19 ~ In his bedroom #2
My eyes turned teary once again.
I quietly stood.
The bridal lehenga suddenly felt impossibly heavy, each step dragging against the floor.
Seema Chachi walked ahead while Ina and Ishika silently followed behind me.
The closer we came to the mandap, the louder the sounds became.
The priest's chants, the murmurs of relatives and the crackling of the sacred fire.
Every sound blended into a deafening hum inside my head.
Then I saw Kartik through the translucent veil.
Already seated beside the sacred fire.
Dressed as a groom and waiting.
A gentle push against my shoulder urged me forward.
"Baitho," Seema Chachi instructed.
(Sit down.)
I lowered myself onto the cushion beside him.
The sacred fire flickered between us, its flames dancing against the gold embroidery of our wedding clothes.
I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
Neither of us spoke.
I sat there, hands resting lifelessly in my lap, eyes fixed somewhere ahead yet seeing nothing.
I couldn't tell when the rituals had actually begun.
Everything around me had turned into a blur.
The priest's chants echoed continuously in the background, relatives moved around the mandap making arrangements, cameras flashed every few seconds, and yet it all felt strangely distant.
Someone gently held my right hand.
I looked down. It was Papa. His hands were trembling.
For the first time since all of this had happened, he looked at me properly. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen with tears and burdened by a guilt so heavy that it seemed to have aged him within a single evening.
Without saying a word, he slowly placed my hand into Kartik's.
His fingers closed around mine. Firm and warm.
I instinctively wanted to pull my hand back but I didn't.
My throat tightened painfully.
Why was I the one paying for a decision I hadn't made?
The priest instructed Papa and Mumma to perform the Kanyadaan.
With folded hands and tear-filled eyes, they completed the sacred ritual, entrusting my hand to Kartik's according to tradition.
Mumma couldn't stop crying. Tears continuously rolled down her cheeks as she touched my face one last time before moving aside. Papa avoided looking at me altogether, as though he couldn't bear the weight of what he had just done.
The priest recited the mantras with calm authority, explaining the sanctity of the vows we were about to take. A corner of my dupatta was tied securely to Kartik's stole, forming the gathbandhan - a symbolic knot representing the union of two lives.
I stared at the knot for a long moment.
It looked so simple. Just two pieces of fabric tied together yet it suddenly felt heavier than chains.
The priest gestured toward the sacred fire.
"Pheron ke liye khade ho jaiye."
(Please stand up for the wedding rounds.)
I remained seated. I didn't wanted to do this. But soon I felt Seema Chachi hold my frame and made me stand up.
My legs felt weak beneath the weight of the bridal lehenga.
The sacred fire crackled between us as the priest began chanting the seven vows. One by one, we walked around the fire, each round symbolizing promises of companionship, trust, responsibility, prosperity, family, loyalty, and lifelong partnership.
People showered flower petals over us.
Some relatives smiled through their tears while others whispered prayers.
I heard none of it. I simply kept walking. One step after another.
As though every circle around the fire carried me farther away from the life I had imagined for myself.
The time the seventh phera ended, the priest asked us to sit once again.
Someone handed Kartik a small black-beaded necklace.
The mangalsutra.
My heartbeat quickened.
I lowered my gaze.
Without a word, he leaned forward and gently placed it around my neck. The cool beads brushed against my skin before settling against my collarbone.
A strange heaviness settled inside my chest.
Almost immediately afterward, the priest held out the small silver box containing vermilion.
"Sindoor."
I felt every pair of eyes resting on us.
Slowly...he reached into the box.
His fingers gathered a pinch of vermilion.
For one brief second, his hand paused.
Then, without speaking, he filled the parting of my hair with sindoor.
The bright red powder settled into my hairline.
A collective murmur of blessings rose from the relatives.
Someone blew a conch shell.
The sounds echoed through the courtyard.
The priest smiled warmly as he looked at both of us.
"Vivah ki sabhi rasmein sampann hui." He folded his hands. "Aaj se aap dono pati-patni hain."
(All the wedding rituals have been completed. From today onwards, you both are husband and wife.)
The words landed like a final verdict.
He continued. "Ab aap dono apne badon ka ashirwad le lijiye."
(Now both of you should seek the blessings of your elders.)
Someone gently signaled us to stand.
Mechanically, I rose to my feet.
One by one, we moved through the line of elders.
My feet carried me forward mechanically while Kartik walked beside me in complete silence. The wedding rituals had ended, but the heaviness inside me had only grown stronger.
We first bent before Dadi.
Her frail hands immediately rested on our heads.
"Khush raho... hamesha saath raho," she whispered, though her own voice trembled with emotion. When I straightened, she held my face for a brief moment, her eyes filling with fresh tears.
(Stay happy... always stay together.)
We moved to Kartik's father next. He placed his hand on my head. "Khush raho..."
(Stay happy...)
One by one, every elder blessed us.
Finally...we stopped before Mumma and Papa.
The moment I bent to touch their feet, Mumma could no longer control herself.
She immediately pulled me into a tight embrace.
Her shoulders shook violently as she cried.
"Please, Chahat..." she sobbed. "Humein maaf kar do."
(Forgive us, Chahat.)
For a second...I simply stood there.
My arms remained by my sides.
I couldn't hug her back. Not because I didn't love her but because something inside me had broken.
Something that wasn't ready to forgive.
I slowly stepped back from her embrace.
The tears had stopped falling from my eyes, only exhaustion remained.
"Please stop this drama, Mumma."
The bitterness in those few words silenced everyone standing nearby.
Her face crumpled. Papa stood silently.
No one knew what to say.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kartik looking at me.
For the first time since the wedding had begun, his gaze lingered on my face a little longer than usual. He didn't interrupt. He didn't defend anyone. He simply watched me, his expression unreadable.
Then Seema Chachi broke the silence.
"Theek hai..." She said quietly. "Ab bidaai ka waqt ho gaya hai." My heart sank.
(Alright... now it's time for the farewell.)
Without realizing it, my fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of my dupatta.
Kartik gently took hold of my hand again.
His grip wasn't forceful. It was steady.
He looked toward my parents before speaking in an even voice.
"Aap fikar mat kijiye. Main Chahat ka dhyan rakhunga."
(Don't worry. I will take care of Chahat.)
The sentence echoed strangely inside my mind.
I almost laughed.
Take care of me?
The same man who had questioned my character.
The same man who had humiliated me.
Now stood before my parents promising to protect me.
The irony was almost unbearable.
The bidaai passed in a blur.
People cried, rice was thrown behind me according to tradition and blessings followed us until the very end.
I barely remembered any of it.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting inside the back seat of the decorated car.
The door shut with a dull thud.
It felt less like a farewell and more like closing of a cage.
Outside, relatives waved as the driver started the engine.
I didn't look back.
My eyes remained fixed on the passing road beyond the window.
The silence inside the car stretched endlessly.
Only the soft hum of the engine filled the space between us.
After several minutes, I heard his voice.
"Chahat..."
I didn't respond.
I kept looking outside, watching the familiar streets disappear one after another.
A few seconds later, he tried again.
"Chahat."
This time his voice was slightly clearer.
I heard it.
I simply chose to ignore it.
My silence lingered between us, heavier than any argument we'd ever had.
"Please. Don't say anything."
There wasn't anger in my voice anymore.
Only disappointment and exhaustion.
For a long second, he simply looked at me before he leaned back against the seat and looked straight ahead.
The rest of the journey passed in complete silence.
Nearly half an hour later, the large wrought-iron gates of Singhaniya Mansion slowly opened.
The car rolled inside the sprawling estate before coming to a gentle halt beneath the brightly illuminated entrance.
The mansion glowed under hundreds of warm fairy lights. Fresh marigold garlands hung from every pillar, rows of diyas flickered along the marble steps, and family members had already gathered at the entrance, waiting to welcome the newly married couple.
The driver opened the door.
I carefully stepped out, the heavy bridal lehenga making even the smallest movement difficult.
Before I could properly gather my dupatta, Seema Chachi appeared carrying a decorated silver thali. A small brass kalash filled with rice had been placed at the entrance, beside a shallow silver plate containing alta.
"Ruko." She adjusted the thali before looking at me. "Pehle griha pravesh hoga."
(Stop. First, the bride's welcome ritual will take place.)
I stood before the threshold, feeling dozens of eyes fixed upon me.
"Is kalash ko apne daaye pair se dheere se andar ki taraf girao," She instructed.
(Gently knock over this pot inward with your right foot.)
I lowered my gaze.