Bridal Crises

When The Past Meets The Presence

The night was a canvas of shadows and whispered fears, the air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of despair. 

Pauravi stood at the edge of the garden, her heart thudding violently in her chest as she tried to ground herself in the present.

But the past had a cruel way of resurfacing, dragging her back to places she wished to forget.

The man, hidden beneath a cloak that seemed to absorb the light around it, with a dramatic flourish, he threw back the fabric, revealing the face beneath. The world stilled.

Pauravi's breath caught in her throat. The shock was like a physical blow, her eyes wide with terror. 

Memories she had buried deep within her mind surged forward, clawing at her sanity. Her past slapped her hard, jarring her back to the dark, suffocating basement where she had been confined for years.

Those endless nights of anguish, the little girl inside her screaming relentlessly, begging God for this to be a nightmare from which she could wake. But the god had abandoned her once again, as he always had. 

The god who had never heard her cries, and certainly was not listening now.

Before her stood her uncle—Rana Vardhan Singhal. The man she had thought was dead, the source of her unending nightmares that haunted her till today, was still alive and vengeful. 

His once-handsome face, now gaunt and pallid, stretched tight over a skeletal structure that was grotesque in its familiarity.

His eyes, burning with a malevolent fire, pierced the darkness, and his lips, curled into a cruel smile, revealed sharp, yellowed teeth that gleamed with a predatory glint.

Those eyes have been the origin of her endless nightmare. Hard black orbs, that reminded her so much of the depth of a endless pit of snakes, that were twisting and turning, ready to ready everything they latched on.

Unfortunately for her...at a very young age...those snakes had latched on her.

Poisoning her future to no end.

Pauravi's mind whirled, unable to comprehend the reality of what she was seeing. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It can't be."

But it was. . .

"Oh, but it is, darling niece," Rana Vardhan crooned, his voice a cold knife slicing through the night, that cleaved her sense of security in half.

His words hung in the air, wrapping around Pauravi like chains, binding her to her darkest fears.

Beside her, Bhanumati's screams shattered the night, the sound raw and primal, a manifestation of her own terror.

She thrashed against the unseen restraints, her voice growing hoarse, she fought against the nightmare unfolding before her eyes.

"Bhanu!" The women of the Kuru family called out, their voices tinged with panic as they tried to understand what was happening.

Gandhari's voice, usually calm and composed, trembled with fear and anger. "What have you done to my daughters?!"

The king of Hastinapur roared, his voice filled with desperation and fury. "I will kill you! Stop whatever it is you are doing to my daughters!"

Yuyutsu, known for his peaceful demeanor, was now a mask of pure rage. "I will chop you into so many fine pieces that your family will be collecting them till the end of time!"

The man before them laughed, a booming, hollow sound that echoed through the night, mixing with Bhanu's screams and the cries of the trapped souls, creating an eerie, haunting symphony. It was a sound that made the bravest of warriors tremble and the women weep with fear.