Chapter 4: Silk and Steel

After resting at home for another half month, Mummy was finally reassured when she confirmed there would be no scar. She asked me to go out with my cousin to choose wedding clothes. Before I left, she tidied my dupatta and hesitated to speak.

The morning was soft and golden, the air rich with the scent of fresh marigolds. Mummy fussed over my hair, smoothing down the stray wisps, her bangles chiming as she worked. She pressed a dot of sandalwood paste on my forehead, as if for good luck, and then paused, worry knitting her brows.

“Priya, have you really let go of that boy from the Sharma family? If you still care for him, as for that Meera—Mummy can handle it for you.”

Her words were gentle, but carried the quiet force of promise. My mother’s voice was the only thing that ever truly softened my resolve. For her, I was always a little girl, and my pain was hers to shoulder.

I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to cry. In our house, tears were for locked bedrooms, not for the drawing room. I blinked rapidly, biting my lower lip. The memories came rushing back: the cold mandir floor, Arjun’s impassive face, the sting of betrayal. I kept my eyes on the intricate mehendi pattern on my wrist, willing the tears not to fall.

Mummy is the daughter of the Chaturvedi family of Allahabad. The means of big families are countless. To deal with a Meera is not difficult. In fact, it wouldn’t even require Mummy’s intervention—I could have handled this matter cleanly myself. In the past, it was only for Arjun’s sake, afraid of harming the innocent. And to be fair, Meera was not at fault. The one who truly made me give up was Arjun himself.

I had always believed in doing things with dignity—‘izzat se’, as my grandmother would say. The Chaturvedis were known for their sharp minds and sharper tongues. If I had wanted, Meera’s position could have been reduced to nothing with a few words in the right ears. But I never did. My pride was my own, untarnished by pettiness.

I wiped away my tears and held Mummy’s hand in return. “Mummy, if we don’t go out soon, all the good fabrics will be chosen by others.”

The corners of her mouth lifted, relief softening her face. The moment passed, like sunlight breaking through monsoon clouds. We gathered our bags and made our way out, the promise of new beginnings in the air.

It was just a casual remark to lighten the mood, but unexpectedly, it came true.

As the rickshaw wound its way through the bustling streets, I found myself actually looking forward to the day—a small mercy in the midst of all the upheaval. The city was alive, electric, and for a moment, I let myself hope.

At Zari Emporium, as soon as I reached the door, I saw two familiar figures. Meera was pointing at a box in the centre of the shop, saying something. The shopkeeper looked troubled, but with Arjun at her side, he dared not offend her. He kept explaining, “Madam Meera, this fabric was ordered by someone half a month ago—I really can’t sell it to you.”

The emporium glittered with sequins and silk, the air heavy with the scent of attar. Meera’s voice was shrill, her posture impatient. Arjun stood at her side, arms folded, radiating authority. The shopkeeper wiped his brow, shooting me a desperate glance.

When he saw me, the shopkeeper’s eyes lit up. “Madam Priya, you’ve arrived.”

He hurried over, almost tripping over a roll of brocade. ‘Aapka order taiyaar hai, madam,’ he said with relief, as if my presence could resolve all disputes.

I responded, reached out and picked up the floating cloud silk, smiling as I turned to my cousin. “Sneha, look at this colour—it’s perfect for a bridal veil.”

The fabric shimmered in the light, soft as moonbeams. Sneha grinned, already picturing me in my wedding finery. I held it close, letting its coolness calm my racing heart.

Off to the side, Meera looked at Arjun with pleading eyes, gently tugging his sleeve. Arjun frowned slightly, as if waiting for me to greet him as usual. But even after the shopkeeper finished wrapping the fabric and sent Sneha and me out, I hadn’t spared him a glance.

I saw her eyes, round with indignation, and his, narrowed in surprise. For once, I did not bow to their silent pressure. I kept my gaze fixed on the horizon outside the shop, the sounds of the city swirling around us.

He looked displeased and reached out to stop me. “Priya, Meera really likes this fabric. Can you let her have it first?”

His hand hovered in the air, awkward and uncertain. The words felt like an order, not a request. In the past, I might have hesitated; today, I stood my ground.

Behind Arjun, Meera looked smug, casting me a provocative glance. In the past, I would have yielded. But now, I simply stepped back, putting some distance between us.

The space between us felt heavy, loaded with all that had gone unsaid. I let my silence answer her challenge, my posture straight and unyielding.

“Everyone says Arjun bhaiya is a gentleman. But a true gentleman doesn’t ask a woman to give up what’s hers, just to keep the peace.”

The words came out cool and clear, the kind that would ripple through drawing rooms and WhatsApp groups alike. I saw Arjun flinch, just slightly, his composure slipping for the briefest second.

Arjun was stunned, not expecting me to refuse so directly. His face darkened at once. Meera sensed things were turning for the worse and hurriedly spoke: “Bhaiya Arjun, as long as I marry you, it doesn’t matter what fabric I use. Since Didi likes it so much, let’s not fight her for it.”

Meera’s tone was syrupy, almost theatrical, but I caught the flicker of calculation in her eyes. Her words hung in the air, drawing a clear boundary. For once, I found myself almost grateful for her intervention.

I adjusted my bangles, letting them jingle—a small reminder that I still had choices.

Arjun is going to marry Meera?

The news landed like a stone in a quiet pond, sending ripples through my mind. My first reaction was surprise—then a wave of relief, tinged with something like resignation. In a way, it was the most logical conclusion. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

I stopped in my tracks, surprised and yet somewhat relieved. I should have realised it earlier—what could be more fitting than marrying her and keeping her close at home?

A rueful smile tugged at my lips. The world would nod in approval: Arjun, the dutiful heir, taking care of his guru’s daughter in the most respectable way possible. Log kya kahenge? Now, they would have nothing but praise.

I gave a bitter smile and glanced lightly at Arjun. His face showed no emotion; his tone was matter-of-fact.

His eyes met mine, unwavering, as if he was discussing the weather. I recognised that look—unyielding, certain of his own righteousness. I felt a twinge of pity, both for him and for myself.

“Priya, Meera will only be a second wife. Her family background is not prominent; she can’t find a good match in Mumbai. You know, Guruji was very kind to me—I cannot let down his dying wish. I’ve already told my mother, once Meera enters the house, I’ll go propose to your family.”

He delivered the words with the gravity of a judge passing sentence, never pausing to consider the sting. To him, everything was a matter of duty—never desire.

Mr. Sharma was not only Arjun’s mentor, but had also once shielded him from an accident during the school trip. To say the kindness was as deep as the ocean is no exaggeration.

In our world, such debts were sacred. My own father had once said, ‘Favour for favour, beta, that’s how families survive.’ But somewhere along the way, I wondered—what about love? Did anyone ask what I wanted?

Arjun wanted to continue, but I suddenly found it all rather absurd. How humble I must have been in the past, to let Arjun say such things to me without even changing his expression.

It struck me then—the sheer arrogance of certainty. I wondered if I had ever been anything more than an afterthought, a second option, in his careful plans.

Sneha, standing at my side, was so angry she blurted out, “Arey, what’s wrong with you? Our Priya’s already engaged, you know!”

Sneha’s voice rang out, loud enough to turn a few heads. Her hand tightened around my wrist, offering silent support. I felt a surge of gratitude for her loyalty.

I reached out to stop her, gave Arjun a dignified and distant smile, and spoke slowly, “Since the kindness is so deep, you should marry Meera as your main wife. One pair for a lifetime—that is how it should be.”

I kept my tone gentle, but every word was edged with steel. The message was clear: I would not be anyone’s consolation prize. For the first time, I felt the power of my own voice.

With that, I left without looking back. Only Arjun remained standing there, his expression dark and unreadable.

As I stepped into the sunlight, a sense of freedom washed over me. Behind me, the city carried on—autos honking, birds calling, life moving forward. For the first time, I felt ready to move with it.

As I walked away, I felt the old chains loosen. For the first time, I wondered what my life could look like—if I chose for myself.