Author's POV

Today, the supposedly spoiled brat of the Thakurs is set to marry the daughter of Pandit Acharya. The union is meant to save the temple from impending ruin, a sacrifice for the greater good, or so it seems.

But what about these two souls? What will they endure for the sake of the temple? What plans has Nayan's Mahadev made for her?

Is this the beginning of a greater cause?

Nayan couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Ever since the day her marriage was arranged with Yashvardhan Thakur, her mind had been plagued by racing thoughts and unanswered questions.

This doesn't seem like a simple marriage. Why did Sadhna Thakur suddenly want me to marry her son? And within such a short period?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the makeup artist's voice, "All set."

Nayan looked at her reflection in the mirror, feeling the weight of the impending ceremony. Her eyes, adorned with kohl, and lips painted in cherry red, framed by a small bindi on her forehead that accentuated her delicate features. The bridal attire, dark red with intricate silver threadwork, paired with heavy gold jewelry, made her feel overwhelmed. The combined weight of the clothes and jewelry felt like a tangible representation of the responsibility she was about to take on.

Tears collected at the edge of her eyes but she didn't let them wet her cheeks. After all, she is a strong girl and herself chosen this alliance. Moreover, Sadhna Thakur has spent lakhs her her makeup which she cannot let ruin.

Her heart ached with a mix of fear and sadness. She had heard stories about Yashvardhan Thakur, stories that portrayed him as a reckless and arrogant young man. But there were also whispers of a softer, more troubled side to him, a side hidden behind the façade of a wealthy heir. 

As she pondered these thoughts, the door to her room creaked open, and Sadhna Thakur stepped in. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned Nayan from head to toe, still wearing a black saree.

Why can't she wear a better color on her son's wedding, at least?

"Now you look like a Thakur bride, girl," Sadhna said, her tone devoid of warmth. "Remember our deal, right?"

Nayan nodded, swallowing her questions and fears. She knew better than to challenge Sadhna's authority, especially now.

This woman didn't even let her father perform the pre-wedding rituals which he had always dreamt of doing, as she was his only daughter. Sadly, they had to do Mehendi and Haldi all together just the day before the wedding.

Moreover, she didn't want the wedding in the temple when Acharya suggested it.

"Thakur hain hum! Izzat hai humari! Humare bete ki shaadi humare farmhouse mein hi hogi!"

(We are Thakurs! We have honor! My son's wedding will take place at our farmhouse! )

So, Nayan woke up early this morning to perform her rituals for her dear Mahadev in the temple for the last time, knowing that Sadhna Thakur would likely not permit her frequent visits there.

As the wedding bells tolled, signaling the start of the ceremony, Nayan took a deep breath and rose to her feet. She felt a strange calm wash over her, as if Mahadev himself was whispering words of courage into her ear.

Perhaps this is my destiny. 

With a final glance in the mirror, she walked towards the door, ready to face whatever the future held.

Her father was the one who was performing the wedding ceremony. He had expressed his deep desire to Sadhna Thakur, and after a lot of persistence, she had finally relented. This small victory brought a bittersweet smile to Nayan's face.

While chanting prayers in front of the holy fire, he glanced at his daughter bedecked in her bridal lehenga walking down the aisle with his temple workers and other pandits by her side. He gave a sad smile to her, his eyes glistening with tears.

Within a few minutes, she finally reached the mandap where her soon-to-be husband was sitting, wearing a red sherwani with a three-tier emerald necklace. He didn't cast one glance at her; his gaze was fixed on the holy fire, its flames reflecting in his eyes. Nayan felt a fiery rage and disheartenment in his eyes. It didn't take her a second to realize he was not happy with this marriage.

And her heart shattered more, surprisingly. She was taken aback by the fact that she was unconsciously hoping for this marriage to work.

How stupid of me to even expect so!

The realization stung. Nayan had always believed in the sanctity of marriage, in the possibility of building a life based on mutual respect, understanding and love just like her parents'. But now, facing the cold reality in Yashvardhan's eyes, she felt the weight of disillusionment pressing down on her.

Her father's voice, strong yet tinged with emotion, broke through her thoughts. He began the rituals, his hands steady as he performed each sacred act. The fire crackled and the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and marigold. Nayan focused on her father's voice, grounding herself in the familiarity of his presence.

For Baba, I must stay strong.

The ceremony continued as they circled the sacred fire, she stole glances at Yashvardhan. His expression remained stony, his mind seemingly elsewhere. The flames cast flickering shadows on his face, highlighting the tension etched in his features and his brown long hair tied into a semi- ponytail.

This man didn't even groom himself. Long hair, heavy mustache, and beard. Just like an animal!

The ritual progressed, and finally, after the seven supposedly 'holy' rounds, the groom was asked to fill the hairline of the bride with vermillion.

Nayan's heart raced as Yashvardhan picked up the silver container filled with the sacred sindoor. The weight of the moment pressed down on her. She lowered her gaze, feeling the world around her fade as the anticipation built.

Yashvardhan dipped his dipped into the container, and for a fleeting moment, Nayan felt a spark of connection, as if his touch alone could bridge the chasm between them. She closed her eyes, silently praying for strength and guidance from Mahadev.

With a steady hand, Yashvardhan applied the vermillion to Nayan's hairline. The red powder stood out starkly against her fair skin, a vivid mark of her new status as a married woman.Some of the powder cascaded down her nose, a detail traditionally seen as a good omen for the couple. Yet, the irony of the situation seemed to mock them both.

Nayan felt a mixture of emotions wash over her—fear, hope, and an unexpected sense of finality.

The guests erupted in cheers and applause, but to Nayan, the sounds felt distant and hollow. She opened her eyes and looked up at Yashvardhan. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and she saw a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps even regret—in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual stoic demeanor.

After concluding the ceremony with a final blessing, Nayan's father approached them. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"May Mahadev bless you both with a happy and prosperous life together." He said, his voice thick with emotion.

Nayan nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She embraced her father, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence. 

I wish I didn't have to lie to you. I'm not the Thakur's bride but their slave.

Sadhna Thakur stood off to the side, her sharp eyes observing every detail. Nayan could feel her scrutinizing gaze, a constant reminder of the expectations she now had to live up to.

Yashvardhan remained by her side, accepting the well-wishes with a curt nod or a polite smile from the limited guests who began to gather around them, offering their congratulations and blessings.

Nayan was shocked when he bent down to touch her father's feet and seek for blessings. She had half expected him to do that. 

Sadhna Thakur stood off to the side, her sharp eyes observing every detail. Nayan could feel her scrutinizing gaze, a constant reminder of the expectations she now had to live up to. She felt trapped in a gilded cage, her fate sealed by forces beyond her control. The sacredness of the ritual clashed with the harsh reality of her circumstances, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever.

As the evening wore on, the couple was led to the grand dining hall where a lavish feast awaited them. They sat side by side, a picture of newlywed harmony for all to see. But beneath the surface, Nayan could feel the distance between them. She picked at her food, her appetite lost to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

The time had come for Nayan's vidaai, the final farewell from her father's home. The atmosphere was heavy with emotion as she stood at the threshold, her heart aching with each passing moment. Her father's eyes, filled with unshed tears, met hers as he tried to remain composed.

Nayan took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. But as she approached her father for one last embrace, the floodgates opened. She clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. "Baba, I don't want to go," she whispered through her tears, her voice trembling.

Her father's stoic façade crumbled as he hugged her tightly, his own tears flowing freely. 

"Nayan beta, my precious daughter, don't say like that. It'll be your new home, baccha and Mahadev is always with you, right!" 

He choked out, his voice breaking with emotion. 

Yashvardhan, standing nearby, felt the awkwardness of the situation. He was unused to such displays of raw emotion. Hesitantly, he reached out and patted Nayan's back lightly. This small act flickered a spark of hope within Nayan.

Is he willing to give this marriage a chance?

But she couldn;t give it much thought. She was way to busy in the sorrow of leaving ehr home. 

Nayan's father turned to Yashvardhan, his eyes pleading. "Please, take care of my daughter. She is my everything," he implored.

Yashvardhan nodded, his face serious but internally he was conflicted. 

How can I take care of her when I am already undergoing so much myself?

I have no control over anything.

The journey to the Thakur mansion was a silent one. The farmhouse was hardly an hour away, but for Nayan, it felt like an eternity. Exhausted from the emotional upheaval, she eventually dozed off, her head unknowingly resting on Yashvardhan's bicep.

Yashvardhan stiffened at the unexpected contact. He wasn't accustomed to physical closeness, especially not in this context. His first instinct was to pull away, but something stopped him. He looked down at Nayan's peaceful face, her features softened in sleep, her beautiful eyes and felt a strange mix of emotions stirring within him.

He saw the traces of dried tears on her cheeks, the furrow in her brow that even sleep couldn't smooth out completely. A pang of guilt mixed with his own turmoil. This woman, thrust into his life without her consent, was about to suffer just as he was. Her vulnerability tugged at a part of him he thought long buried.

She's so fragile

A wave of protectiveness washing over him. But then, just as quickly, he pushed the feeling aside. He reminded himself of the complexities of his own life, the turmoil and chaos that made any notion of normalcy seem impossible.

How am I supposed to take care of her when I can't even manage my own life? 

He pondered, his mind a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. Yet, as much as he tried to distance himself, he couldn't deny the softening in his heart at the sight of her.

The car rolled smoothly along the road, the world outside a blur. Nayan shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing closer to him. Yashvardhan's arm, initially tense, began to relax. He let her rest, his thoughts a tempest of regret, responsibility, and an unacknowledged hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find some semblance of understanding.

As they approached the imposing gates of the Thakur mansion, Nayan stirred awake. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, before the reality of her surroundings sank in. Her eyes met Yashvardhan's briefly, a flicker of confusion and an unknown feeling in their depths.

He looked away, his jaw set, trying to mask the softness he had felt moments ago. The grand structure of the mansion loomed ahead, its shadow casting over them like a harbinger of the trials to come.

She sat up, adjusting her lehenga, and prepared to step out into her new life.

Yashvardhan's opened the car door and stepped out, extending a hand to help her. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it. As soon as their skin touched electricity spurred through their veins. He felt he softness of her palms while she felt the hardness of his muscles.

From the doorway, Sadhna Thakur watched their arrival with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. Finally, whatever she was preparing for years is going to commence. Her mission is on.

Nayan stepped out of the car, taking in the grandeur of the mansion that now symbolized her new reality. With a deep breath, she prepared herself for whatever lay ahead, her mind filled with uncertainty and a sliver of hope.

Welcome to hell, Nayan.

Welcome to hell, wife.

Welcome to hell, Nayan Acharya.

˜”*°•°*”˜