The evening ghats of Varanasi shimmered with the golden glow of a hundred oil lamps. The fragrance of incense mixed with the smoke of diyas, and the Ganga reflected the flickering flames like a restless mirror. The aarti bells rang in rhythm, their sound echoing through temples and alleys. For most, this was devotion. For Anaya, it was… distraction.
She adjusted her dupatta nervously, balancing the prasad thali. Her mother, Meera, walked next to her, her voice sharp enough to pierce through the chanting priests.
Meera (Hinglish): "Anaya, tumhe kab samajh aayega? Umar nikal rahi hai tumhari. Har ladki ke liye ek sahi waqt hota hai shaadi ka. Tumhari chachi kal hi keh rahi thi—ek accha rishta hai Lucknow se."
(English): "Anaya, when will you understand? You're getting older. Every girl has the right age for marriage. Your aunt was just telling me yesterday—there's a good proposal from Lucknow."
Anaya sighed. Her mother's words had become background music—repeated daily, like the temple bells.
Anaya (Hinglish): "Maa, mujhe lagta hai ki main shaadi ke liye bani hi nahi hoon. Zindagi sirf ek rishta nibhaane ke liye thodi hoti hai."
(English): "Mother, I don't think I was made for marriage. Life isn't just about fulfilling one relationship."
Her younger brother, Kunal, snickered, balancing a plastic bag filled with jalebis.
Kunal (Hinglish): "Haan Maa, didi toh kisi aur duniya ki rajkumari hai. Agle janam mein shaayad ek pari banegi jo bas kahaniyon mein rehti hai."
(English): "Yes, Mom, my sister is a princess of some other world. In her next life, she'll probably become a fairy who lives only in stories."
Anaya flicked water from her fingertips onto him playfully.
Anaya: "Chup kar, warna teri jalebi Ganga ji mein dubaa dungi."
("Shut up, or I'll drown your jalebi in the river.")
Kunal clutched the packet dramatically to his chest.
Kunal (mock-heroic): "Nooo! Jalebi is my first love!"
Even Meera laughed despite herself, though she quickly composed her face back into a frown. Family banter was common, but tonight… something in the air felt different.
As the priest's chants grew louder, Anaya closed her eyes. Suddenly, amid the ringing bells and murmurs of the crowd, she heard a whisper—soft, poetic, almost woven into the breeze:
"Jahan Ganga ki lehron mein raaz chupte hain,
Wahan tere kadam aaj likhenge nayi dastaan."
("Where the waves of the Ganga hide secrets,
Tonight your footsteps will write a new tale.")
Her eyes snapped open. She looked around quickly—people clapping, pandits raising fire, children chasing one another with sparklers. No one seemed to notice the voice. Only she had heard it.
Her heart raced. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady herself.
Anaya (whispering, Hinglish): "Ye awaaz…? Kaun tha?"
(English): "That voice…? Who was it?"
Kunal tugged at her arm.
Kunal: "Didi, again your filmi imagination? I swear, kabhi kabhi lagta hai tumhe kisi aur duniya ka visa mil gaya hai."
("Sister, again lost in your filmi imagination? I swear, sometimes I feel like you've been granted a visa to another world.")
She forced a laugh, but her eyes searched the shadows near the river. And there, barely visible behind the stone pillars of the ghat, stood a figure. A young man, tall, dressed in simple kurta-pajama, but his eyes… his eyes glowed faintly, like stars trapped in water. He wasn't clapping, wasn't praying—he was watching her.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Before she could speak, Meera called out again.
Meera: "Chalo Anaya, prasad chadhana hai. Zyada der mat lagao."
("Come on, Anaya, we have to offer the prasad. Don't waste time.")
But her steps felt heavier, as if unseen hands were pulling her back toward the stranger. She glanced once more at the riverbank. The figure was gone.
Only ripples remained where the shadows had been.
---
That night at home, the family sat down for dinner. Her father, Raghav, a professor with a booming laugh, teased Meera about her endless "shaadi lectures."
Raghav (Hinglish): "Meera, bachchi ko abhi jeene do. Agar har din rishton ki list banati rahogi toh Anaya bhaag jaayegi."
(English): "Meera, let the girl live. If you keep making a list of marriage proposals every day, Anaya will run away."
Kunal burst into laughter, almost choking on his dal.
Kunal: "Didi already lives in la-la land. Agar bhaagi, toh ek flying carpet pe jayegi."
("Sister already lives in la-la land. If she runs away, it'll be on a flying carpet.")
Even Anaya laughed this time. But inside, her thoughts were restless. Who was that boy by the ghat? And why had his eyes… felt like they had known her for centuries?
When everyone retired, Anaya stood by the window of her small room, looking out at the moonlit Ganga. She whispered the words she had heard again:
"Jahan Ganga ki lehron mein raaz chupte hain…"
And as if the river heard her, the wind carried a reply, so faint it could have been her imagination—
"…main tera intezaar kar raha hoon."
("…I've been waiting for you.")
Her breath caught. Somewhere, hidden in the darkness, Aarav—the cursed guardian of the Ganga—smiled a sad, longing smile.