Lekha is an orphan who has quite a fascination for all things connected with Rajasthan(India). The fascination comes to life as she is pulled into the century when the Mughals and Rajputs are in a tussle over Rajwara (Rajasthan of today). The story...
The final call came as Gayatri and Maitri barged in joyously announcing the arrival of the baraat (groom's marriage procession) inside the haveli (our home). I felt like the prisoner going to the guillotine. I wanted to drag my feet but then counting to ten I crossed the threshold of maasa's room, with my friends holding on to me acting like jail wardens, even if they didn't know it.
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The Bride
As we carefully descended the stairs, my whole concentration was on not missing a step as I was being weighed down by the weight of the dress. It was like a female armour being worn by a bride as she proceeded to enter a different kind of war zone called the married life. I was being a cynic but then I had full right to feel so.
I could hear the soothing music of the shehnai being played in the background but even that failed to calm me down. In fact, the shehnai generally associated with marriage was just a reminder of what lay ahead.
I almost missed the last step as I saw Roopmati decked up like a bride in red standing right in front. I could see her analyzing me though she couldn't actually see my face properly through the veil.
The girls supported me from both sides to stabilize me and I was literally dragged to the mandap, as they kept their hold on me. The feeling was of being forcefully floated out of the crowded metro by the determined crowd even if it wasn't your stop. I couldn't just put my foot down and stop, but had to follow their momentum which brought me right under the mandap.
Rudra was already there and he didn't even turn towards me. He seemed fascinated by all the puja items lying in front of him.
'Coward' I seethed at him in my mind along with a cuss word. Anger was a good thing right then as it was the only thing stopping me from wailing or do something equally stupid.
The punditji asked him to stand up for the jaimaala (garland exchange).
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Rudra
My heartbeat accelerated as soon as he stood up facing me. He looked so handsome in his sherwani and the turban placed on his head just like the prince of my 'dreams'. Not my dream and especially not my prince, I recollected as Vasundhara passed a garland made of flowers in my hand.
