34. OS 18. Too Tempting to Resist (Part 34)

Part 34

Today was her shaadi.

Khushi sagged in her chair.

The past week had flashed past her. All she could remember was being pushed into designer clothes and pulled out of them by her jiji as she attended rasam after rasam at the speed of light.

And Arnavji had kept his distance from her.

She breathed in deep. It had been a great comfort as she hadn’t needed to fight her dhak dhak and acidity caused by his nearness, but...but it had been disquieting as well.

Khushi placed her hand on her chest. Her lashes lifted to see herself in the mirror.

Why was he staying away from her? How would they manage for the rest of their lives? Would she make a good wife? And what kind of husband would Laad Governor be?

She swallowed hard.

She missed her mother like an ache today.

A tear trailed down her cheek.

She wished she could hug her amma and weep, ask for reassurance that she would be by her side if anything went wrong. She felt alone, all alone and lost in this ajeeb world that rarely made sense to her. She was still eight and an orphan who had had the rug pulled from under her feet by the death of her parents.

She crossed her arms to hold herself and wept.

                                                 ***

“Please bring the bride downstairs, Devyaniji,” the priest said. “It is time for the rituals to begin.”

“Yes, panditji,” nani said before turning to Anjali and Payal with a smile. “Bring Khussi bitiya downstairs.”

Anjali made to take a step forward, but Arnav beat her.

“I will get Khushi,” he said, making his way up the steps on quick feet.

He knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she whispered.

It was enough for him. He pushed the door open, stepped in and softly shut the door behind him.

Khushi was sitting on an engraved stool before the dressing table, her divine form in a designer lehenga reflected in the mirror.

She watched him walk to her softly, a large man in a black sherwani and red turban. The sherwani highlighted his broad shoulders and his washboard stomach and the turban gave him a regal look.

He came to stand behind her seated form.

“It is time, Khushi,” he said softly.

Khushi nodded. A tear slipped past the dam she had erected to keep her emotions under control.

“Khushi, please ro mat,” he murmured, wanting badly to touch her to comfort her, but stopping himself from doing so.

Khushi turned on the stool and threw herself at him. Her arms went around his waist and she pressed her face against his tummy.

He folded her close and placed one hand on her head, murmuring, “Khushi, it will be okay.”

“What if... I am... a bad... wife?” she mumbled, sobbing hard.

Arnav almost smiled. “I am more likely to be a hopeless husband than you are to be a bad wife,” he replied honestly.

She lifted her head to look at him.

He nodded. “I have no previous experience as a husband. I am a novice at this job, just as you have never been married before.” He waited for his answer to register in her head. Then he continued, “We will muddle through together.”

She stared at him.

“We will learn together, make mistakes together, correct them together,” he said.

“If I am not a good wife,” she sniffed, “your family and mine...they will be disappointed...”

“Don’t worry, Khushi,” Arnav said softly. He placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “What happens between us remains between us.”

She looked at him with moist eyes, unable to believe her ears.

“We...we need to learn about each other, learn to adjust,” explained Arnav. “It will take time, but I promise, Khushi, tum aur mein, hamesha.”

She looked into his honest eyes. Tears ran down her wet cheeks.

Arnav dried her face gently. Then he asked, “Ready, Khushi?”

She nodded and reluctantly let go of his waist, feeling bereft at the loss of his warmth. He felt so good, she thought.

“Chalo,” he invited.

Khushi stood up.

Arnav ran deeply appreciative eyes over her slim form in a cream and red lehenga with pearls strewn all over it.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice husky and sincere.

Khushi blushed, feeling warmth spread through her insides.

He wanted to touch her flushed cheek, but told himself, ‘Just a few more minutes. Hang on there. Let the wedding rituals be over and done with.’

He held out his arm.

She curled hers around his.

They left the room.

Mami had to blink away her tears as she saw her Arnav bitwaa lead his bride down the steps to the living room where the mandap had been arranged.

Anjali hugged nani.

Nani silently promised her daughter, Ratna, that Arnav’s life would now be filled with joy.

Garima sighed in relief.

Buaji whispered, “A big responsibility is leaving our shoulders, Nandkisore. It is His kripa that we got such a good family and boy for Khussi.”

“Yes, jiji,” Garima replied softly. “I can't tell you how many nights I have spent worrying about Khussi’s future, about how I will face her mother after my death if we are unable to give Khussi a good life. Devi Maiyya heard my prayers and gave her such a good babua who will put up with her childishness.”

Sasi had to blink his tears away. His younger daughter was getting married and losing her would leave a big void in his heart. The only consolation was that he was handing her over to hands that would keep her safe, to a man who was used to shouldering the burden of an extended family without complaint.

“Sasiji, Garimaji, Madhumatiji, aayiye,” nani invited with a smile. “Let the rituals begin.”