21

-• vows and veils •-

The news of their marriage took the social media by storm. Rajawats and Chauhans are coming together again, after a decade long gap, to tie the knot of the youngest successors of the royal families, people could not be more excited. It had happened once, failed, and now it's happening again.

The netizens left no time digging up the past between the families. Old photos and news articles resurfaced the internet. The failed marriage of the Jaigarh's King was back in talks.

As Taranya scrolls through the headlines flooding her google feed, she nibbles on her lower lip worriedly, wondering how her brother is coping up with the past coming so abruptly to stand in front of his eyes. She didn't expect the world to scavenge through his life looking for spicy gossips to talk about. It goes to show even status and power cannot the stop world from looking at you with scrutiny and judgement.

"Princess Taranya," she looks up at Juyi. "The wedding outfits are here."

Taranya nods and looks back down at her phone. She hasn't talked to Yuvraaj properly ever since the dinner with the Rajawats when she had exchanged rings with Shourya. The thought of him clings heavily to her chest. This mistake of hers is going to have consequences for the rest of her life and she has no power to reverse it.

She can't believe this.

She has made countless wrong decisions over the span of twenty three years of her life, yet the one time she wanted to make the right one, wrong stood before her like a wall, unavoidable, and impossible to dodge.

"Princess Taranya," Juyi repeats.

Taranya glances up.

"The dresses are here."

Taranya sighs. "I heard you the first time, Juyi. The dresses are here. Got it. You can go now."

The tone of dismissal makes Juyi fidget. She has more to say. But Princess Taranya looks uninterested in her own marriage preparations. Did she not fight her brothers so they can approve her marriage with the Prince of Rajgarh? That's what the rumours across the palace say. But the more time she spends around Princess, the less she believes those rumours. Her princess looks less and less happy as the day creeps in closer.

Tonight is her Mehendi ceremony. The entire palace is decked up with flowers and lights. Every corner is attended and lit up, a curious amalgam of the traditional and the modern. From the colors of the curtains to the styling of the flowers, everything is done keeping her taste in mind. What suits her, what she prefers, how she likes certain things to be, that's all Juyi has been hearing for the last week.

And yet here her Princess is, uninterested, agitated, and downright bored.

She hasn't even stepped out of her room to see and appreciate the way her brothers has transformed this palace into her own bridal palanquin, let alone participate in the preparations.

"What?" Taranya snaps when Juyi doesn't move.

The timid woman flinches. "The designer said Prince Shourya personally chose the outfits and jewelleries. She wanted you to try them on incase alterations are required."

Taranya clenches her jaw. "Fine, c'mon!" Throwing her phone on the bed, she gets off the bed and storms out past Juyi, who hurriedly grabs the card key from the desk and pulls the door close, rushing after her Princess so she doesn't lose her in this maze of corridors and floors.

Taranya comes to a halt at the end of the staircase. Aisles of lehengas, sarees, blouses and dupattas fill the living room. A stylish woman, wearing an indo-western fusion sits on the couch, drinking a cup of coffee and talking to another woman sitting next to her.

To announce her arrival, Taranya clears her throat. The two women lift their heads, and a pleasant smile takes up the older woman's face. The other woman looks stiff, almost uncomfortable. Taranya squints her eyes to look keenly. She has seen the other woman before. She can't recall where. But she has.

"Hi, I'm Natasha. Your wedding designer."

Taranya shakes hands with her.

"I'm Niharika." The other woman stretches her hand forward.

Taranya blinks, taken aback due to the abrupt face-off. She did not expect to meet her here. Or to meet her at all.

"Taranya," they shake hands, and then pull away in discomfort. Fortunately, Natasha is extroverted enough to quell the awkward air as she diverts the women's attention towards her wide variety of designs. Her exuberant nature keeps them occupied for the next fifteen minutes.

"These colors were personally selected by Mr. Rajawat."

Taranya can tell. All she can see is white and purple, with a few goldens, blues and greens thrown here and there. But white dominates.

"He also helped us with your measurements so we saved a lot of time." She continues.

Taranya squirms in her seat. She feels Niharika stiffen beside her. But the women don't glance at each other, determined to keep it neutral.

"He wishes you wear green for sangeet, purple for mehendi and white for haldi. He wants to match his outfits accordingly." She chuckles. "I swear to God, I've been in this business for over thirty years, but I've never seen a groom being so much involved in his own wedding. Typically, they let the woman make the decisions and go along with whatever they're told to do. But Mr. Rajawat is genuinely looking forward to every ritual and ceremony."

Taranya forces a smile on her face.

"Please come over and choose what you want to wear." Natasha invites her excitedly.

"Excuse me, I've to make a call." Niharika gets up and walks out briskly.

Taranya stares at her retreating back. What must have compelled this woman to include herself in the wedding preparations of the man she likes and the woman who replaced her?

"Miss. Chauhan?"

Taranya nods and gets up from the couch, flattening her black bodycon dress before she walks up to the aisles. "Did he choose any particular outfits?"

"Of course, he did!" Natasha goes on to show the options he shortlisted for their wedding ceremonies.

"We'll go with what he chose." Taranya smiles.

"Oh, he'd be so happy!" Natasha gushes. "I advise you try them on so we know if any alterations are necessary or not." And she plucks out the outfits from their hangers, stuffing the heavy dresses in the arms of Juyi who almost stumbles with all the weight thrust so abruptly on her. "Go," she encourages.

Taranya walks to the empty room on the ground floor and Juyi helps her put on the first outfit. It fits her perfectly. Shourya did a good job guessing her measurements. As if he went through her wardrobe himself to note them down. She hopes not. That'd be creepy.

"You look so beautiful," Juyi compliments with such honesty her eyes sparkle in awe.

Taranya smiles genuinely this time. "Thanks."

They show the fitting to Natasha. She squeals with so much enthusiasm it startles the Princess and her personal attendant.

"So gorgeous! But," She walks ahead and changes the styling of dupatta better. "Yes, now it's perfect. You might as well keep it on. Your make up team will be arriving any minute. The function starts in the evening right?"

Taranya nods. "At seven."

"Great. Have fun." Natasha hugs her gently. "Congratulations on your wedding, by the way. I'll leave the rest of the outfits and jewelleries with your hair and make up team. They'll keep them safe. Bye!" With a soft kiss on the to-be bride's cheek, the older woman pulls away and waves to the stunned pair of women standing frozen in their places.

"I've never seen a person so excited about their work before." Juyi murmurs under her breath.

"Same."

In thirty minutes, as predicted, the hair and make up team arrives. They get the distraught Princess ready for the ceremony. She hopelessly gravitates towards her phone every now and then. Her communication with Janet has been very formal lately.

While she's being dolled up to look beautiful, in her mind, she dwells on the plight of her close relationships.

When her phone chimes, Taranya lunges forward to grab it.

The woman putting on a liner smacks her lips in disappointment.

"I'm so sorry, I need to check this." Taranya says absent-mindedly and unlocks her phone.

My bitch: I just landed. Your brother's car picked me up. I'm on my way.

Taranya tears up unexpectedly.

She has been doing that a lot.

Tearing up.

You cry when you're either too happy or too sad.

Taranya is in the middle of it.

The happiness of coming back home, the happiness of being with her family again, the happiness of getting a well deserved job, and the sadness of having to leave her home soon, the sadness of lying to her family, the sadness of starting her future with a man she can't begin to understand, let alone sympathize with.

"Please don't cry, you'll ruin the eye make up." The make up artist requests.

Taranya chuckles softly. "I'm sorry. I'm done inconveniencing you. I'll let you do your work in peace now." Keeping her phone aside, she sits straight and closes her eyes.

The make-up artist sighs in relief, continuing her job.

Janet arrives right before the ceremony begins.

Taranya hugs her tightly. The two get no time to exchange pleasantries or bask in the fragile moment. They're immediately expected at the function. So in record time of five minutes, Janet changes into one of Tara's lehengas and does a quick make up before the two leave Taranya's room to go downstairs.

As soon as Taranya enters the great hall, she's welcomed on the stage, where seating arrangements are done on the floor, and she's told to sit in the middle of it. Ladies all surround her. Taranya meets the extended relatives. Her brothers stay out of the limelight. And so the function begins.

"The initials of your groom?" Asks the woman putting henna on her.

Taranya inhales a deep breath. "S. S. R."

It takes less than a minute for the woman to write them down on her hand. And the lines of her destiny finally meets the man of her life.

🖤

Shourya smiles at himself in the mirror. He's wearing a plain white kurta. The designer had draped a yellow shawl across his shoulder. He had allowed the woman to put a little make up on him. He wouldn't lie. It did put a glow on his face.

It's the day of his haldi.

It's seven in the morning.

He's getting married tonight.

To the woman he's in love with.

The smile on his face transforms into a full blown grin.

He misses her.

He wish he was there for her Mehendi and Sangeet ceremony. But according to the Chauhan traditions, the groom and bride are strictly not allowed to meet until the day of the wedding. Hence, all the wedding functions are to be celebrated seperately. But it's fine. It's the least he needs to do as compared to what he has done to make this marriage happen.

He walks to his wardrobe and pulls open the safe. There lies his confession letter. His fingers feather across the crisp envelope.

Soon.

He has waited three years to make himself hers, he would wait an eternity to make her his.

He leans against the glass shelf, smiling like a fool at the floor. Is he the same man who was repulsed at the thought of love? It came knocking on his door when he least expected it. The past makes him laugh now. He was all prepared to use her as his bait to lure the Chauhans' weakness. But look at him. He's so weak in her love now, it's not even funny. He was vowed to his vengeance, and he still is, but he wouldn't lie. His priorities have changed. His priority is his soon to be wife, Taranya Singh Chauhan.

"Shourya," Virendra's voice returns him to the present.

He walks out of the closet and nods at the man, on his way to pick up his shawl and phone.

"C'mon, everyone's waiting downstairs." Virendra mutters. "And why don't you have genuine friends? It's not my job to escort you. I'm your father. Even if fake."

Shourya rolls his eyes and motions Virendra to take the lead. Closing the door, he follows the man downstairs. They head to the hotel lawn. It's warmer than usual. It'll definitely rain tonight. He takes the elders' blessings, starting from the Chairman, continuing with the relatives and close family friends and ending at Virendra's feet. Then he sits down in the center of the pavilion and rolls his sleeves until his elbows.

The function lasts well until afternoon. While he's soaked to the bone, the sun is shining directly on top of their heads. The royal butler hands him the towel to wipe his face and arms. Shourya thanks him softly, stepping off the stage and changing into a fresh pair of clothes before joining the guests again.

Shourya startles when he's pulled in the middle of the dance floor by his cousins and relatives. He has never met them before. Maybe once or twice. But not long enough to be so friendly with each other. Yet they smile and beam at him, happy in his happiness. He stands stiffly in the centre, clapping his hands awkwardly as the people dance around him. Fortunately, someone pulls him out of the suffocating space, unfortunately it's the woman he's trying to avoid.

"Hi, Niharika." He says out of politeness. He needs to be civil towards her until the marriage goes through.

"You looked like a goat to be slaughtered in there," she comments.

"Yeah, I was uncomfortable."

"I met Taranya." He looks down at her with a frown. "I wanted to belittle her. I wanted to make her insecure. I don't know, I just wanted her to be sad and depressed." A sarcastic chuckle escapes her mouth. Shourya feels his hand curl up into a fist. "But- But I couldn't get a word out when I was actually in front of her. She did what I intended to do without saying a word. She didn't need to. And why would she? She has what I wanted," her eyes bore into his, "so why would she be insecure?"

Shourya looks away.

He knows the truth.

She isn't insecure because she has it. It's because she doesn't want it.

There's a huge difference.

And he's afraid to acknowledge it.

He shakes his head subtly. He isn't going to jinx their beginning. It'll be beautiful. And a few years later down the road, they'll be cherishing it. Together. Forever.

🤍

Shourya hated the baarat ritual. It lasted three hours. He was on the brink of his patience. Thankfully, the loud music and substandard dance moves ended at the gates, and henceforth, it was a smooth drive to the Chauhan palace, well except for the flurry of reporters following them in their vans.

Shourya finds so much frill unnecessary. He was willing to stay at Chauhan's hotel for the wedding day. But the Chairman denied. He wanted the wedding to happen according to the proper rituals and practices. So, Shourya relented. In the end, all he wants is to get married, he doesn't care how.

It's when they enter the Veer Mahal's driveway that he realises the extent to which their marriage is arranged. He has never seen a sight more beautiful than this.

Yet, the moment he sees Taranya walk down the aisle in a red lehenga, the beauty of this materialistic world is lost on him.

She's so glorious he feels compelled to regard her with dignity than desire. Her presence so heavy, it overshadows every other person in the vicinity. He steps down the stairs of the pavillion, and she inches closer, smoothly, as though she's gliding down the clouds, held together by her brothers, protected, cherished, and about to be given away forever.

She climbs the ramp and her brothers scatter into the crowd, then she walks up slowly to him.

Shourya, unable to hold his smile, reveals the insurmountable happiness on his face. Taranya's face softens. When she's close enough, he holds out his hand and she slips hers into his, together they walk to their seats and settle down.

The priest starts reciting the mantras, commencing the ceremony with the blessings of Lord Ganesha.

Shourya turns his head to look down at her. She meets his eyes bravely. He had never seen his dream come true right in front of his eyes before.

"Please stand up for the varmala exchange."

The two oblige. He puts the garland around her and then lowers his head for her to do the same. The next rituals follow. Yuvraaj and Vivaan do the kanyadaan, offering Taranya's hand to Shourya's. His palm cups the back of hers and he holds it firmly. Shourya's distant cousin ties the knot. Then they get up again for the saath phere.

Shourya leads the first four vows.

Taranya guides the last three.

After they sit down, he ties the nuptial chain around her neck and puts the vermillion in her scalp line. A little bit falls on the bridge of her nose. He quickly wipes it away using his pinky. She looks up at him in that moment. Shourya feels his breath hitch. His heart picks up its pace and something in his stomach tumbles over.

"I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. You may proceed to take the elders' blessings."

Shourya and Taranya get up, facing each other. The growing smile on his face drops when she surprises him by bending to touch his feet as a mark of respect.

"You didn't need to, Darling." The priest says with a fond smile. "It's an orthodoxical belief."

"Oh," Tara blinks, embarrassed. That was what internet told her to do. Looks like it needs an update as well.

"It's okay." Shourya says. She looks up at him. "Let's be equals. In any way, shape or form." Then he bends to touch her feet.

Taranya watches him straighten up. He moves closer, cups her cheek and presses a sweet kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fall close gently.

The crowd goes aww.

He pulls away and she opens her eyes. They gaze at each other naively, without the differences of their present or the alikeness of their past. They look at each other as one looks at the sky, quietly, thoughtlessly, in a way that one simply admires an existence, and not question it.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Rajawat. It begins with you." He rests his forehead on hers, his hand holding her cheek tenderly.

It happened you guys! They're finally married! The next is the most awaited Vidaai!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.