Rocky&Reena - The Collection

Peḷli cēsukuṇṭāvā, baṅgāraṁ?

Peḷli cēsukuṇṭāvā, baṅgāraṁ? - Marry me, sweetheart?

Summary:

An Alternate Universe fic with context to KGF chapter 2, this explores the 'what if' of what would have happened if Rocky had chosen to come for Reena himself. And makes a pretty last second appearance at that, at Reena's rushed wedding to one Kamal Bhargav.

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Notes:

This one is in Telugu, with dialogue translations. I've done my best with research and translations, but well, nothing's ever perfect, so feel free to reach out if you find any mistakes!

Also, look to the notes at the end for meanings to certain words, and context for the traditions used.

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Reena had been seventeen, nearly eighteen, when she had been engaged to one, Kamal Bhargav. 

In front of all the guests gathered in the hall of their Bengaluru house, the Pūjāri had called out to her. 

"Meeru sammatam untēne, sabhālō kūrchunāru peddalu antariki Namaskāram cheppamma." //If you consent to this engagement, then please greet the elders of the sabhā, child.//

And suddenly, Reena had felt happy that this whole thing was happening with her consent. Her Appa had asked her before he'd asked even Kamal, and she is insanely glad for it to this day. 

Because Reena knows she had been a horrible actress. Still is, to be honest. A poker face is as far as she has ever bothered to learn, and that too only because her place in society requires it of her. 

So, seventeen, nearly eighteen year old Reena, had put on her best poker face, and folded her hands in a Namaskāram, facing the gathered sabha of elders and bowing her head as little as she could possibly get away with. After all, it wasn't very easy to hold her head high with a three sovereign pāpiḍi biḷla on her head, adding to the jada and flowers, and Reena simply didn't want to take the risk of bowing down only to find her neck wouldn't straighten back up again. She was just too proud for that. 

It was only as Varahamma, her nursemaid from as far as she could remember led her away, that her steps had faltered, and she had turned to look back at her Appa, who had thrown her a quick yet happy smile. And at Kamal, who was grinning widely. 

Not a grin of pure, unadulterated joy, perhaps, but still joy. 

In her head, it had been the best she could hope for. 

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Three years later, and newly twenty-one, Reena walked down the stairs and into the grand hall of her house, this time the same three sovereign pāpiḍi biḷla on her forehead her excuse for letting her head bow down. Plus her jaḍa. And the densely woven maḷḷi pūvu and kanakāmbara. 

She stood there adorned in the beautiful set of jewellery her Appa had had made to match the one jewel from her engagement she had loved the most. In a saree of silk from Mysuru that had been custom made for her right from the dying to the weaving, with the purest gold jari available in the nation woven through it in intricate designs.