Chapter 7: Ananya’s First Step

No matter how unwilling my sister was, three days later, I still donned a pale pink wedding saree and was carried in a small palanquin into the crown prince's palace.

The palanquin was lined with fragrant jasmine and marigold petals. Outside, the sound of shehnai and distant temple bells drifted in. My heart fluttered in my chest.

Though she resented me, my sister could not bear for me to suffer. She left me most of the gold and silver she had saved over the years as my dowry.

She pressed the jewellery box into my hands, insisting I keep it close. Her face was streaked with tears, but her voice was steady.

"Ananya."

Just as I was about to board the palanquin, my sister called me, almost pleading as she spoke in my ear.

Her fingers gripped my arm tightly, her breath warm against my cheek.

"Promise me, never do anything dangerous again, alright?"

Her eyes reddened once more.

She dabbed at her eyes with her pallu, but the tears kept coming. Her lips trembled as she spoke.

"You must know, you are my only hope in this world."

Her words echoed in my mind as I stepped into the palanquin, the weight of her hope pressing down on my shoulders.

My eyes grew wet as well. I nodded in agreement.

I could not trust myself to speak. Instead, I squeezed her hand one last time and whispered a prayer to the goddess for her safety.

Sitting in the palanquin, I thought about the future. Entering the crown prince's palace was only my first step. But the status of a dasi was far from enough.

The palanquin swayed as it moved, the rhythmic jingle of the bearers’ anklets a lullaby of uncertainty.

Kabir Singh would later have a crown princess, secondary consorts, concubines, and countless low-ranked dasis like me. No doubt, it would not be long before he cast me aside.

I imagined myself a shadow in the palace, my name forgotten, my ambitions crushed beneath the feet of new arrivals. I clenched my fists, drawing a deep breath, touching my mother’s locket beneath my saree, silently repeating a mantra for strength.

How could I obtain a higher status—and Kabir Singh's favour?

My thoughts ran wild. Soon, I dozed off in the swaying palanquin.

The jasmine scent made my head heavy, dreams tumbling in and out of reality. I clutched my sister’s handkerchief, as if it were a lifeline.

Vaguely, I heard someone calling my name.

"Ananya?"

The voice was soft, familiar, pulling me from sleep. I blinked, disoriented.

I frowned. In my memory, few had ever called me that. I once resented my father and mother for giving me such a simple name, unlike my sister's Meera, which sounded so graceful. But a name, once given, could not be changed. Father, mother, and my sister all called me Ananya by tacit agreement.

Now, it felt like a blessing. In a world where everything else had changed, my name was my anchor.

Later, I realised that when I was born, the Rathore dynasty was already tottering. My name carried my parents' hopes: Ananya—unique, without equal, meant to survive when all else failed.

I whispered the meaning to myself, as if repeating a sacred mantra.

But by the time I understood, the Rathore dynasty was gone. Father, mother, and my sister were all gone.

Now, hearing someone call me that again, it felt like a lifetime ago.

The palanquin curtain was lifted. I opened my eyes in a daze and saw a pair of smiling eyes. He wore a bright red sherwani, looking dignified and composed.

He was taller than I remembered, his hands warm as he reached for mine.

He said gently, "Why did you fall asleep?"

His words carried no accusation, only a quiet curiosity. I tried to smile, but my lips trembled.

A cool breeze blew into my collar. I shivered and knelt to greet him. He quickly helped me up.

He seemed genuinely concerned, his touch gentle. The world felt less hostile for a moment.

He said repeatedly, "Bring a shawl for the dasi."

His attendants scurried to obey. A thick Kashmiri shawl was draped around my shoulders, its warmth almost shocking.

With the shawl draped around me, I finally stopped shivering.

I caught my breath, grateful for the small mercy. The scent of sandalwood clung to the fabric.

He looked over my clothes, frowning. "Take the dasi to change into the red wedding saree."

His words startled the maids, who hesitated, unsure if they had heard right.

My heart skipped a beat. I was instantly awake.

"Your Highness, this is against the rules..."

The fear in my voice was unmistakable. I bowed my head, not daring to meet his eyes.

I was so frightened, my soul nearly left my body. I was about to kneel—my status was already precarious. If I entered the crown prince's palace in a red wedding saree and this was spread around... I didn't want to make things harder for my sister.

Images of the palace’s gossipy elders flashed in my mind—what would they say about Meera’s sister, thinking herself a princess again?

Seeing me like this, Kabir Singh sighed softly.

His eyes were kind, his sigh heavy with unspoken burdens.

"Forget it."

He supported me and led me toward the inner hall.

His hand was steady on my back, guiding me through the unfamiliar corridors.

Only when we reached the inner hall did I realise why he wanted me to change earlier. The palace's inner hall was draped with festive silk, the windows pasted with red kumkum swastikas and marigold garlands, the floor lined with a fresh red carpet. It was truly a scene of joy.

My heart fluttered as I took in the decorations—the marigold garlands, the rows of diyas flickering in the afternoon light. Somewhere in the distance, the temple bells rang out, as if blessing this union.

Kabir Singh gripped my hand tightly.

His fingers were warm, his gaze steady. For a moment, I let myself believe in the promise of a new beginning.

"Ananya, come and bow with me."

His voice was soft but firm, echoing through the hall. Together, we took the first steps toward a future neither of us could have imagined—a path woven with secrets, sorrow, and the faint hope of redemption.