Love Struck At The Wedding

51. AVNI/ SHAURYA

Shaurya

The sun was just beginning to rise over Udaipur, casting a soft, golden light across the city’s palaces and lakes.

The serene beauty of the landscape made the day feel even more surreal. I woke up early, unable to sleep with the weight of what lay ahead.

The view from my room was breathtaking, the shimmering waters of Lake Pichola, the silhouette of the City Palace, and the distant Aravalli hills standing watch like silent guardians.

It was the perfect backdrop for a wedding, and yet, all I could think about was her.

I tried to focus on the moment, savoring the stillness before the day’s chaos began. But as the morning unfolded, the quiet gave way to a flurry of activity.

My family and friends were everywhere, making sure every detail was perfect.

My mother fussed over my sherwani, a deep shade of ivory with gold embroidery that reflected the rich heritage of this city.

It felt fitting to wear something so regal in a place steeped in history and grandeur.

As I sat in front of the mirror, my uncle adjusting the turban on my head, I caught my reflection and felt a pang of disbelief.

The ivory fabric was heavy with its intricate designs, the turban adorned with a pearl brooch and a cascading sehra of delicate gold threads.

It was a look befitting a prince, and yet, it was hard to reconcile that image with the person I had always been.

But today was different—today, I was stepping into a new role, not just as a groom but as a partner for life.

My cousins, surrounded me with their laughter and light-hearted teasing.

They kept the mood buoyant, even as my nerves threatened to overwhelm me. It was in these moments of camaraderie that I found the strength to face the day, to move forward with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

After getting ready, and finishing all the needed rituals I headed out with my parents in my either side.

Stepping into the grand hall, the air was filled with the rhythmic beats of dhols, their sound echoing against the walls of the ancient fortresses that surrounded us.

As we have to go to the other side of the palace, I was seated atop a white mare, its mane braided with jasmine flowers, the sunlight reflecting off its ornate saddle.

The wedding was taking place at a heritage palace overlooking Lake Pichola, its white marble reflecting the golden hues of the sun. As we arrived, to the other side of the palace I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer beauty of the venue.

As I dismounted the horse and walked toward the stage, I felt a rush of emotions, anticipation, excitement, and a touch of nervousness.

I looked around the venue, the mandap itself was set up on a terrace overlooking the lake, with the City Palace in the background, its lights beginning to twinkle as dusk approached.

The canopy was draped with red and gold fabric, adorned with jasmine and rose garlands, creating a space that felt both sacred and intimate.

And then I saw her.

She stood at few steps away from the stage, under a flowerbed covered with roses, and jasmine held by her brothers, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.

She was a vision in a deep red lehenga, the color rich and vibrant, adorned with gold zari work that caught the fading light with every step she took.

Her dupatta of sheer red tulle was draped gracefully over her head, and shoulder, its borders lined with tiny gold bells that chimed softly as she moved.