[2]FIRST DAY AFTER MARRIAGE
First day after marriage,
Amisha(8 years old).
Dawn slid through the jali in pale gold
blades, dust motes dancing like tiny fireflies.
Amisha woke first, springing from the quilt as if it were a trampoline.
Minakshi had laid out new clothes the night before-lavender anarkali, skirt brushing her ankles, dupatta so sheer it floated when she twirled.
Dadi's fingers had worked magic on her hair: a neat braid threaded with thin silver ribbon, ending in a soft tassel.
In the kitchen, two little girls perched on stools, passing diced carrots to Manisha.
Steam curled from the kadhai, carrying cumin and childhood.
Megha's braid mirrored Amisha's; side by side, they looked like twins separated by a single heartbeat.
Shekhawat walls whispered the old saying:
Bahu beti hoti hai. Here, it wasn't poetry-it was fact.
The school van honked.
Abhiraj, Mihir, Satish, Megha-four uniforms, four lunchboxes-vanished in a clatter of shoes and laughter.
The haveli fell suddenly huge, echoing.
Amisha wandered to the veranda, climbed the old wooden hichka, and set it rocking.
The swing's chains sang a rusty lullaby; her lavender skirt billowed like a parachute.
Dadi appeared, white saree crisp, voice soft steel.
"Kal se school laut jaana. Akeli ghar mein kya karegi itni badi haveli mein?"
Amisha's swing froze mid-air.
Her face split into sunrise.
School.
Lakshmi's warning-"Unki marzi"-had just bent in her favor.
She leapt off, bare feet slapping cool marble, and hugged Dadi's knees.
"Pakka?"
"Pakka."
Behind them, the hichka kept rocking, empty, carrying the promise of tomorrow.
Evening draped the haveli in bruised purples; the last school van coughed away dust.
Rajveer's car rolled in late, headlights slicing the dusk.
Inside their room, lamplight pooled gold over the study table.
Abhiraj hunched over Class X physics, pencil scratching like an angry wasp.
Amisha perched on the table's edge-lavender skirt fanned, legs swinging.
She leaned in, chin on fists.
"Kya padh rahe ho? Kaunsa subject? Tenth hai na?"
He didn't look up.
"Utar jaao table se."
She swung higher.
"Bataao na..."
The pencil snapped.
"AMISHA. Utar. Jao."
Her questions kept spilling-small, bright, relentless.
Irritation flared hot in his chest.
"Kitni baar bolna padega?"
he barked.
"Table kisi ke baithne ki jagah nahi hai! Niklo yahaan se!"
The room cracked open with silence.
Her grey eyes filled-fast, glassy.
Lower lip wobbled; a single tear slipped, tracing fire down her flushed cheek.
Nose pink, then crimson.
She slid down, bare feet silent, and fled.
Door clicked.
Abhiraj exhaled, shoulders loosening.
Finally.
He turned the page-then froze.
The image slammed back:
round cheeks blazing, nose twitching, that ridiculous pout trembling like it might break the world.
A smirk tugged his mouth, unbidden.
He shook his head, muttering to the empty air:
"How... stupidly cute."
Night pressed thick against the jali, moonlight slicing silver bars across the beds.
Abhiraj lay stiff under his blanket, eyes fixed on the ceiling's carved lotus, pretending sleep.
The door creaked-just enough.
Rajveer slipped in, barefoot, Amisha cradled against his chest like a broken bird.
She was out cold, lashes spiked with dried tears, cheeks still blotchy, nose pink.
One small foot kicked in dreams; the other clutched a half-melted chocolate bar-Rajveer's peace offering, bought for all four kids, now hers alone.
He lowered her onto her bed, tugged the rajai up to her chin.
The chocolate stayed clenched in her fist, wrapper crinkling softly.
Rajveer turned.
Lamplight caught the warning in his eyes.
"Dantna mat, Abhiraj. Pyaar se samjhana."
Abhiraj rolled away, yanking the blanket over his head like a fortress.
The door shut with a whisper.
Silence.
Only the faint rustle of Amisha's breathing, the chocolate wrapper crackling every time her fingers twitched.
Under the blanket, Abhiraj's smirk died.
He pictured her flushed face again-tears, pout, that stupid chocolate now smeared on the sheets.
His chest tightened, unfamiliar and sharp.
He punched the pillow once, hard.
Sleep, he ordered himself.
But the room smelled faintly of cocoa and little-girl tears, and the space between their beds felt smaller than ever.
_______________________________________
The courtyard shimmered under the noon sun, dust motes sparkling like tiny fireworks.
Amisha and Megha knelt beneath the peepal, marbles clinking between them.
Three boys sauntered over, grins sharp.
"Oho, moti dulhan!"
one sang, poking the air.
"Ghee ka dibba kha gayi kya?"
They burst into giggles, circling closer.
A long shadow slid across the ground, cool and sudden.
Abhiraj stepped in, hands in pockets, eyebrow cocked.
The boys squeaked and scattered like startled pigeons.
Megha chased a rolling marble, leaving the two alone.
Abhiraj dropped to a crouch, eyes dancing with mischief.
He reached out, big hand gently cupping Amisha's round cheek, giving it a playful squeeze.
Lips puffed into an automatic pout.
"Itni moti kyun ho tum?" he teased, voice light, almost sing-song.
"Mai moti nahi hoon!" she huffed, cheeks squishing further.
He tilted his head, pretending to inspect.
"Toh yeh kya hai?"
Thumb brushed the soft swell.
"Fist chubby hi toh ho!"
A soft pinch, then release.
"Thoda kam khao, patli ho jaogi."
She swatted his hand away, eyes
narrowing.
"Nahi hona patli! Main aise hi perfect hoon. Aap hi bure ho!"
She sprang up, lavender skirt twirling, and dashed off with a dramatic huff-anklets jingling like tiny bells of victory.
Abhiraj straightened, chuckling under his breath, watching the little storm vanish around the corner.
The kitchen smelled of cardamom and warm ghee.
Minakshi wiped her hands on her pallu, smiling at the two lavender-clad helpers.
"Bas, chalo. Kaafi madam ban gayi ho. Jaao padho, phir khelna."
Megha and Amisha bolted like twin arrows, giggles echoing down the corridor.
Amisha burst into their room.
Abhiraj sat at the study table, lamp haloing his bent head, physics book open like a battlefield.
She bounced over.
"Kitna padhte ho tum!"
He didn't look up.
"Haan, main. Tumhari tarah thodi khelta rehta hoon."
She puffed her cheeks.
"Main bhi padhti hoon!"
"Kab?"
"Abhi-abhi!"
She yanked her chhota bag onto the bed, unzipped it with drama, and pulled out her Class III science workbook.
Flipped to a page of pulleys and weights.
Began scribbling.
Two minutes later:
Pen cap between teeth, brows knotted, she chewed furiously.
The answer refused to come.
She marched to him, book thrust forward.
"Ye, dekh lo jawab nhi a raha!"
He flipped a page.
"Bad mein. Abhi padh raha hoon."
She planted fists on hips.
"Pati ho mere, madad karo meri!"
"Nahi hoon pati."
"Par shaadi toh ki hai na!"
He sighed-long, theatrical-then patted the table.
"Aaja."
She clambered up, folding legs tailor-style, workbook balanced on her knees.
He muttered under his breath, "Pata nahi yahan baithna kyun pasand hai isko."
Still, he leaned in, pencil poised, the lamp's glow catching the tiny crease between her brows.
The lamp's glow pooled over the table, pages of equations blurring in Abhiraj's eyes.
He murmured the pulley problem, voice low, patient.
No answer.
He glanced up.
Amisha was gone to the world.
Head lolled back, mouth open in a soft pink O, a tiny snore fluttering out.
One arm dangled, workbook sliding.
He reached to nudge her shoulder.
Nothing.
Heavy sleeper.
Second nudge-firmer.
She swayed, boneless, tipping sideways off the table's edge.
His hand shot out, catching her under the arms just before she hit the floor.
A quick scoop, light as a doll, and he carried her to her bed.
Laid her down, tugged the rajai to her chin.
Her mouth stayed open, a silent yawn.
He pressed two fingers gently under her chin-closed.
The second he let go, it flopped open again.
He tried once more, softer.
Same result.
Third time, he leaned in-then she rolled away with a sleepy whine, "Nooo..." burying her face in the pillow, lips still parted, breath warm against cotton.
Abhiraj exhaled through his nose, half-laugh, half-sigh.
Shook his head, muttered,
"Stubborn even in dreams."
Returned to his chair, lamp clicking lower.
The room settled into quiet-only the scratch of his pencil and the soft, stubborn whistle of her breathing.