Five Weeks by Shruti Omar (any book recommendations .txt) 📕

“Look at her! She is enjoying herself to the fullest whereas my brother is sulking in guilt of having a daughter like her.” Anahita froze, listening to the bitter words directed at her and veered to see her evil aunt standing at the doorway, aiming a malicious glare at her. “You really have no shame.”

Anahita looked up at the ceiling and blew air on her pointy nails, “Well, I’ve gained this special power to stay immune to fake tears.”

Misti practically exploded at her casual manner. “How can you be so disrespectful that your father’s agony isn’t affecting you? A daughter like you should be dead by now.”

“What can I do, aunt? My mom didn’t teach me to suicide just because some stupid people have a prejudiced opinion about me,” She shrugged her shoulders, “You’re so full of loathe against me that you won’t leave any chance to slander me. But, let me make it clear to you; if my dad regrets my birth or if he is ashamed of my deeds, it is our business. Don’t poke your filthy nose in it because since you know I am a shameless girl, I can harm your prestige as well. You won’t try that now, will you?”

Scowl covered Misti’s face and Anahita gave her a tight lipped smile. “So, maintain a safe distance from me. And, if I’m not wrong, Manish bro is in LA, right? I have been on social media recently and I have noticed that some of his photographs showing sheer intimacy with this guy.” She shoved her phone at Misti’s face, “So, instead of spying on me, keep a check on him. Who knows he may bring you a son in law?”

Misti turned red in mortal rage and embarrassment as the beauticians also laughed along with Anahita. She opened her mouth to retort but Ruma appeared with her daughter to escort Anahita downstairs. Anahita left, passing a smug look to Misti.

*****

She descended the staircase followed by her cousins and aunt. Everyone was gaping at her wide-eyed, marveled with her invigorating beauty. Skimming a rough glance around, she noted that only close relatives and friends had made it to the wedding. She could count them on her fingers. Their wedding was scheduled in the evening, so guests were not aware of the eleventh hour alterations therefore, leaving most of them not attending the wedding.

Good riddance! She whistled in relief. The lesser people knew, the minimum rumors would be. She had already heard many stifled murmurs and her eyes hunted down her father who was standing in a corner, stone faced. The very sight of his brought pain and she looked away. Her attention was stolen by the sweltering heat and choking jewelry dangling down her neck that made her suffocated. Despite the air-conditioned hall, the warm gust of wind managed to slap her exposed skin and layers of makeup make her sweat profusely. Ignorant to her sufferings, the welcomed guests eyed her like she was a displayed object for their entertainment.

She sped up to tread the distance from the staircase to the dais where the wedding rituals were supposed to happen. The makeshift stage was prepared in less than two hours but it was breathtaking. A temporary column was stationed on the middle of dais to bolster the yellow tapestry canopying around. Each end of the flowing satin was tied up in circular post at four corners. White lilies and fresh roses were used for the flower decorations and bronze vessels were pillared in four ends of the dais. A white, cotton cloth (known as Antrapat) curtained the groom on the other side, parting the dais into two divisions and Anahita stood on the empty side.

Mrs. Maurya helped her to hold the garland in her hands and priest started chanting mantras. Anahita was getting super bored with the rituals; for starters – she didn’t understand a single word the priest uttered. They didn’t teach Sanskrit as major language in convent schools. Her feet had started to ache and she really wanted some activity but all she had to focus on not yawning. She always wanted a Christian wedding but had anything ever gone how she wanted!!

At last, the priest chanted some verses and pulled the Antrapat down, allowing them to exchange garlands. Like a Christmas present being unwrapped, the cascading fall of clothe revealed a traditionally attired Yuvraaj. Except, Anahita never liked Christmas present. She bothered to look at him and gasped out. Her jaw hung immobile at his autocratic stance. He looked smoking hot in white, crisp Dhoti – Kurta. A conical, ornamental cap on his head and Mundavalya on his flawless forehead only made his fawn skin highlighted.

He hadn’t looked at her – not that she wanted him to drool over her but there was something – probably, gloom? – on his face that made her gasp. Her mother nudged her out of trance and she winded the garland around his neck. Amidst the hoots and whistles, the other rituals were performed. By the end, she was so tired and frustrated on the bald priest that she literally glared him.

He kept rattling her to get up and sit down and she counted sheep to calm herself until she could smell them. UGH!! She assisted Yuvraaj in Havana, touching his elbow. They were asked to stand up for Saptapadi and while doing so, Anahita stupidly stepped onto her dress and lost balance. She steeled herself for mass humiliation but Yuvraaj gripped her waist and steadied her before she could hit the ground. “Careful!”

She gasped again. Twice, that happened and she jerked back from his touch, standing properly. They took the rounds of holy fire but Anahita was shivering – the experience of his cold fingers on his bare waist had caused the effect. The priest passed the box of vermillion to Yuvraaj, asking him to fill her parting and preaching about the importance of vermilion in the marriage.

Tears stung in her eyes as Yuvraaj’s fingers pinched the powder on her parting. She had always envisioned Mukund – taking oaths, rounding fire and taking blessings. It should be he to fill her parting and tie up Mangalsutra in her neck. But, nothing happened as she wished. She hated it – she hated her parents, she hated Yuvraaj and she hated Mukund as well for leaving her in dire circumstances.