoken word had found its form, he leaned over and kissed my forehead. "Then we raise him like our own. As our son."
I broke into a soft cry and held Nirmay closer.
A little while later, I gently shook the boy awake.
"Baby..." I said softly, brushing his dusty hair back. He blinked up at me with wide eyes, confused and innocent.
"Will you... come to my home?" I asked, voice trembling but filled with hope.
He stared for a few long seconds, like trying to understand if I really meant it. Then, after ten long minutes of silence and small, shy blinks...
"Y-you... gi-give food?" he asked, stuttering sweetly.
I nodded immediately, smiling with tears. "Yes, love. So much food. And toys. And a bed. And love. So much love."
"Me come," he said quietly.
And that was it.
My tears spilled as I looked at Dattatriya, whose lips curled into a rare, tender smile.
Our family was beginning again. Not as we had imagined, but maybe exactly as Mahakal had intended.