I didn’t know who the woman was.
But walking away, one thought echoed in my mind: Everyone seemed to live my fantasies… except me.
And suddenly, after witnessing them, all I wanted was to find my love.
?????
39. Suman
Istared at my hands. The mild fragrance of henna soaked in essential oils, especially jasmine, wrapped around me, as if I were sitting in the heart of a blooming garden. A faint smile lingered on my lips.
Everything felt unreal. Too unreal to believe. Perhaps destiny truly existed after all. I didn’t know how much of this was written in my stars and how much I had earned through endurance. All I knew was that, for countless reasons, I never believed I deserved any of it.
This was not the first time an attendant had married a prince. History had many such instances of unions between enslaved women, attendants, women of lower rank, and royalty. But those marriages were most often political strategies, conveniences, sometimes lust, but rarely love.
But my marriage to Kunwar Agastya was different. Entirely different.
All my life, I had searched for purpose. I had questioned the supreme power endlessly; why bring me into this world only to let me suffer? But when pain became constant, and no light appeared in my dark life, I had stopped asking altogether.
But I finally saw the light finding its way to me. My purpose. My destiny. And that was being the wife of Kunwar Agastya Dev Singh.
I was meant to meet him. I was destined to stand by his side.
I had suffered because only through pain could I learn that everyone deserves love.
During that one long year when we were apart, when he had left me alone in the palace, I used to wonder: if a person faces punishment for every mistake they make, do they never deserve love?
Strangely, the answer revealed itself to me. Kunwar Agastya deserved love.
And through that realisation, I learned one thing: pour all your love into the one who truly deserves it, despite all his mistakes, if his intentions toward you are rooted only in love and care. No one deserves love in exchange for cruelty.
Kunwar Agastya had given me nothing but love. The kind of love I had stopped longing for. The kind I had stopped asking for. The kind that had once been erased from my life.
He arrived like a new spring, filling my world with warmth, fragrance, laughter, and hope.
I inhaled deeply, staring at his name written in the centre of my palm. It looked beautiful. Elegant. Something I had never imagined would belong to me. My heart swelled with gratitude and love, aching with it.
After eight years, henna adorned my hands again. And yet, it felt like the first time.
I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the happy tears fall and draw attention.
The floral crosses and intricate fillings on my palms felt symbolic, like flowers for joy, crosses for challenges, and filled spaces for moments of quiet companionship, when time would simply pass between us.
I chuckled softly.
Even if not always physically together, we would remain emotionally, mentally, and lovingly intertwined.
“Suman, come on.”
I startled, pulled out of my thoughts, and looked up at Nandani, slightly breathless as she grasped my hand.
“It’s dried now, right?” she asked.
I nodded, looking past her at the women dancing joyfully to folk melodies of the tabla, dholak, and flutes blending into a vibrant rhythm.
“It’s your sangeet. Come,” she insisted.
I shook my head.“I don’t dance.”
