Aasha was taken to a small room to rest, not Devraj's room, just a quiet corner of the haveli. She waited there in silence until someone returned for her.

A soft knock came at the door. Sudha stepped in, carrying a silver box and a tray with jewelry.

“Bahurani, tayyar ho jao. Mu dikhai ka samay ho gaya hai,” she said gently.

Aasha stood up slowly. Her body was aching, her back stiff from the long ceremonies, but her mind stayed alert, caught in a swirl of fear and confusion.

She was still wearing her bridal lehenga, the heavy red one with golden embroidery. Sudha gently fixed her dupatta, pulling it lower over her face, covering her more modestly.

Then she opened the silver box. “Yeh sasural ka gehna hai. Pehnna zaroori hai, sab log dekhenge na.”

Aasha didn’t respond, only stood still as Sudha removed her earrings and replaced them with heavier gold jhumkas, more traditional in design. The choker around her neck was taken off and replaced with a long haar, bearing a tiny family crest. A fresh set of red and gold choodiyan were slipped onto her wrists, the glass clinking softly against each other.

Aasha sat quietly through it all, her hands folded in her lap, her heart pounding.

When Sudha finished, she handed her a small mirror.

Aasha looked at her reflection. The kajal around her eyes had smudged slightly, and her lips were pale, but everything else was still in place, the maang filled with sindoor, the nose ring, and now the new jewelry that didn’t belong to her.

Sudha smiled softly. “Sab intezaar kar rahe hain.”

      -------------------------------------------------

They entered a large room in the haveli, where a group of elderly women, mostly from Devraj’s extended family, were already seated, dressed in bright sarees, whispering and smiling behind their pallus.

As soon as Aasha stepped in, the soft murmurs grew louder.

"Yahi hai hone wale zamindar ki bahu?”

“Kitni chhoti hai… dekho toh zara.”

“Naazuk lagti hai. Bilkul gaav ki phool jaisi.”

Aasha was led to sit on a cushion on the floor, her head bowed. She could feel dozens of eyes on her, inspecting her like something newly bought — a precious object.

One of the older women chuckled. “Chalo, ghoonghat uthao. Bahu ko toh dekhein zara dhang se.”

Sudha bent down, whispered softly, “Thoda sa ghoonghat uthao bhabhi, bas aankhon tak.”

Aasha’s trembling fingers lifted the edge of her dupatta just enough to reveal her eyes. Dark, lined with kajal, full of fear and questions.

The women clapped their hands lightly.

“Bohot hi bholi surat hai. Nazar na lage.”

“Zamindar Devraj ke laayak hai.”

Their tone shifted into soft whispers and knowing glances.

“Aajkal toh sab poochte hain — nayi bahu kya leke aayi.” One of the women smiled slyly.

“Suna hai theek-thaak diya hai ladki walon ne. Shaadi toh izzat wali hui.”

“Haan, yeh toh zaruri hai. Zamindar ke ghar mein naam toh banna chahiye na.”

“Waise bhi log bolte hain—‘dahej mein kya mila’—toh jawab toh hona chahiye.”

“Samajh jao… ladki sundar ho ya nahi, aajkal toh dahej se hi izzat milti hai.”

Aasha sat still, her hands gripping the edge of her dupatta. She could feel the weight of every word, even though no one spoke to her directly. Just around her. Over her. About her.

One by one, the women came forward, placing small gifts in her lap. Some gave gold coins, others placed cash, silver bangles, or sweets wrapped in red cloth. A few touched her forehead affectionately, blessing her with words that sounded kind but felt distant.

Devraj's mother, when all others were done, stood and approached slowly.

She looked at Aasha and placed a heavy gold chain in her lap.

"Apni izzat sambhal ke rakhna. Ab yeh ghar tera hai.” Her voice was calm, but firm, a reminder, not a welcome.

      -------------------------------------------------

After the mu dikhai, the women gathered once again, filling the courtyard with soft chatter and clinking bangles. The next ritual was Kangana Khulai, where the bride and groom would untie the sacred threads from each other’s wrists.

Aasha was seated on a low wooden platform. Her kangana — a red and yellow thread tied during the wedding, sat snug against her wrist. Devraj arrived moments later, his own wrist bearing the same thread.

Sudha leaned close to Aasha and whispered, “Pehle aap kholiye, Pyaar se.”

Aasha nodded, nervously. Her fingers reached for Devraj’s wrist, but the knot was tight. Her hands fumbled. She tried to loosen it, but her hands trembled too much, and the thread refused to budge.

The women giggled softly, teasing in the background.

"Bahurani ke haath toh kaamp rahe hain… sharma gayi lagta hai.”

Devraj didn’t wait any longer.

Without warning, he snatched his hand away, grabbed her wrist firmly, and with one sharp motion, snapped the thread tied to her wrist as well as his own.

The sound of the breaking threads was soft, but it silenced the laughter.

Aasha gasped — not from pain, but from the suddenness of it. The broken threads hung limp, one end still curled around her wrist like something half torn.

“Arre! Kholte hai, Devraj babu… todte nahi,” someone said, half-laughing, half-shocked.

Devraj simply sat back, jaw tight, looking ahead.

The women exchanged glances, their smiles dimming slightly, but they recovered quickly — the way women do in households, smoothing over sharp edges with tradition and noise.

“Chalo chalo! Ab angoothi dhoondhne ka khel!”

A brass vessel was brought out, filled with milk and rose petals. A gold ring was hidden inside.

“Jo jeetega, uski chalegi shaadi mein!” someone announced playfully.

"Biwi ko hamesha pati se ek kadam peeche hi rehna chahiye. Har jagah chha jaane wali ladkiyan ghar sambhal nahi paati.”

So she obeyed.

Devraj’s fingers moved with precision.He pulled out the ring in seconds.

“Wah! Pehli baar toh Devraj babu jeet gaye!”

They started the second round. Again, Devraj won.

“Arey bahurani! Thodi toh koshish karo!” someone teased.

Another added, louder this time, “Yeh toh shaadi ke pehle din se haari baithi hain! Pati ki har baat maanne wali lagti hai.”

More laughter.

By now, Devraj’s face was a mask — expressionless but visibly tight. He dipped his hand into the milk again for the third round. Aasha followed, her fingers barely moving. The women kept joking, pushing, laughing.

As her hand brushed against his under the water, he suddenly pulled away.

Water splashed lightly as Devraj stood up, wiping his hand with the edge of his kurta.

"Bahut ho gaya. Band karo yeh bachpana.”

His voice was cold. Final.

“Khatam karo saari nautanki.”

And without waiting or looking back, he walked out of the courtyard, leaving the third round unfinished, the ring still hidden, and a stunned silence settling in the air.

Aasha stayed seated, hand still submerged in the milk, petals floating between her fingers, her face a careful blank.

And just like that, the games were over.