He followed suit, and slipped the garland over her carefully, and she felt the silky soft flowers tickling the base of her throat.
When it was done, the priest motioned for them to sit, and they took a seat onto the cushions in front of the fire pit. Then, he lit up the havan kund in it, and began, ‘Marriage is not only a promise, it is a commitment to duty. It is companionship and forgiveness. It is two people walking through the fire of life, holding their hands, as equals. You will share joy, grief, silence and laughter.’
Siya listened, her eyes fixed on the flames, each crackle a small echo of her own heartbeat. When she’d left him that morning, she did so with the bitter certainty that whatever they had was gone for good. She’d thought she’d never see him again, yet here they were, ceremonial garlands around their necks, bound by vows and promises.
Maybe, I should just stop thinking, she mused.
The priest cleared his throat and handed both of them some rice grains and petals of marigold as he spoke. The hum of his confident chanting reverberated off the high ceilings of the penthouse. When he finished the excerpt, they poured them into the fire together. The air hung heavy with the mingling aromas of sandalwood and camphor, grounding her in the moment.
Then, he announced, ‘Father of the bride may step forward for the ritual of kanyadaan.’
Kartik walked onto the elevated stage, dressed in a pale beige sherwani. He placed her hand in Abhay’s as the priest offered prayers to the Gods. Siya looked at him, scanning his face for any scrap of emotion but found none.
‘This sacred act symbolises the father entrusting his daughter to her husband, trusting him to honour her dignity,’ the priest explained as he poured the water from the kalash meant for paanigrahan over their joined hands.
The words rang a little too loudly in her ears. There were no cameras around, so he had no reason to play the role of a loving father. He clearly didn’t see this as his daughter’s wedding, but as his victory over the jewellery market. He didn’t see the little girl who used to curl up on the sofa in his study, waiting for him to come home every day, and he didn’t see the woman in front of him, carrying the weight of a deal he had forced on her.
If her mother had been here, she would have cried. She would have held her hand when the nerves got the better of her, and would have smiled like she meant it. The sting of her absence coiled in her chest and she blinked back the tears.
Once the ritual was complete, Kartik walked away without even once looking at her. She bowed her head, feeling her heart crushed under the weight of disappointment. Abhay still held her hand in his, and when he saw her trying hard to maintain her composure, he caressed his thumb on the edge of her palm.
Meera stood behind them as she took an edge of her veil and the other edge of Abhay’s shawl, and tied them together in a knot. She gave them a quick smile, then took back her seat next to Raghav, behind them.
‘Now that the bride and the groom are tied together by the knot of destiny, please stand for your pheras. As you completeeach circle around the sacred pit, with the sky and the holy fire as your witness, repeat each of the vows after me.’
As the priest explained the sanctity of the saat pheras, Siya felt their significance seep into her reluctant heart. ‘The first four vows belong to the groom as he leads the bride around the fire, and the last three vows belong to the bride as the groom follows her. These seven vows are lifelong commitments, and bind two souls in a holy bond of trust, respect, and love.’
They stood, and their eyes met for a fleeting second before they began their first circle around the fire. She followed behind him as the fire crackled beside them.
Abhay repeated after the priest in a resounding tone. ‘I vow to nourish you with care and patience, and provide welfare and happiness for you and our family.’
Siya felt a crack form in her emotional armour, the weight of the vow settling down on her. He stared at her as they completed the circle, and his grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly.
As they began their second circle, Abhay followed after the priest and said, ‘I vow to build a life with you rooted in honesty, and to make sure what we share is always built on trust.’
Golden hues of the fire crackled as they began their third circle. Abhay said, ‘I vow to walk beside you in health and in sickness, in joy and in sorrow as your courage and strength.’
The sting behind her eyes came without warning, and she blinked hard as they stepped over rose petals and began their fourth circle. Abhay traced the edges of her knuckles with his thumb as he said, ‘I vow to honour your independence, your dignity, and your respect, and promise to consult you in all important matters, as you are my resolute well-wisher.’
‘Now the bride will walk ahead of the groom and make her vows to him,’ the priest gestured for them to exchange places.
The holy fire flickered as she shifted to walk ahead of him, her hand trembling slightly within the warm cocoon of his hand.
She heard the priest chant the vow in Sanskrit, then repeated after him when he prompted her. The words tasted foreign on her tongue as she said them, but the weight of responsibility settled in her chest. ‘I vow to be your strength in all walks of life and I promise to honour your family as mine with tenderness and truth.’
Abhay followed after her as they began the sixth circle and she said, ‘I vow to find strength in our differences, patience in our storms, and laughter in all the seasons we’ll share, and promise to choose you not just in love, but in comfort, in conflict, in the everyday.’
As they began the final circle, she made her final vow. ‘As God is my witness, I vow to forsake all others, to love and cherish you as my best friend and husband. You are mine, and I am yours, for all eternity.’
Abhay tangled his fingers with hers as they completed the seventh circle, and echoed her vow. ‘As God is my witness, I vow to forsake all others, to love and cherish you as my best friend and wife. You are mine, and I am yours, for all eternity.’
‘With this final vow, you have pledged yourselves to each other for eternity. You are bound by the sacred vows that will last beyond this life,’ the priest announced as he poured the last of the offering in the holy fire.
And in that instant, it hit her. She was married to Abhay. Her father may have put this into motion, but they were now bound in a sacred relationship.
The anklet was meant to stay in her pocket as her secret, but something shifted inside her when she saw the priest blessing the mangalsutra so he could hand it over to Abhay. In that suspended moment between ritual and reality, she reached into the pocket of her lehenga and her fingers closed around the delicate silver.
Siya wanted to mark one moment that hadn’t been orchestrated or twisted or forced by anyone else, and that’s why she pulled it out and showed it to Abhay. He saw the anklet on her palm, and then his gaze collided with hers. The tiny seashells glimmered faintly against her henna-stained skin, and his eyes—those impossibly expressive eyes—widened before softening with gratitude so reverent, it made her chest tighten.
