How far would you go to help strangers?
Would you still help them, even if it caused you to lose your whole identity....?
Shyam, a 25-year-old, had recently relocated to a village for his job as a postmaster.
Govardhan, the 40-year-old village rul...
Shyam felt his heart sink. Marrying a woman would be a strange enough fate to accept, but marrying a man?
King Govardhan's eyes widened in shock the very thought was alien to him. He looked at Sumitra, whose beauty was indeed undiminished by the years, and for a brief moment, he felt a flicker of something that was not entirely averse to the idea. Yet, the implications were too much to process.
"But I am not a woman," Shyam protested, his voice rising slightly. "How can this work?"
Panditji's gaze remained unwavering. "The gods are mysterious in their ways," he said. "You will marry King Govardhan, and in doing so, the curse will pass from Queen Sumitra to you. Only then can she conceive a child."
The room grew still, the only sound the crackling of the dying embers in the fireplace.
Govardhan's hand tightened on Sumitra's shoulder, and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and confusion.
The king took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort to remain composed. "I... I do not understand,"
Panditji stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a man who had just discovered a hidden treasure.
"You do not have to consummate the marriage," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Merely tying a mangalsutra around your neck will be enough to shift the curse from Queen Sumitra to you.
It is a symbolic union, one that will satisfy the gods and bring forth the child we all pray for."
The tension in the room seemed to dissipate slightly, and Shyam felt his racing heart slow down a notch.
"What about my job?" he asked, his voice still shaky. "I need to support my family."
Govardhan's expression softened, and he turned to Shyam. "Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded," he said, his voice heavy with sincerity.
"If you agree to stay here for one year, I will ensure that your family wants for nothing. I will give you one crore rupees for your service to our family and our village."
Shyam stared at the king, the offer of such a sum of money leaving him momentarily speechless.
He thought of his mother and sister, their faces etched with the lines of hard work and sacrifice. He knew they would be taken care of with such wealth, and the burden he had been carrying since his father's death would be lifted.
The king's proposal was ludicrous, but the alternative was to return to his tiny, cramped apartment in the city, his dreams of homeownership and security as elusive as ever.
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With a heavy sigh, Shyam nodded. "I will do it," he said, his voice firm. "For one year, I will stay and help you."
The priest's smile grew even wider, and he clapped his hands together. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "The gods are truly with us!"
The following day, the news of the unconventional solution spread through Nandgram like wildfire.
The villagers gathered in the town square, their faces a mix of shock and excitement. When Panditji announced Shyam's role in lifting the curse, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
They saw it as a sign of divine intervention, a testament to the power of their prayers. Shyam felt like a hero, but the unease in his stomach grew with each pat on the back and each congratulatory smile.
Shyam felt his fate sealed, he came to this village for work and now has to be someone's wife for at least an entire year.
