"What does it matter how he looks? He’s a psycho, Mansi. A total mental case with a bolt missing in his head. Everyone says he’s arrogant and has a massive ego. And they say he’s 'allergic' to girls. You wouldn't understand the reasons even if I told you."
​"Maithili, it's time for the Muhurta. Come, dear," someone called. I stood up and walked toward the Mandap, dreading the life ahead...
​Before I even arrived, the groom, Raghav, had already made his entrance. My sister nudged me, pointing to him standing before the Antarapata (the ceremonial curtain), holding a garland.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but his presence was unmistakable. Accompanied by my sisters, I stood on the other side of the curtain. I had absolutely no desire to be there; if given the chance, I would have bolted.
But I was bound by my parents' words and the heavy burden of debt our family owed to the Vasishta family.
​Despite my reluctance, I stood there holding the jasmine garland. They had adorned my hair with a heavy Moggu Jade (bud-braid), but the weight of the family's debt felt much heavier on my head than the flowers.
The priest began chanting mantras, and within moments, the curtain was drawn aside.
​"Maithili, put the garland on him," the priest’s voice snapped me back to reality.
I lifted my head and looked at him. Raghav Vasishta. There was no doubt my father was right about one thing—he was stunning. He looked like a Hollywood hero. But what’s the use? I thought, letting out a silent sigh.
​"Put the garland on, Maithu," my father urged. I startled and tried to reach up, but seeing his height, I panicked. I knew this man wouldn't bow his head for me. Left with no choice, I stood on my tiptoes to loop the garland around his neck.
​"Raghav, now you," his mother said. He looked at me, and for a second, I was frightened by his piercing, reddish eyes. He must be a descendant of the hot-tempered Jamadagni, not the calm Vasishta, I feared.
​"Raghav, do I need to tell you specifically?" Kausalya asked sharply from behind him. He grumbled under his breath and threw the garland over me.
​We sat down for the rest of the rituals. I stole glances at him occasionally, but he didn't spare me a single look. It confirmed that the rumors about his cold attitude were absolutely true.
​Raghav’s POV
​As Ranjani said, this girl is undeniably cute. But what does that matter to me? Let her be whoever she is; I’m giving her a divorce in a year anyway. I have zero interest in this marriage or the drama of domestic life. I'm only doing this for my parents.
​I followed the priest's instructions meticulously because I value perfection. To me, Raghav is perfection, and perfection is Raghav.
​When the priest handed me the Mangalsutra (sacred thread) as the auspicious moment arrived, I felt nothing. How could I? I don't believe in this institution.
​"Gattimela! Gattimela!" the priest shouted as the wedding music reached a crescendo. Without looking at her face, I tied the three knots around her neck. She kept her head bowed, offering her neck without a word. To me, she looked like a sacrificial lamb.
​After the ceremony, there were endless rituals. By the time we finished, it was 1:30 PM, and my stomach had started to growl.
​"Raghav, Maithili, get up. Let’s go for lunch," Mom said. I tried to untie the knot connecting her saree and my sherwani shawl.
​"Don't untie that, Raghav! Let it be until we complete the 'house-entering' ceremony. I'll untie it myself later. Now come," Mom commanded. I nodded submissively. I’ve truly become a puppet dancing to her tunes.
​Maithili’s POV
​Since they wouldn't let us untie the ceremonial knot, we had to walk to lunch together. Raghav took massive strides, and I had to scurry like a little girl to keep up.
I don't know why this man walks as fast as a robot! I was terrified I would trip and fall any second.
​My parents and sisters followed us. Only my mother and sisters looked concerned about my struggle; my father, Keshav Rao, couldn't have cared less.
​We finally reached the dining hall and sat side-by-side.
They started serving on banana leaves. I might hate this marriage, but I love wedding food! My heart leaped with joy as salt, pickles, and fritters were served.
​The highlights were my favorites: Jalebi, Jamun, and Rasgulla. There were four types of rice—Ghee rice, Curd rice, plain rice with Sambar, and Pulao—along with various side dishes. Coming from a middle-class family, I had never seen such a lavish spread. Being the daughter-in-law of the Vasishta family meant experiencing this level of luxury.
​I pushed my morning sorrows aside and prepared to feast. But suddenly...
​"Hey fools! Didn't I tell you not to serve me oily or sweet items? You know I only eat diet food!" Raghav roared. The fritter I had just picked up slipped from my hand and hit the leaf with a thud.
​"Raghav, it's your wedding day! Can't you maintain your fitness from tomorrow? Look, the poor girl dropped her food because of your shouting," Kausalya auntie scolded.
"Now shut up and eat, or I’ll slap you right here, regardless of the wedding." ​Raghav went silent and started eating. I realized then—he’s a total mama's boy.
​"Maithili, you eat, dear," she said kindly. I nodded and slowly picked up my fritter again. I wished he’d just give me the sweets he didn't want, but I didn't have the courage to look at his face.
​"Raghav, feed a Jalebi to your wife. Let’s get a good picture," a guy sitting across from us said—probably Ninad, his friend.
​"Ninad, eat your food and leave, or I'll slap you with my messy hands," Raghav snapped. I started worrying about what he might do to me later if I made a mistake.
​"Raghav, this is common. Feed her a sweet, and let her feed you one. It’s for a simple photo. Even we did it at our wedding," Dhananjay uncle joined in.
​Fuming with anger, Raghav grabbed a Rasgulla and stuffed it into my mouth so forcefully I didn't know whether to swallow or spit it out. God help me!
​"Maithu, you feed him now," my father said. I broke off a tiny piece of Jalebi and fed it to him. Since he was so obsessed with his diet, I figured a large piece might earn me a "slap of death" this evening, so I kept it small.
To be continued..
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