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“Now and forever, Diya,” he called out, and I resisted the urge to break out into a run. After all, there was nowhere to run.
When I entered the house, the butler informed me that the Rani Mas awaited me in the small sitting room. It was a beautiful room, light and airy, with sunshine-yellow walls and pale pink upholstery. There was a delicate pink and yellow finely embroidered silk tapestry on the long wall, bringing it all together.
“I love that tapestry, Aunty! Is it a scene from the Ramayana?” I asked with interest, and Dheer’s mother nodded happily.
“Yes! The story of Shabari. It was hand-embroidered by our local artisans. I had this room redesigned after my husband passed away. It is my little haven where I can relax and read…”
“And hide from my grandmother,” teased Isha.
“Hush! Us Rajputs don’t hide. We discreetly retire to avoid conflict,” scolded her mother with a twinkle in her eye. “And you’re more than welcome to use this room after you’re married, beta. Or redecorate any of the other rooms to suit your taste. Accha, I’ve been speaking to our priest, and he says there’s an excellent muhurat for the wedding this Saturday.”
I turned to stare at her in surprise and banged my hip into the corner of a beautifully carved rosewood writing desk.
“Uff! I can’t believe how clumsy this girl is,” complained my mother with a pained sigh. “I’m surprised she hasn’t fallen off the runway yet.”
I had. More times than I cared to recall, but I wasn’t going to admit that to the woman who was my fiercest critic.
“I was just surprised at Padmini Aunty’s words,” I muttered, rubbing my hip with a wince. “Isn’t that too soon?”
“It is. Almost indecently soon,” grumbled my mother. “I’m sorry, Padmini Ji. We cannot arrange a wedding at such short notice. We need at least three months to organise a proper wedding. This is the first one in our family in Diya’s generation. None of her cousins are married yet. And to be honest, I was almost sure my daughter would never get married. Now that my dream is coming true, I need time to put together a huge celebration.”
“Raji, Diya’s safety matters more than a big celebration. And we don’t expect you to do anything. We’ll have the wedding right here this weekend, and your family can host a huge reception after all this blows over,” said Dheer’s mother firmly.
“Haye! We’ll be the laughingstock of the whole country,” wailed my mother. “How can a Sisodia/Shekhawat wedding not be a grand affair? Padmini Ji, we throw huge parties for the smallest reason. Just last month, my husband organised a Mediterranean cruise for fifty-five guests to celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday. Think how it will look if we get our daughter married in a hush-hush ceremony. People will think she’s pregnant!”
“I don’t want a big wedding, Ma,” I insisted.
“Who cares about what you want?” she snapped.
Sure. Who cared what I wanted? I was just the bride. It wasn’t as if the wedding was about me, I thought sarcastically.
But I meant it. This was a fake, temporary marriage, and it didn’t deserve anything more than a hole-in-the-wall affair. I wanted to reserve the celebrations for when I eventually married for love. If I ever did. Still, it was the principle of the thing. I didn’t want to be forced to do all the typical romantic wedding things with Dheer when it meant nothing. I shuddered at the thought of a sappy couple’s dance at a sangeet, but when I thought of the beautiful rituals of the actual wedding, including the promises the couple made to each other over the agni, it made me want to cry.
It would be heartbreaking to look into Dheer’s eyes and promise to be his forever when I knew that wasn’t possible. When I knew that he would never love me the way I deserved. Because that was the crux of my anger at being forced to marry him. It wasn’t like a typical arranged, dynastic marriage where the couple hoped to build their budding attraction into a strong relationship. I already knew that Dheer had never loved me and that he never would. He didn’t even want to marry me. He was doing it out of pity. That wasn’t a very good basis for a happy marriage, and I refused to settle for anything less.
“I care about it,” I said, taking a stand. “This is my wedding, and I don’t want a big fuss. I’m okay with a court marriage, to be honest.”
“You need to apply for that a month in advance,” said Isha. “What? Don’t look at me like that, Ma. It’s common knowledge.”
“As long as you’re not planning to elope with someone,” said her mother with a dry look.
“Who’s eloping?” asked a deep voice from the door, and I turned around with a yelp.
“Veer! You’re here. Finally,” I cried, as I ran forward to greet my brother.
But he held a hand up to stop me when I was about to hug him.
“Easy there, Diya. I’ve cracked a rib,” he said with a wince.
“What happened to you? You’re hurt,” exclaimed Isha.
I looked him over carefully and was alarmed to see a big bruise forming on his cheekbone.
“A small accident. Nothing to worry about,” he said dismissively, pushing Isha’s hand away when she tried to help him into a chair. “I’m fine. Stop fussing.”
“What accident?” demanded my mother.
“A truck rammed into the back of the car that Dheer sent to pick me up from the airport. The car was totalled, but the driver and I got off with minimal damage.”
