Chapter - 13
The room was filled with people, but I felt alone. There were voices, there were footsteps and the sound of jewellery clinking somewhere behind me. But all of it felt distant, like I was hearing it through water.
Someone tightened the strings of my lehenga, someone else adjusted the border again, even though it were already perfect. Another woman fixed my dupatta for the third time, pulling it forward so it covered my head properly.
"Please sit straight, Raanisa." one of them said gently.
My eyes widened immediately and I looked at her in what I thought was disbelief and shock but all she did was give me a small smile before continuing to work again.
Raanisa.
That was going to be me.
I looked into the mirror that showed me a bride.
Red lehenga with heavy embroidery, arms covered with bangles and underneath those, the mehendi that had deepened overnight.
My hair was pulled back in a bun, flowers woven into it.
My neck felt heavy under layers of jewellery.
A necklace sat at my collarbones, matching earrings brushing against my neck every time I turned my head slightly and a huge nath with a chain tucked in my hair.
I did not look myself but I could not let my mind go there.
No one from my family was here but I tried so, so hard to not let my mind go there either but that thought kept returning, again and again, no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
Mumma used to tell me that I would make the most beautiful bride in the world and how she would herself make me get ready for my wedding. There was no Papa standing awkwardly in the corner, pretending not to be emotional. No Jai bhaiya cracking a stupid joke to make me smile.
Just strangers.
"Time to go." someone announced and my heart skipped a beat, then started beating faster.
Two women helped me stand. The weight of my lehenga settled around my legs, grounding me. I took a deep breath and nodded, even though no one had asked me anything.
The doors opened.
Music. Drums. Voices. The sharp beats of the shehnai cutting through everything else. The smell of flowers and incense hit me immediately and I felt that I was going to be sick and I held my steps half a second at the doorway.
The garden stretched out in front of me, glowing under hundreds of lights. Strings of warm yellow bulbs were wrapped around trees, draped over arches, woven into the hedges. Flowers were everywhere. Roses. Marigolds. Jasmine.
The mandap stood in the centre of the garden, raised slightly above the grass. It was decorated with white and red flowers, long fabric drapes flowing softly in the night breeze and lamps burned at every corner.
People were seated on both sides, rows and rows of them. Royals. Guests. Faces I did not know and would probably never truly know. They all turned to look at me at the same time.
The music grew louder as I started walking and flower petals were thrown into the air, some landing on my dupatta, some catching in my hair.
I kept my eyes lowered.
I did not look up, I just could not.
My hands were clasped tightly in front of me, fingers locked together as if that was the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.
Green grass. Flower petals crushed underfoot. The edge of the mandap coming closer.
Across from me stood Ranaji. I did not lift my eyes.
Not even for a second. I could feel him looking at me, though.
The priest's chanting grew clearer as I reached the mandap and someone placed the varmala into my hands and my fingers trembled as I held it, the bangles sliding against my wrists, making that sound.
"Varmala," the priest prompted and my throat felt dry.
He was tall, I had realised that quite a few times in this past month but standing this close to him made the difference impossible to ignore.
He was well over six feet, broad-shouldered, straight-backed.
I barely reached his chest. Even with my heels hidden under the lehenga, I felt small. Smaller than I already did.
I lifted my hands slowly. The garland rose with them, my arms stretching upward. For a moment, it felt impossible. The flowers hovered awkwardly between us, not quite reaching.
Someone took a step behind me, ready to step forward and help.
Before they could, Ranaji bent down just enough to meet me halfway.
I slid the garland over his head and it settled against his sherwani. My hands brushed his shoulders by accident and I pulled back immediately.
He straightened.
Then it was his turn and he easily settled the garland around me neck.
People showered us with flower petals and I flinched.
Then Pankhuri guided me to the seat. I lowered myself and she arranged the lehenga around me.
The Panditji continued his chanting and I folded my hands in my lap, staring at the fire. I did not look at him seated next to me.
Then, I zoned out, forcing my brain to think about things like Taylor Swift's latest album, Messi's tour to India and the IPL auction that will happen tomorrow.
How did I know that? I heard two servants talking about it and I really, really hope that CSK ends up buying Cameron Green. Nothing, absolutely no one can compensate for Jaddu. Oh god, how will I see him in any other colour except for yellow? Stupid management decisions. He.....
"Kanyadaan."
I heard that word and Panditji called out for my parents, bringing me back immediately to the reality, to where I was sitting, to what was happening here.
No one came up. No one was here.
My fingers tightened around the edge of my dupatta. My chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left behind. Mumma should have been here. Papa should have been here. Someone should have stood beside me and held my hand.
Instead, an elder from the royal family stepped forward.
He spoke the words meant for a father. Words about responsibility, about giving away a daughter, about trust.
They sounded correct but they felt wrong.
My hands were lifted and placed into Rudra's as his fingers closed around mine without squeezing too hard. I could not pull away from him here.
After that, Panditji asked us to stand.
Ranaji moved first. I followed automatically, my hand still in his. The fire crackled in front of us, small flames rising and falling, throwing light on our faces. I kept my eyes fixed on it, because if I looked anywhere else, I knew I would break.
The saat phere began.
The priest explained each vow before every round.
The first phera.
He spoke about food, nourishment, and providing for the household. I walked slowly, careful of my lehenga, careful of my steps.
The second phera.
Strength, health and protection. Rudra's steps were not too slow or fast.
I matched it without thinking.
The third phera.
Prosperity and responsibility. My bangles clinked softly every time my arm moved. The sound felt too loud in my ears.
The fourth phera.
Respect and balance in marriage. My chest tightened. I focused on the sound of the fire instead. I wondered if Mumma would have cried at this moment. I wondered if Papa would have looked away.
Panditji paused before announcing, "Now the bride will lead."
Ranaji took one step back and let me move ahead of him, my hand still in his.
For half a second, my body forgot how to move because all this while, I was just following things happening around me which was just simpler and now, I was expected to walk ahead and lead?
Panditji's voice filled the space again.
"The fifth phera," he announced. "For children, family and continuation of lineage."
I swallowed and took a step forward, trying to zone out his words again.
Taylor Swift, IPL Auction, something.
The grass felt cooler under my feet this time. My lehenga brushed against it, the hem pulling slightly with every movement. I walked carefully, afraid of tripping, afraid of falling, afraid of showing even a crack in front of so many people.
He followed behind me.
The sixth phera.
Panditji spoke about companionship. Standing together. Sharing burdens.
I moved again, my steps a little steadier this time. The initial shock had faded into something dull and heavy. Like exhaustion.
I thought about how alone I had always been taught to be strong. Maybe that was why this felt survivable. Not easy. Just survivable.
The seventh phera.
Trust. A shared life. Walking together until the end.
My chest burned.
This was the last one.
I took the final steps slowly, like I was crossing a line I could never come back from.
The priest asked us to sit again but how was I supposed to sit again? This lehenga was so heavy and the chair was really low.
I needed help but I was not going to ask for it from anyone here but I also did not want to make a fool out of myself.
Before I could figure out how to lower myself without losing balance, Ranaji moved. He stepped a little closer to me and shifted his hand from mine to my forearm and bent down as I lowered myself on the seat.
For a moment, my weight tilted forward and his hand tightened, just a fraction, enough to keep me steady.
Our eyes met then, only for a second. His expression was unreadable but his attention was entirely on me, which made me a little nervous and jittery.
Look somewhere else, dude, why me!
Only after I was settled did he release my arm and sit beside me.
The rituals continued.
The priest spoke more words, tied more meanings to our actions. Dadi handed Rudra the mangalsutra and he brought it closer to me as my head lowered a little automatically.
I felt the thread brush my neck, cool against my skin, then settle there as he tied it securely and while doing it, the back of his hand brushed slightly against the only part of my neck not covered in ornaments, sending a shiver down my spine.
My eyes lifted before I could stop them.
He was already looking down, focused on what he was doing.
I quickly looked away again, my fingers tightening in my lap. The mangalsutra rested against my collarbone now, another weight added to the many I was already carrying.
Panditji continued his chanting as if nothing unusual had happened.
Next came the sindoor.
Pankhuri stepped forward, adjusted the dupatta on my head and shifted my maathapatti aside, just a little, holding it.
From the periphery of my vision, I saw him taking sindoor from the box between his thumb and index fingers and I felt my eyes closing.
As he filled my hairline with sindoor, a single tear rolled down my cheek and he withdrew his hand away.
People rose from their seats. Someone threw rice again. Flower petals floated through the air.
Pankhuri helped me stand again and Ranaji and I walked towards Daadisa for aashirvaad.
I bent to touch her feet, so did he. She blessed him with jug jug jiyo and did not spare a look at me.
"Baba." I heard Rudra's voice as he bent down on his knees to his wheelchair and held his father's hands in his own, "I don't know if this wedding has hurt you but I could not do it.
I could not take a man's life and this was the alternative to it.
Please forgive me, Baba." I heard his very low voice, not meant for anyone but his father but I was standing too close.
Another tear escaped my eye.
Rudra straightened after a second, his face composed again, as if he had not just asked for something deeply personal in front of the entire world. He turned slightly, enough to make space for me.
I bent down, whispering, "I am so, so sorry uncle."
What else could I even say? At the end of the day, this was my truth.
It was my father who was responsible for this condition, his paralysis and for killing his wife and making his children practically orphan.
I could not escape this fact, no matter how I tried.
I stayed bent there for a second longer than required, my forehead almost touching the floor, my hands resting near his feet.
I straightened slowly and stood up on my own somehow. His eyes met mine for just a moment. They looked tired but not angry. Just tired in a way that made my chest ache.
That hurt more than hatred would have.
Someone announced that the dinner was served after I had greeted almost everyone around, from the Chief Minister to the Governor.
The rest of the evening passed in a zoomed blur for me because everything was happening around me but I had no idea what was going on.
"Welcome to the family, bhabhisa." I heard a familiar voice behind me as I was sitting next to Pankhuri.
I turned around to see Yuvaan who was carrying Ishaan in his arms.
I managed to give him a smile.
"I have kept your wife away from you and Ishaan for a long time, I apologise for that." I said and that looked at Pankhuri.
"You go on, I am fine here." I gave her a thankful smile too, for sticking around and helping me when didn't have to.
"And leave you alone? No Parthvi. Besides, Yuvaan will put Ishaan to bed now. It is way past his bedtime." She replied, looking at her husband first who gave her a nod with a smile.
Yuvaan shifted Ishaan in his arms, adjusting him carefully. Ishaan had his head resting on Yuvaan's shoulder, his small fingers clutching the fabric of his kurta, eyes half closed already.
"Good night, Priii." Ishaan murmured sleepily, his voice soft and heavy with sleep.
My heart tightened. Pri. Jai bhaiya calls me that.
"Good night, Ishaan." I said, lifting my hand just a little in a small wave because my body still felt strange and stiff in all this jewellery.
They left soon after, Ishaan already asleep in Yuvaan's arms. I watched them walk away for a second longer than necessary. There was something painfully normal about that small family moment. Something I felt completely outside of.
Pankhuri sat beside me, close enough that our arms almost touched.
"You did really well today," she said, handing me a glass of water.
I took the glass with both hands and took a small sip. My throat still felt dry, like it had forgotten how to relax.
"I don't feel like I did anything," I admitted. "I just sat there."
"Sometimes that's enough," she replied simply.
A few women came up to congratulate me, touching my arm, complimenting my lehenga, my jewellery, my smile. I thanked them politely. I smiled when expected. I nodded when required.
After a while, Pankhuri leaned closer. "Do you want to eat here or should we go inside? Mostly everyone has left."
"I don't feel like eating anything Pankhuri." I replied to her instantly.
"I understand. Wait, I'll just have someone get you a glass of coke. That always makes me feel better, it might help you too." She spoke up and that was one offer I could not refuse.
She really was sweet.
She spoke briefly to one of the attendants nearby and returned within minutes with a glass in her hand.
"Here," she said, placing it into my hands. " Just sip."
"Thank you," I said and she sat next to me again.
After some time, an attendant approached us and bowed slightly. "Raanisa, if you are ready, we will escort you to Ranaji's room as per Dadi Ranisa's orders."
Ranaji's room.
I nodded, even though my stomach tightened.
Pankhuri stood with me and adjusted my dupatta one last time. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said softly. "Try to rest."
"I will," I replied, though I had no idea how.
She squeezed my hand once before letting go.
My footsteps sounded too loud on the marble floor. Every few steps, my lehenga brushed against my ankles, reminding me that I was still dressed like this. Still carrying all of it on my body.
No one spoke.
We stopped in front of a large wooden door. It was carved, heavy, intimidating in a way only palace doors could be.
"This is your room, Raanisa." the attendant said gently and opened the door for me.
I stepped inside and they left me alone.
I had already seen it the other day.
On the table near the bed, I saw my bag and dragged myself to it. I opened it and pushed aside a few things until my fingers found what they were looking for.
That photograph I had taken from home.
I took it out and held it in both my hands.
I stood in the middle of it, with Mumma and papa on my left side and Jai bhaiya and Ruhani bhabhi on my right side and I made horns behind mumma and bhabhi's heads, laughing. Mumma had her arm around me. Papa was laughing mid-sentence
After that, I had gotten a smack on the head from both of them too but bhaiya was hell bent on getting this one framed. He said that it was the cutest among all normals.
Why was it getting so difficult to breathe around here?
I sat down on the edge of the couch, the photograph still clutched in my hands. My shoulders slumped forward and before I could stop myself, the first sob escaped.
Then another.
And another.
I pressed the photo against my chest and finally let myself cry. I cried the way I had not allowed myself to cry in days.
"I'm sorry." I whispered brokenly to the photograph. "I tried. I really tried to not let this happen."
I stayed like that for a few minutes. I did not know how long.
Eventually, my sobs eased and I pulled the photograph back, looking at it through my teary blurred eyes.
I lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to Mumma's face.
Then Papa's.
Then Jai bhaiya's and bhabhi's.
"I'll be okay, I promise." I whispered.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and placed the photograph back into the bag, zipping it closed as if sealing those memories inside.
As I straightened, a strange feeling crawled up my spine.
That feeling of not being alone.
My body stilled.
Slowly, I turned my head toward the door.
Rudra stood there.
He had not entered fully. One hand rested on the doorframe, his body angled slightly inward, as if he had stopped mid-step. His expression was conflicted. Tight. Like he had walked in at the wrong moment and did not know whether to leave or stay.
For half a second, neither of us moved, then reality crashed back into me and I turned away immediately, wiping my face quickly, swiping away the remaining tears before he could say anything. My shoulders straightened on instinct.
But I did not face him again.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
He was here.
And I was not ready to face this reality yet.