. . ── जोड़ी है मैंने तुझसे उमीदें,
ले ले मुझे तू साथ में...
A MONTH AGO
"Read the last line again."
Devyani Singh Shekhawat was my grandmother, my parent, my friend, my everything. The woman who raised me and the only person I could blindly trust and never have a doubt about.
Dadi Sa's voice cut through the room before the lawyer could even settle his papers.
I didn't look at her. I didn't need to. I knew the exact angle of her chin when she spoke like that, the way her spine never touched the back of the chair.
The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat.
"Ji, Baisa Sa. The alliance has been formalised. After the wedding, all agreed assets will be transferred accordingly."
The fidgeting of pen in my fingers stilled.
I didn't blink for a moment.
Across the polished table, Bhavani Maheshwari folded his hands, bowing his head slightly towards Dadi Sa. Not towards me. Towards her. Like this was a temple and she was the deity granting mercy.
"Humari Chandni... she's a soft hearted girl. Too soft. Too fragile. But she's a good girl," he said, voice trembling. "All we need is a little dignity. A little honour. The society is already questioning that, Baisa Sa. And only you can give my daughter the respect she deserves."
I watched as his fingers tightened against each other. He didn't look at me even once.
Dadi Sa's expression did not soften. I sensed her gaze before I met it, sharp and still.
I shifted in my chair. The wood creaked faintly beneath me. I wasn't used to men older than my father bowing like this. Wasn't used to the air feeling this thick. My thumb pressed harder against the pen until the plastic bent slightly.
The lawyer continued, his voice low, almost hesitant, murmuring through clauses that seemed to fill the room with smoke.
'Inheritance. Shareholding. Marital duties.'
My brow tightened before I could stop it.
I looked up once. Just once. Almost expecting someone to laugh this off, to say it was phrased poorly, that I was misunderstanding. But Dadi Sa was already watching me. Calm and expectant.
The kind of look that pinned you where you sat.
"Rajveer, I know this looks complicated," she said, voice smooth as silk, "but this is not okay, son? You are the heir. You must start thinking like one."
I leaned back slightly, inhaling sharp and controlled and spoke up, "This marriage... Dadi Sa, I haven't even finished graduation yet. I feel too young--"
"Too young?" she interrupted gently, one brow lifting just enough to remind me she was listening very carefully. "Marriage is not a fairy tale, beta. It is an alliance. Structure. Legacy. Your father got married when he was 20. But he was mature with responsibility. He knew what being a King meant. So do you, don't you?"
Her fingers tapped the table twice.
I didn't reply. Just nodded. I didn't know what to say because it was true. Baba Sa had given his entire life to carry on the legacy. There's no questioning the sacrifices he made for our family.
Instead, I rubbed my thumb over my palm. A habit I have developed somewhere between graduation and the funeral of my father.
Across from me, Bhavani Uncle exhaled from what seemed like relief, maybe mistaking Dadi Sa's firmness for kindness. Foolish expectations -- they always led to disappointments.
"Itne saalo se humne Shekhawat industries ke liye kaam kiya hai. Ab bass jald se jald Chandni ka byaah ho jaaye Baisa Sa. Bass ek baar meri beti aapki bahu bann jaaye, baaki business mein toh hum saath hain hi..."
His eyes crinkled but I noticed a muscle in his throat tighten as he swallowed. I could feel the desperation even without seeing his eyes.
I lowered my gaze to the papers again. Neat sentences. Precise margins.
Chandni Maheshwari -- it said -- 18 years old, intermediate graduate.
I had never met her. I don't know anything about her, except her name and education.
My fingers brushed the edge of the papers as if they were cold.
Dadi Sa noticed. She always did.
She leaned forward slightly and her bangles chimed softly.
"Look at me, Rajveer."
I did.
"Responsibilities are not about comfort," she said. "You were born to carry a legacy. Not feelings. Not unnecessary doubts."
My throat moved before I could stop it.
"It still feels abrupt, Dadi Sa."
"Abrupt?" She smiled. Her eyes didn't. "So does adulthood, my child. So does every duty worth fulfilling."
The room stilled again. Even the lawyer shifted, glancing between us.
When I didn't pick up the pen, Dadi Sa spoke again. Softer this time.
"And you know how your mother is doing."
My grip froze.
A breath I hadn't prepared for slipped out of me. I dropped my gaze to the table, tracing the carved wooden pattern absentmindedly.
She didn't say anything more. She didn't need to. The way her hand rested briefly over mine did the talking.
Her touch was warm and soft upon my cold ones. Comforting.
I swallowed.
"Please, Kunwar Sa," Bhavani Uncle said, breaking the silence. His palms folded again. "Bless my daughter with your name."
Something flickered in my chest. Unease, maybe. I didn't let it stay.
I looked at Dadi Sa again.
She held my gaze, unmoving. Her chin lifted slightly. Regal. Absolute. Like refusal would shake the very walls of Badal Mahal.
"You must think like a king," she said quietly, "even before the crown touches your head. And the king does not question. He decides."
I breathed out once. Quiet and controlled.
I didn't need to read the papers. Dadi Sa did, that was enough for me.
Then I reached for the pen.
For one second, just one, my hand hovered over the signature line. My fingers trembled so faintly only someone watching too closely would notice.
Dadi Sa didn't look away.
Bhavani Uncle's hope was prominent.
The lawyer leaned back, ready.
And I signed.
The final stroke of my name scratched softly against the paper. A sound too small for what it sealed.
When I slid the file back, my hand stayed on it a moment longer than necessary.
"Prepare everything," Dadi Sa said, pushing the file toward the lawyer. "The girl will be brought to the haveli in the coming month."
I leaned back, spine straight, expression calm and controlled.
But my fingers wouldn't stop brushing the edge of my sleeve.
Bhavani Uncle stood first, wiping his palms against his kurta before folding them toward Dadi Sa.
"You have given my Chandni more than I ever could," he murmured. "May God bless your lineage for this kindness."
Dadi Sa smiled politely.
I stood as well, bowing my head out of respect. Bhavani Uncle touched my feet. The gesture left me stiff, uncertain where to place my hands, how to receive devotion I hadn't earned.
"Thank you," he whispered again. "You have saved her honour, Kunwar Sa."
My mouth tightened. I said nothing.
When he left, the door closed softly behind him.
The silence that followed stretched long and heavy.
Dadi Sa didn't sit, instead she turned towards me.
"Now listen carefully," she said.
I straightened without thinking.
"This marriage is for six months. Only six." Her voice lowered. Even. Final. "If this girl couldn't give our throne a successor... We will find you another, suitable wife."
My brows furrowed. Six months only?
"The Maheshwari assets are crucial to our business," she continued. "Crucial to your future. But so is a child. You're the last of our bloodline, Rajveer. It is important you start a family before your coronation. You understand that, don't you?"
My fingers brushed the pocket of my kurta in a distracted rhythm.
A child. A family of my own. A wife. Six months of marriage--no--a contract. Six months of a contract.
What I just signed wasn't a surety, it was a contract.
These felt weird, this marriage but if Dadi Sa has thought this through... She must have planned something good.
"I understand."
She stepped closer. Her hand rested on my head, smoothing my hair back. The way she used to when I was younger.
"I am doing this for your mother as well, Rajveer," she said softly. "These funds will help her treatment. If we lose this opportunity... we lose hope."
Her palm stayed there a moment longer. Firm. Anchoring.
"Six months will pass like a blink," she murmured. "But remember, Rajveer... do not get tangled with this girl emotionally. You do not need emotions. You need strength. Duty. Focus. That is what keeps families alive."
My eyes dipped for half a second before I caught myself.
"Ji, Dadi Sa," I replied.
***
PRESENT
The collars of my bandhgala suit feels tighter than it should have.
We are at our old guest wing -- the one built during the princely state years, used for legal and official matters from generation to generation.
The marriage is held privately. No grand celebrations. No photographers. No relatives. Just our family as witness and a registrar.
Privacy concerns, Dadi Sa has told me. She isn't wrong. The suddenness of this marriage will create unnecessary chaos and we don't need that. Specially when the date of my coronation isn't far.
I sit on the wooden chair, spine straight, hands resting on my knees, watching Rajesh Kaka move around the room. He speaks in hushed tones to the registrar, adjusts the chairs himself, and smiles too enthusiastically.
Beside me, Dadi Sa sits quietly. Too quietly.
Her hands are folded in her lap, eyes lowered, as if she is attending a stranger's ceremony, not my wedding. She hasn't said much since morning. Just nods when spoken to. I wonder what's bothering her now.
Must be this marriage, because this is not how Shekhawat weddings are supposed to be.
There are no courtyards filled with marigolds. No elephant processions. No city pausing to watch royalty dressed in gold and silk. My grandfather's wedding lasts three days. My father's, five. And mine is just... this.
I adjust the cuff of my suit and keep my gaze ahead.
The sound of the gate opening echoes in the wide hall and Bhavani Uncle enters a moment later, accompanied by a few relatives. His eyes go straight to Dadi Sa, and he moves towards her immediately and bends down to touch her feet.
I stand instinctively. While greetings are exchanged and blessings are murmured, I remain upright, hands behind my back, shoulders squared.
Bhavani Uncle looks up at me next. Relief softens his face in a way that is difficult to miss.
"Kunwar Sa," he says, joining his palms together. "God bless you."
I nod my head out of respect and acknowledgement. Nothing more is required.
Dadi Sa rests her hand briefly on his shoulder, offering sympathy and reassurances. Rajesh Kaka joins them, already speaking about timings and formalities. The room has gotten filled with quiet conversation.
I stay where I am.
Do not get attached.
I remind myself. Remember what Dadi Sa expects from you. Do not get distracted.
Six months pass faster than feelings and feelings are the last thing I, Dadi Sa and this empire needs right now.
I let my gaze settle on the notice kept on the table infront of us. Marriage registration guidelines. Right.
From a distance, a faint jingle of anklets reaches my ear before I can take my eyes off of the papers.
A sound I don't find important enough to focus on.
Then, not long after, I feel someone beside me. I turn my head slightly and there she stands -- a step away, hands clasped in front of her. So this is the girl.
Chandni Maheshwari.
She looks nothing like a traditional Shekhawat bride. Just like someone ordinary in that ivory saree, so simple that if someone outside from here sees her, they wouldn't recognize her as the bride.
She suddenly looks up, at me -- that catches me off guard.
Our eyes meet briefly -- there is no hesitation in her expression. No fear. Just an openness that feels... unguarded.
I look away. Not abruptly. Simply because there is no reason to continue. But I feel a muscle in my jaw tighten.
The registrar clears his throat and speaks up, "Shall we begin?"
Chairs shift, scraping against the marble floor. I sit down again, palms flat against my thighs. Chandni sits beside me. Close enough to be aware of. Not close enough to touch.
I notice the faint tremor in her fingers as she adjusts her bangles. They chime softly, once, then again.
The registrar begins. Words passing through the room evenly and I listen as required. Names, ages, addresses are discussed -- I keep my focus on every detail he speaks.
When she is asked to consent, Chandni leans forward slightly and speaks clearly. No pause. No uncertainty. But her voice cracks a little, maybe from nervousness.
My name follows and I consent as required.
At last, the papers are placed in front of us. I pick up the pen, my fingers clenching around it -- for duty, for Maa, for my family, I tell myself -- and sign it.
The fan creaks overhead as she takes the pen next and smiles at the registrar as she does.
"Badhai ho, Kunwar Sa," the registrar declares the marriage complete, followed by a small applause around us.
I stand up, followed by Chandni, who smoothens her saree, glancing briefly around the room like she is committing it to memory. Like this will last forever.
Strange, I think. I don't think this will last forever.
***
"From today," Dadi Sa says calmly, "You carry this family's name. Its dignity. Its discipline."
Chandni nods at once. "Ji, Baisa Sa."
Her voice carries a softness I am not used to hearing in my life. Not since Maa falls sick.
I wait. Hands clasped behind my back. I have stood through longer ceremonies without moving. When it is done, Dadi Sa gestures for a maid waiting with a copper thaali.
She steps forward towards Chandni -- the thaali filled with red chunari, few bangles, a mangalsutra and sindhora.
Chandni takes the thaali from the maid, a small smile gracing her lips but I see her hands tremble under the weight of it as she grips it close to herself.
The maid adjusts her saree carefully, drawing the pallu forward, lowering it into a proper veil before stepping back.
The fabric settles over Chandni's face, translucent enough to soften her features, not hide them completely.
"Let's go," Rajesh Kaka says, already checking his cellphone.
The doors of the guest wing open as we step out.
Chandni walks ahead of me, still holding the thaali as we make our way towards the Kul Devi mandir we have situated in our inner courtyard.
It is a generation old tradition. Taking Kul Devi's blessings after an important work. And this temple is built by my great grandfather -- way before this palace exists.
Every ruler of our line has stood there first as a child, then later as something heavier.
As we reach the entrance, I notice Chandni hesitate before she takes her sandles off, her steps a little disbalanced, and steps in.
I do the same, following after her. Our family priest is waiting inside, the pooja thaal ready in his hands. He steps forward to put a tika on my forehead first then sprinkles the rest upon Chandni, murmuring mantras.
We stand there until the mantras end, then the priest sprinkles some ganga jal upon Chandni with a Paan leaf, still murmuring some mantras.
Next he takes the chunari from the thaali she's holding and offers it to Kul Devi's murthi. I remain stood, and watch the priest take the sindhora -- circling it five times over Chandni then keeps it back on the thaali.
A maid then steps forward and takes the thaali away from Chandni, before murmuring something in her ear -- to which, Chandni bends down to touch the feet of the priest.
"Saubhagyawati bhava," the priest showers his blessings upon her and I see Chandni stand back up.
The priest turns to me next, asking for me to extend my right hand -- I do as he says, extending my hand for him to tie the kalaawa.
"Ab aap dono iss deepak ko ujjwalit karein," the priest invites us to light the deepak kept infront of Kul Devi.
I step forward first, followed by Chandni. As I pick up the matchstick to light the deepak, every stick catches a spark but it doesn't stay till I reach the baati of the deepak.
I try two three times, but in vain. Letting out a frustrated breath -- I try one last time. The matchstick catches fire again but it flickers as I start to reach the deepak again. I think the spark is going to die again, that I have to try again in this wind but as the fire flickers -- a hand comes to cover it.
My eyes trace the direction it comes from as I see her. Chandni is bent beside me, her veil still in place but I can see her face illuminated in the fire light.
Then she turns to look at me again and I blink, diverting my focus back on lighting the deepak.
We light it, watching as the baati forms a long fire -- and step back, joining our palms together infront of Kul Devi, the echo of bells and mantra chanting a distant sound as I close my eyes.
I feel warm -- maybe from the light of deepak, or from the person standing beside me.
***
Badal Mahal rises ahead of us the way it always has.
A wide haveli with looming and intricate designs.
The gates open. Lights are already on, warm and deliberate, outlining arches and corridors.
The car stops. Few servants with an aarti thali wait at the entrance. Chandni steps out first, guided gently by the maids. Her foot hovers for a moment over the threshold, uncertain, before Dadi Sa puts a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"Come on," she instructs calmly.
Chandni obeys. Rice spills across marble and Chandni bends to place her foot into the red alta tray. A maid holds her steady as she crosses the hall, leaving faint footprints behind her. I follow.
Inside, the haveli is quiet. That is when I notice it.
Her fingers keep moving. Adjusting the edge of her ghunghat. Pressing lightly against her bangles. Curling and uncurling as if she can't decide where to keep them. Her breathing is louder now. Not enough for everyone else to hear.
Before I can decide whether it needs attention or not, Dadi Sa speaks.
"That's all for the rituals," she says, voice decisive. "Take her to your room, Rajveer. She must rest well. Tomorrow is a big day."
I nod my head. Finally it is over.
We turn towards the staircase. Chandni walks carefully, lifting her saree slightly, veil still covering her face. Halfway up, her foot catches against the edge of a carpet laid out on stairs.
My hand moves before I can think, closing around her wrist, steadying her. She isn't warm as expected. Her skin is cold.
She freezes. So do I.
It lasts less than a second before I release her immediately.
"Thankyou," she says at once, breath uneven.
I nod and we continue up the stairs.
The corridor to my room feels longer than usual. Chandni's steps slow as we walk. The veil slips forward again, clouding her view. She lifts it instinctively, then lets it fall back into place, uncertain when the servants give her curious looks.
When we reach the door, I stop.
"Take it off," I say. She looks up, eyes wide and hesitant.
"The veil," I add, already turning the handle. "You don't need it here."
She removes it carefuly. Her face is flushed with colour high on her cheeks. A fine sheen of sweat shinning at her temple.
She is breathing harder now, chest rising and falling without rhythm. I stand there for a moment longer than necessary.
Then look away and slip out of my bandhgala, drape it over the back of a chair and move towards the balcony doors.
"The maids will help you change," I say, already opening them. "I'll be outside."
I don't wait for her response.
The cool night air hits me as I step onto the balcony, the city lights stretching below like a scenery.
Badal Mahal looks unchanged. Solid and certain. As if nothing inside it has shifted today. I rest my hands against the cool railing and allow myself a moment longer than necessary.
Marriage. Another title added to a list that has already grown long. Heir. Son. Shekhawat. Husband.
For a brief moment, I let myself replay the events of today. The unfamiliar weight of someone walking beside me instead of behind.
Then I remind myself. This is not uncertainty. This is adjustment.
Dadi Sa knows what she is doing. She always has. Trusting her is easier than thinking beyond what has been arranged. Easier than letting thoughts wander into places they are not meant to go.
My cellphone tinges with notifications from Orkut -- a bunch messages from my colleagues, some congratulating, others dropping shocked responses about news of me being suddenly being married, some asking if I have a secret girlfriend I got married to.
I resist the urge to let out a humorless laugh. Ofcourse. The press in 2015 is faster than airplanes. Always quick to make headlines.
I exhale slowly and straighten.
Then the door closes, signalling the exit of the maids.
I wait another minute. Just to take a moment of strength and walk back in.
Chandni is sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. Her clothes have been changed into something lighter, simpler pale blue saree.
She looks smaller without the layers, her shoulders slightly drawn in. Her face looks softer without the veil, almost childlike.
When she sees me, she stands up too quickly, wrapping the pallu around her shoulders.
The movement is abrupt enough that I notice the sway immediately.
She steadies herself, blinking a few times.
Must be low iron deficiency, I think.
"Sit down," I say calmly.
She does at once.
I move towards the wardrobe, reaching for a fresh tshirt and pajama, already shifting my thoughts towards tomorrow's routine.
But her voice stops me.
"Kunwar Sa," her voice is a soft murmur in the still room.
That... title, coming from her feels strange.
I don't turn to look at her but let out a hum of acknowledgement.
I hear the rustles of fabric as she shifts, and I wonder if she is still hesitant.
I turn to look at her, finding her sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting and eyes fixed on her lap.
My eyebrow twiched. "What is it?"
She looks up at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, as if she is debating whether to say whatever is in her mind or not.
"Say it." I say, while unbuttoning my shirt.
"What... what am I supposed to do now?" Her voice comes out as shaky. I realise she is nervous.
I stop mid button. "What are you supposed to...?"
"I mean--" she fidgets again. I sigh.
"You don't need to do anything. Just rest."
I unbuckle my belt and hanged it on a hook in my cupboard door, then grab a towel, when I hear her speak again.
"I just... This didn't felt like a wedding to me."
I stop in my tracks. Then turn towards her slowly. She isn't fidgeting anymore, just looking at me with those eyes again. Wide and uncertain.
I hate that look on people. It makes me feel exposed.
Marriage is not a fairytale, I want to tell her. It's a responsibility.
She must have felt or rather seen the annoyance on my face.
Her mouth closes at once.
"Sorry," she says quickly. "I shouldn't... I talk too much."
She remains sat, eyes lowered.
I exhale through my nose and don't say anything. Infuriating, that's what she is. That's what I want to say, but don't.
I pick up my clothes and turn towards the bathroom. And as I close the door behind me, I catch myself wondering.
Is this what my life is going to be like now?
***
When I return, the room is unchanged.
She is still sitting exactly where I had left her. On the edge of the bed. Hands folded and back straight. Like she has been placed there and forgotten.
Something in me tightens.
I don't comment though. Wasn't needed. She can sit where she wants. This is not my problem to solve.
I walk past her, open the cupboard, and pull out a spare bedsheet. The fabric slides between my fingers, cool and crisp. I shake it once and spread it neatly on the floor beside the bed, aligning the corners without looking down too long. Then I reach for an extra pillow and place it at one end.
"What... what are you doing?" she speaks.
I straighten and look at her plainly.
"I'll sleep here," I say. "You can take the bed."
Her reaction is immediate. Eyes wide, mouth parted.
"No!" She says, the word sharp with disbelief. "You can't sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough," she continues, hurried now. "We can just... you don't need to... this isn't necessary."
I fold my arms briefly, feeling the familiar irritation return.
"I will sleep on the floor as I please," I say, clearly.
She stares at me, horrified, like I have suggested something indecent rather than practical.
"But you're... how can I..." She stops herself. Takes a breath. "At least take the bed. I'll... I don't mind."
I finally look at her.
"We have an important day tomorrow," I say. "You need rest. So do I. This arrangement solves both."
Her mouth opens then closes.
"Please," she tries again, softer. "This just feels... wrong."
The word lands somewhere I don't allow myself to examine.
"Got to sleep," I say, my patience thinning. "And let me sleep as well."
I turn away before she can respond again and lay down on the floor, adjusting the pillow beneath my head. The marble is cool against my shoulder through the thin layer of fabric. Uncomfortable. But acceptable.
Better than sharing a bed with someone whose breathing I can already hear too clearly.
Behind me, the bed shifts slightly as she finally lays down.
I close my eyes.
This is fine. This is controlled. And control, I remind myself as sleep comes slowly, is always preferrable to closeness.
But I dread what comes tomorrow.
The sleep almost consumes me when..
"Kunwar Sa?" I hear her speak again. That uncertainty in her voice present still.
My jaw clenches but I don't open my eyes, "Go to sleep, Chandni."
_______________
(Unedited)
FUN FACT!: The "sindhora" mentioned in this chapter is a decorative container, used to hold sindoor (vermilion). In our culture, it is given to the bride usually by a married old lady, or a priest as a symbol of marrital blessing, for long time companionship.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment your favourite part of the chapter<3