My Ruination

Chapter 7.

~Maahira~

After the medicines thankfully have a positive impact on my head, I dragged myself out of my bed to get dressed. There was a lot of information I needed and a lot of steps I needed to take but staying in bed with a blasting head wasn't going to help my cause. A younger house staff forcefully entered my room and set up a warm bath that reeked of my cucumber melon essential oil. I soaked in the bathtub until the skin on my hands started to get wrinkly.

I didn't have my clothes here but the wardrobe was stashed with clothes of my size and perfectly synced to my tastes. Even the lingerie sizes were precise and that made my stomach cramp,with discomfort or with increasing myriad of questions, I couldn't exactly point a finger at.

I could appreciate the efforts in compiling this wardrobe but they were unacceptable. They were stamped with labels of luxury brands like Gucci, Dior, Prada, Louis Vuitton which surpassed my overall bank balance. I fancied these items. Which girl doesn't love the feel of intricate designs and fresh fashion against her skin? But accepting them from a man, that too someone like Zaeden who had forced himself upon me felt dirty and beggarly. My sisters called my inclinations towards my values pettifogging but we never shared the same point of view in life.

I skimmed through the Indian section of the wardrobe and found a plain blood-red chiffon saree. The blouse was cropped and sleeveless. It was probably the least expensive or flashy piece of clothing in this entire wardrobe. I have never worn a saree before but I have watched and helped Antara draped hers too many times to not ace this.

I wore a pair of silver oxidized earrings, bangles and a kamarbandh (waist jewelry). I stood before a full length mirror, watching my own form with a sense of peculiarity and wariness. I hardly wore Indian clothes except on festivals but nothing was as feminine and graceful as a saree. The pallu softly fell over my arm, as the soft curls of my brown hair played over my shoulder, the kamarbandh cinched at my waist, exposing only a sliver of my skin and rest for imagination. It felt so alluring and modest at the same time.

The driver and bodyguard Zaeden had mentioned, Markov, kept checking on me through the rear view mirror as if expecting me to evaporate into the thin air the minute he relaxed or laid his guard down. It was not just Markov although, each and every staff would stare at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I have never enjoyed attention but this was subpar uncomfortable.

I climbed the staircase of the temple as Markov thankfully stayed behind, giving me sufficient space to talk to Rudra. I couldn't spot Rudra in the entire perimeter of the temple and the little patio outside where the banyan tree stood strong, shadowing over the other holy plants.

I entered the temple, taking my sweet time to offer water and flowers to the shivling. My religious beliefs were the only thing I had inherited from the Damani's. Suman Damani bitterly dragged me and my siblings to this very temple every Monday, in hopes to wash out the impurities from my blood. This habit eventually stuck out with the three of us.

"Maahi, is that really you, my dear child?" Priest Ramnarayana had his hands clasped together as a Rudraksha mala dangled between them. He was a very compassionate, optimistic man who was responsible for taking care of this temple for about twenty decades after his father passed away. He pleasantly scanned my frame and his eyes were locked on my fresh vermilion and the mangalsutra.

I bent over to touch his feet and he opened his palm in air, offering his blessings. "Couples should always seek blessing in unison, my child. Where is the lucky man?"

"Oh, I don't know about lucky, Pandit ji but he is not a religious man. Shiv ji doesn't reside within corrupted and egoistic man like him." I broke my eye contact with the priest in pretenses of watching the devotees give their offerings to the Shivling to hide the blatant disappointment in my eyes.