Mahesh (18)

Samriddhi (nearly 14)

Author pov :

[Two years ago]

The scent of the approaching monsoon hung thick in the air, mingling with damp earth and blooming trees. A cool breeze swept through the village lanes, rustling leaves and fluttering dupattas. One of the larger houses buzzed with restrained excitement-a wedding celebration was underway.

Guests gathered in small groups, greeting one another, exchanging pleasantries, and indulging in hushed conversations about customs, marriages, and the subtle changes time had brought. Most of the men wore loose cotton kurtas, some with shawls draped over their shoulders, while the women were dressed in elegant sarees and suits, their heads modestly covered.

"are... thai athai kala kyoon baithya ho?" an elderly woman asked, adjusting her veil as she stopped in front of another woman seated cross-legged on the ground, her face partially hidden, her posture stiff with thought. "Where is your new daughter-in-law?"

(Arre... why are you sitting here alone?)

The seated woman glanced up, her expression briefly tightening before she masked it behind a polite smile.

"She's at home," she replied evenly. "I've given her some work. She'll be here soon."

This woman was none other than Lalita.

"Oh," the woman murmured, pausing as if something else weighed on her mind. "Or wo chori ka ki hova, jina ka rista thai thaare chotke choro ka sath tay kriyo ho.. Waki tarafa se koi sandesa aaya ya koni? "

(And what about that girl whose marriage you had fixed for your younger son? Did you hear anything from their side?)

Lalita's nose wrinkled ever so slightly, though her lips curved into a practiced smile. "va chhoree abhaagee hee," she said coolly. "The alliance wasn't meant to be. vaise bhee, mhaaro beto ghano yogy hai- vo kinee nai bhee dhoondh sakai hai jinanai vo chaavai hai. pan mhanain vaake vaastai esi chhoree chaiye jikee dekh gav me prasansa ke phul gil jaave or gav walo ki aankhe chaar."

(That girl was unlucky, Anyway, my son is very eligible-he can find anyone he wishes. But I want a girl for him who makes the entire village stop and stare in admiration.)

She rose to her feet, dusting off her saree. "That's why it's taking time."

She was about to move away when the woman, Rukmani, pressed on, unwilling to let the matter drop. "But what happened so suddenly? Just days after your elder son's wedding, you broke off your younger son's engagement. Why?"

Lalita stopped short. Turning back, her smile vanished, replaced by a sharp edge in her eyes. "Rukmani," she snapped quietly, "it's good that you're concerned-but don't be so concerned that you forget this is my house, not yours."

Without waiting for a response, Lalita walked away. "Hey! Why did she get so angry?" a few women asked as they gathered around Rukmani.

Rukmani let out a small, knowing scoff.

"Why wouldn't she? Her elder daughter-in-law came with less dowry than expected. And fearing the same for her younger son, she broke off his engagement with a farmer's daughter from the neighboring village."

One woman gasped dramatically. "sirph dahej rai kaaran? But I've heard her younger son is one of the most educated men around, and with his father being the sarpanch, their family is respected in all nearby villages."

(Just because of dowry?)

Another woman sighed wistfully.

"If only I had a daughter... I would've married her to Lalita's younger son. I've heard the boy is very handsome."

Rukmani shook her head with a faint, bitter smile. "thai sapana dekhata raivola. lalita ki ummeedaan kinne bhee kalpana su pare hai. laagai hai, va aaparai betai nai hamesha ke vaastai anavivaahit raakh sakai hai."

(You'll keep dreaming. Lalita's expectations are sky-high. At this rate, she might keep her son unmarried forever.)

The women chuckled softly, their laughter laced with curiosity and judgment.

_

On the other side of the wedding grounds, a man moved briskly among the guests, overseeing arrangements with practiced authority. "Be quick," he growled at a group of men fumbling with decorations. "Don't waste time."

"Namaste, Sarpanch ji." He turned to see a man standing respectfully with folded hands.

"Oh, Prakash," the sarpanch said, recognition softening his tone. "What brings you here today?"

"I've married my eldest daughter into this village," Prakash replied. "I'm attending from her in-laws' side."

"That's good," the sarpanch nodded, already turning back to his duties.

Prakash lingered, rubbing his hands nervously against his kurta, opening his mouth only to close it again.

"Is there some problem?" the sarpanch finally asked, noticing his unease.

Prakash chuckled awkwardly. "No... no trouble exactly. But..." He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I have a young daughter. I heard your younger son's engagement was broken off, so-"

He stopped mid-sentence, sensing the shift in the sarpanch's expression. "I didn't mean any disrespect," he added quickly. "I'm just a father of daughters-"

"Baapu." Both men turned at the sound of a deep, steady voice.

"I've delivered the message you asked me to post at the post office," the young man said. "Is there anything else?"

Prakash's gaze landed on the speaker-Mahesh Singh, eighteen years old, standing tall, composed, responsibility etched into his posture.

"No," the sarpanch replied shortly, then paused. "Mahesh-meet him. This is Prakash Varma, a prominent landowner from a nearby village."

Mahesh folded his hands politely. "Namaste."

"May you live long, son," Prakash said, unable to hide the admiration in his eyes as he studied the boy's stance and demeanor.

Suddenly, the sarpanch spoke again, his voice firm and final. "We will come to your village in two days. To see your daughter." Prakash froze, then turned sharply toward him. Mahesh's brows furrowed.

"If we like the girl," the sarpanch continued, "the engagement will be fixed that very day."

Joy flooded Prakash's face as he folded his hands repeatedly in gratitude. The two men embraced, exchanging hurried words of happiness and assurance.

Mahesh, however, stood apart. His jaw tightened as he watched them, his gaze hard, restless. "I wonder," he murmured under his breath, turning away, "when I'll be free from all this burden..."

_

Two days later...

After that moment, time seemed to move at a terrifying pace, something only Prakash truly felt.

He returned to his village the very same day and began preparations immediately. There was no room for delay, no space for hesitation.

He could not afford to give the Singh family even the smallest reason to reconsider his daughter's fate. "Arre-what are you doing?" Prakash's voice rang through the courtyard. "Leave all this work and get Chhoti ready quickly. Sarpanch sahab and his family will be here any moment."

The urgency in his tone betrayed his excitement... and his fear. Sita, who was shaping a clay pot nearby, paused and looked up at him. Understanding flickered across her face. She washed her hands calmly and smiled faintly.

"You're getting so restless," she said gently, "as if this is the first time one of our daughters' marriages is being arranged."

Prakash's smile faltered for a brief moment. His gaze drifted away. "I just hope," he said quietly, "that this marriage isn't like the ones of our other two daughters. May this child find all the happiness her sisters couldn't."

Sita's smile slowly faded. She looked at him, knowing exactly where his thoughts had wandered. "It's all written in fate," she replied softly. "We chose good families for them. Who knew their in-laws would reveal their true colors later? What could we do?"

Prakash shook his head, regret weighing heavy on his features. "The elders were right," he muttered. "One should never look for families that are too rich... or too poor."

Sita let out a slow breath and rose from the wooden stool, walking toward him. "Forget the past," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Why ruin today's happiness by reopening old wounds?"

Prakash nodded, conceding. Then, as if remembering something, he asked, "By the way, letters were sent to Suman and Rekha. Why haven't they arrived yet?"

Sita turned toward the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder. "Rekha will come. There's been no word from Suman yet."

Prakash fell silent again. His eyes roamed the house before he asked, almost anxiously, "Everything else is fine, but where is our Chhoti? Have you told her properly? Explained that the boy's family is coming to see her today?"

Sita smiled to herself as she began kneading dough. How could she tell him that the moment her monthly cycle ended that morning, Samriddhi had cleaned the room and slipped out for a walk?

"I sent her to fetch water from the well," she said lightly. "She hasn't returned yet. She's probably swinging on that tree again."

Prakash sighed, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll go bring her. I don't know when this girl will grow up and learn some responsibility."

A while later, Prakash reached the banyan tree where a thick rope hung from one of its branches. Several village girls waited eagerly for their turn. Laughter filled the air. His eyes found his youngest daughter instantly.

She was swinging high, her laughter ringing clear and carefree. The other girls clapped, cheering her on. Prakash gestured to one of the girls nearby. "Call her."

The girl grinned and, tripping over her skirt, ran toward the swing. "Samriddhi!"

Hearing her name, Samriddhi, nearly fourteen, looked over. Her long, thick hair reached her lower back, neatly braided. Innocence glowed on her face, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Your baapu is calling you." Samriddhi followed the girl's gaze and spotted Prakash standing a short distance away, motioning her to come home. She made a small, pleading face and turned to her friends.

"My turn will be left for today," she announced cheerfully. "I'll swing twice tomorrow." She hopped down and ran toward her father.

"Arre, Why are you running? Take it easy!" Prakash exclaimed, lightly tapping his forehead. "How many times have I told you not to run like this? You're a big girl now. Your marriage will be arranged soon. If you behave like this at your in-laws' house, you'll bring shame upon us."

He scolded her gently, but the words carried weight. "Baapu..." Samriddhi pouted, slowing her steps. "I'm still so young. What will I even do getting married so soon?"

Prakash shook his head as they walked. "You're not little anymore. Haven't you noticed? All your friends your age are already engaged."

"Yes," she replied softly, "but they still live with their parents. Maa told me last night that you'll send me away within a year..."

Her chin trembled unintentionally. Tears welled in her eyes.

Prakash's expression hardened. "Those girls are younger than you. When their time comes, they'll leave too."

"But why is it always like this, baapu?" a tear slid down her cheek. "Why do only girls have to leave their parents?"

They reached home before he replied. "This is how the world works," Prakash said firmly, avoiding her gaze. "These are traditions passed down by our elders. We follow them-we don't question them."

He turned toward the house and called out, "Sita! I'm going to the market to get sweets. Get our Chhoti ready before they arrive."

Meanwhile, in the Singh mansion (haveli), birdseed lay scattered across the courtyard. The chirping of birds echoed through the open space.

In one of the rooms, sunlight filtered through the window as Rajesh buttoned his kurta. Lalita entered just then. Her eyes immediately fell on Sindhu, her eldest daughter-in-law, who was mopping the floor.

"Use your hands properly," Lalita snapped. "Do you even have any strength? Didn't your parents feed you well?" Sindhu lowered her gaze and continued working.

Lalita then turned toward Rajesh, irritation clear on her face. "How did you decide everything so suddenly?" she demanded. "You should have at least asked me once."

Rajesh's hand froze on the last button. He turned slowly and looked at her sideways. "Ask you?" he repeated coolly. "I should ask you?"

Lalita instinctively stepped back. "No, no... that's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I just thought I could've looked into their family, their lifestyle-"

"They are landlords," Rajesh interrupted. "Their wealth has been passed down through generations." He paused, then, after buttoning the last button, turned to Lalita, "But listen carefully to one thing... When you go there, don't bring up the topic of dowry first. I will handle the matter myself. You are not allowed to interfere."

Lalita gulped, hearing her husband's stern voice and order, and stammered, "Yes, alright..."

Rajesh left the room, but Lalita was lost in deep thought. Her gaze fell again on Sindhu, who had stopped mopping the floor and was listening to their conversation.

Lalita gritted her teeth and whispered, just loud enough for Sindhu to hear, “If my eldest son’s in-laws had given a proper dowry, I wouldn’t have to hear such instructions today. Huh.”

With that, Lalita stepped out of the room, her glare slicing through Sindhu as she passed. But she stopped short at the sight before her. Her younger son, Mahesh, lay stretched out on a thick rug in the courtyard, one arm tucked beneath his head, his gaze fixed on the open sky above.

Yet Lalita froze, not because of Mahesh. But because of her elder sister-in-law, seated beside him, gently stroking his hair as she spoke in a coaxing tone, “You’re a sensible boy. If you don’t like the girl, just tell your parents clearly. I’ll find a beautiful girl for you myself.”

Lalita’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “Why does this woman want to ruin my perfectly settled family?” she muttered under her breath.“She has already destroyed her own home, and now she wants to set fire to others’ happiness as well.”

By the time Lalita reached them, a practiced smile had settled on her face. “I don’t think, Jiji,” she said smoothly, placing emphasis on the word, “that such a situation will arise this time." She emphasized the word "situation."

Then she paused deliberately before continuing, “After all, your brother must have taken this decision after careful thought.”

Her sister-in-law’s expression twitched almost imperceptibly, irritation flashing beneath her false smile. “Yes, you’re right,” she replied. “My brother never decides lightly. That’s why, just look, your elder daughter-in-law turned out so well.”

Lalita’s face flushed, heat rising beneath her skin. She inhaled sharply, glancing sideways at Sindhu, who had stopped just outside the room upon hearing her name mentioned.

Changing the subject swiftly, Lalita turned to Mahesh. “What are you doing lying around like this?” she snapped. “Go and get ready. We have to leave shortly. The bullock cart will arrive any moment.”

Mahesh closed his eyes, irritation flickering across his face. He exhaled heavily before sitting up. “I told you, Ma,” he said flatly, “convince baapu. I want to go to the city and continue my studies.”

Lalita’s frustration resurfaced. The same argument... again. “Your father has already said no,” she replied sharply. “That means he doesn’t want you going anywhere. Why don’t you listen to us? Stop being so stubborn and get ready.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lalita turned and walked away.

Mahesh clenched his jaw.

.

.

.

It was midday when two bullock carts came to a halt in front of the Varma family’s house. Rajesh stepped down first, followed by Lalita, her face veiled, and behind them, Lalita’s two elder sisters-in-law.

Rajesh’s family was extensive—three younger brothers and two elder sisters. One sister was divorced, living back in her maternal home, while the other resided in a nearby town with her in-laws. His younger brothers managed their own households and businesses separately.

As Lalita and her sisters-in-law stepped down, their eyes immediately swept over Prakash Varma’s house. It appeared better than they had anticipated, well-kept, solid, respectable. Silent glances were exchanged, conveying approval without words.

From the second bullock cart, laden with fruits, clothes, and gifts, Mahesh stepped down. He adjusted his hair briefly and moved to stand beside his father.

“First, we’ll see the girl,” Rajesh’s eldest sister murmured. “Then we’ll discuss dowry and gifts. Don’t finalize anything beforehand.”

Lalita and the other sister-in-law nodded subtly. “I know,” Rajesh replied. “Let’s go inside.” Mahesh followed, his expression unreadable.

Prakash’s family welcomed them with great warmth and respect. Sita and her daughter Rekha served various dishes with quiet efficiency.

“Oh, there was no need to make such arrangements—” Lalita stopped mid-sentence when she felt Rajesh’s stare piercing through her veil.

“This is nothing,” Prakash said quickly, folding his hands.

Mahesh sat silently, sipping tea from a clay cup, his gaze fixed downward.

“Please drink, younger jija ji,” Rekha said softly. “This tea was made by our Chhotti…”

Mahesh suddenly choked.

“Here—drink some water,” Sita hurriedly said, handing him a glass. Then she added, almost proudly, “Even these clay cups were made by our Chhotti.”

Mahesh’s eyes reddened slightly. Irritation flared, but without comment, he took the glass and drained it.

After some time, Lalita’s elder sister frowned. “It’s getting late. Your daughter hasn’t come yet. We must return to our village.”

Prakash straightened immediately. “Yes—she’ll be here any moment.”

He called out, “Sita! Rekha! Bring Chhotti here—it’ll soon be time for them to leave.”

When there was no response, Prakash excused himself and entered another room, where Rekha had been helping Samriddhi dress.

But the moment he stepped inside, something felt wrong.

Only Sita and Rekha stood there, tense and pale. “What is it?” Prakash demanded. “Where is our chotti?”

Sita licked her dry lips. “Ji… I had put anklets on Chhotti, but one broke. I asked Rekha to get it repaired. When we returned… neither the anklet nor Chhotti was there.”

She lowered her gaze as Prakash’s jaw tightened. “It seems she went to get it repaired herself.”

Prakash stormed toward his wife, raising his hand—but stopping short. His fist clenched as he growled, “You both are useless. What will I tell them now? They’ve come to see our Chhotti.”

Sita broke down in tears. Rekha stepped back, trembling. Memories of her own suffering flooded her mind, her legs weakening beneath her. Prakash's gaze fell on his daughter, but instead of regret, he felt even more anger.

“What are you standing there for?” Prakash barked. “Go—find her. Quickly.”

Neither of them knew that shortly after Prakash left the room, Mahesh had also stepped outside to wash his hands.

As he bent over the small water tank, a faint sound reached his ears, the soft tinkling of anklets.

His heart began to race for reasons he could not understand. Slowly ─ not abruptly, he lifted his gaze. A girl entered through the doorway.

She wore a dark blue skirt and a light brown blouse, her dupatta slipping playfully through her fingers. She was around fourteen—bright, carefree, smiling to herself as she shook her head to free loose strands of hair from her face.

Mahesh straightened unconsciously. His breathing grew shallow. The girl remained lost in her own world.

Suddenly, a voice rang out... Not loud, but soft enough to catch Mahesh's attention, "Chotti... Come inside quickly..." Rekha called out to her sister in a hushed voice.

In that instant, realization struck Mahesh.

This girl—this innocent, laughing girl—was Samriddhi. The one they had come to see. The one whose fate was being decided.

The girl who was to be his wife.

To be continued __

So, that was the first chapter... Are you eager to read the rest of the story?

Thanks for reading...

Your Insiya khan