Author's POV
The morning of the wedding felt unreal—like stepping into a dream they had lived a thousand times in their head, yet somehow it still managed to feel new. Some fragrant marigold garlands hung in perfect symmetry, creating an aura of festivity that mirrored the joy in Esha's heart. She watched, almost breathless, as the last touches were being added to the mandap, its fluted pillars wrapped in jasmine and roses. In these moments, months of anticipation and whispered conversations with Aakash felt as if they'd been sculpted for this day alone.
Esha's family bustled with excitement and gentle chaos—her mother orchestrating the arrangements, her aunt reciting blessings with a devotion that felt like poetry. At the same time, cousins flitted from room to room, draping sarees and tying turbans. Amid the laughter, Esha stole a moment for herself, gazing at the radiant lehenga, each sequin catching the light as memories of her journey with Aakash played in her mind.
The day was painting the sky in deep saffron and rose—the most auspicious hour for a wedding. Aakash stood at the elaborate Mandap, his cream and gold embroidered sherwani suddenly feeling like a suit of Armor, heavy and necessary. The music of the shehnai was a melancholic, beautiful background score to the anxious pounding in his chest.
He had always approached life with logic and measured steps, but today, he was wholly surrendered to emotion. He looked at the sacred fire, the witness to their vows, and felt the weight of the promises he was about to make. He wasn't just committing to a person; he was committing to a shared destiny, a family, and a new way of existing.
His parents and family were already seated around the fire, their faces glowing in the soft light. He knew his composure was being watched, but his gaze kept returning to the entrance, waiting for the one person who could truly stabilize his world.
Then, the music swelled, transitioning from the quiet shehnai into a grand, uplifting melody. The crowd shifted, eyes turning toward the aisle. Esha felt a rush of cold air and warm emotion as she stepped out, guided by her brothers. Her deep crimson lehenga was stunning, with an embroidery that seemed to catch every available light source. Her face, framed by the elaborate jewellery and the sheer veil, was a picture of nervous serenity.
The walk was a blur. She focused only on the sight of Aakash waiting for her. He was magnificent, a solid, calming presence amid chaos. Their eyes met across the short distance, and in that silent connection, every fear, every moment of tiredness from the last few days, evaporated.
The quiet solemnity of her arrival was shattered instantly as the priest announced the Varmala. This was the first public, playful acknowledgment of their choice, a break from the gravity of the rituals to follow.
The air instantly buzzed with high-spirited energy. Esha's two younger cousins ran forward, presenting the immense, beautifully crafted garlands—thick ropes of crimson roses and creamy white jasmine, dripping with fragrance.
The music shifted to a slightly quicker, more ceremonial tune. Aakash took his garland first, the weight of the flowers a welcome heaviness on his hands. He looked at Esha, who was radiating a soft, nervous energy.
He raised the garland, a gesture signaling his readiness. Immediately, his own younger cousins and nephews sprang into action, lifting him onto their shoulders. The move was traditional, designed to make him seem tall and untouchable, playfully challenging Esha. A roar of laughter erupted from his side.
Esha, a determined glint in her eyes, rose from her chair, accepting the challenge. Her sisters and cousins quickly surrounded her. As Aakash's side hoisted him higher, Esha's side retaliated, lifting her slightly, matching his height. The audience was delighted, cheering for both teams in the friendly battle.
Esha held her garland high above her head, her laughter bright and unrestrained. Her gaze, however, remained locked on Aakash's. His face, elevated and slightly flushed from the effort and the heat, was focused entirely on her. He wasn't just playing; he was watching her, admiring her spirit, even as she tried to "defeat" him.
Finally, Aakash's side lowered him a fraction. He seized the moment, his smile wide and triumphant, and smoothly slipped the thick garland over Esha's head.
The petals brushed her face, the heady fragrance of the jasmine momentarily drowning out the shouts. The weight of the flowers felt like a sudden, beautiful yoke—a physical confirmation of his claim on her heart. Now it was Esha's turn.
Esha, her eyes glistening, stepped forward. She didn't rush. She lifted her garland, the ropes of roses heavy and cool, and with a deliberate slowness that made the entire crowd hold its breath, she placed the garland over his head.
As the flowers settled around his neck, Aakash closed his eyes for a split second, inhaling the fragrance, absorbing the impact of her touch. The act was a completion. The noisy teasing and the playful battle dissolved, leaving only the profound significance of the ritual: they had officially, publicly, and joyfully chosen each other. The crowd erupted in applause, followed by a shower of flower petals.
As Esha sat beside Aakash, the reality of the moment hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The heat from the sacred fire was intense, but the heat emanating from Aakash's presence was hotter still. She was here. She was finally here.
The priest, a man whose voice was a deep, resonant chant, then began the core rituals. The air grew thicker with the rising smoke of the offerings. Aakash and Esha were asked to perform various rituals—offering ghee, rice, and herbs into the Havan while the priest chanted the ancient Sanskrit Mantras.
Then came the ritual that caused the first real tremor of emotion: the Kanyadaan. Esha's mother and father came forward, their faces etched with the bittersweet pain of letting go.
As her father placed her hand into Aakash's, Esha felt the immense, profound difficulty of the moment for her parents. She saw the tremor in her father's fingers, a man of great strength momentarily undone by love.
Aakash, sensing the gravity of the moment, reached out and gently squeezed Esha's hand, a silent vow that travelled between them, I will protect her. To Esha, this gesture spoke volumes—he wasn't just accepting her; he was acknowledging the immense love and trust being placed in him.
Esha looked at her father, tears blurring her vision, and nodded, confirming her choice and reassuring him of her happiness. In this single, simple act of hands meeting, Aakash wasn't just taking a wife; he was taking on a daughter's worth of responsibility, and Esha felt her love for him deepen irrevocably.
The time had come for the Saath Pheras to be taken around the sacred fire. Aakash and Esha stood, their dupattas knotted together in the Gathbandhan. The knot was tight, physical, and symbolic of their intertwined fates. They began their slow, deliberate walk, circling the fire. With each measured step, the meaning of the vows, chanted by the priest, echoed through the Mandap.
Aakash led the first four steps, taking on the role of provider and protector. He felt the solid, satisfying resistance of the knot, the gentle drag of Esha's dupatta reminding him of her constant presence and dependence. Phera 1 for provision and respect. Phera 2 for strength and energy. Phera 3 for prosperity and wealth. Phera 4 for happiness and harmony. Esha took the lead for the last three steps, shifting the weight of responsibility to her as the spiritual and emotional anchor of the home. Her gait was steady, decisive, reflecting her strength. Phera 5 for offspring and family. Phera 6 for health and longevity. Phera 7 for eternal friendship and love. The crowd erupted in applause, accompanied by a shower of vivid flower petals.
The priest then brought forth the Mangalsutra. This was the most symbolic and intensely intimate moment before the vows. Aakash took the delicate chain, the black beads, and the gold pendant shimmering in the firelight.
As Aakash leaned in to place it around her neck, Esha closed her eyes, offering herself completely to the ritual. The cold touch of the gold chain against her warm skin felt like a final, beautiful seal. She felt Aakash's breath warm on her ear. She was his, completely and visibly. The Mangalsutra settled, a weight of security and tradition that she would wear forever.
The final act of sealing the ceremony involved the Sindoor. Aakash carefully took a pinch of the rich, crimson powder. He gently lifted her veil, his eyes holding hers in a moment of stunning clarity. The contact, the careful, almost reverent way he applied the vibrant powder to the parting of her hair, felt dizzying and final. As the color settled—the deep, auspicious red—Esha felt a wave of dizzying happiness. This crimson seal confirmed everything: she was Mrs. Aakash Raichand. The priest declared them husband and wife. The music soared, lifting the emotional climax of the moment.
The ceremony concluded, and the final prayers were offered. They were asked to look at each other, not as a bride and groom anymore, but as husband and wife.
Aakash lifted her veil completely, gently brushing the delicate fabric aside. Her eyes, glistening with tears of pure, overwhelming joy, met his. The anxiety was gone, replaced by a profound, solid peace that radiated between them. He saw his entire future reflected in her gaze—a future built on the Saat Pheras, sealed by fire, and illuminated by the enduring, unbreakable love they had just made sacred.
He reached out, his hand finding hers. It was a simple, familiar gesture that now carried the immense weight of forever. He was ready to stop standing beside her and start walking with her. Esha squeezed his hand, her crimson mehendi glowing against the pale fabric of his sherwani. They were one. The journey had ended, and their life had just begun.
The quiet peace of the dinner and the Kaleerein ceremony was a necessary pause before the inevitable emotional storm. Later that night, the family gathered for the Vidaai. This ritual, marking the bride's departure from her maternal home to begin her new life, was traditionally the most heartbreaking part of the wedding.
Esha stood at the threshold of the hotel suite, her face composed, yet her heart aching with a profound, internal sorrow. Her parents and brothers formed a circle around her, their faces etched with the pain of separation, even as they smiled through their tears.
She embraced her father first, clinging to him tightly. He was the anchor of her childhood. He held her, his strong hands trembling. Her mother had her next, the hug lasting the longest. The loss felt tangible here. She gently kissed Esha's head. The sight of her mother's silent tears was almost Esha's undoing. The vibrant crimson of her wedding lehenga felt like a heavy, beautiful burden, symbolizing the end of one life and the beginning of another.
Aakash stood patiently nearby, watching the sacred process of letting go. He felt the immense weight of the trust being placed in him. He walked over, placing a reassuring hand on his new father-in-law's shoulder, offering a silent pledge of care.
Finally, Esha turned to him, her eyes bright with tears, but also with a resolute commitment. Aakash gently took her hand and led her toward the waiting car.
As she reached the vehicle, she looked back one last time. The entire family was standing there, watching their lioness leave the den. The collective sorrow was a palpable current in the air, but she met it with courage.
Aakash helped her into the car, carefully arranging her heavy lehenga. He didn't speak a word of comfort, understanding that this moment required silence, not platitudes. He held her hand tightly.
As the driver started the engine, the car slowly pulled away from the curb. Esha, following tradition, threw a handful of rice over her shoulder, a final offering of gratitude and prosperity to her parents' home. The grains scattered, white against the night, marking the final physical break.
Esha looked forward, her vision blurring with tears. Aakash released her hand and immediately pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms, resting her head gently on his shoulder.
She cried then, softly, letting the tears flow onto the rich fabric of his sherwani. The car sped away from the hotel lights, carrying them toward their new house—a journey into their forever. The crimson of her sindoor, the final mark of her commitment, was now officially leaving her parental home, ready to illuminate the future with Aakash.
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Hey Folks!!
With a heavy heart, I must convey that this is the final chapter of the book. The epilogue is still left.
Hope you like this chapter. If yes, please like the chapter and comment on your favourite part.
Thanks for reading ❤️...