A Glimpse of Red

Rajput Palace

The grand halls of Rajput Palace were abuzz with excitement and preparation, as Queen Aachal eagerly awaited the arrival of her dearest friend. Her heart swelled with emotion knowing that Preeti Singhaniya, her childhood confidante, was coming all the way from France to celebrate the birth of the Rajput princess. Though Aachal had been married into royalty, her origins as a commoner were never forgotten by those around her. Royalty had its own complexities, a world where whispers carried the weight of judgments. 

In the courtyard, two women whispered under their breath, casting sidelong glances at Queen Aachal. “Our poor little princess,” one murmured, “she’ll have to fight all alone, without the backing of her maternal family.” 

The second woman nodded, her voice tinged with superiority. “Exactly. That’s why royalty should marry royalty. A prince should wed a princess, and a commoner should stay with commoners. It’s not just about status—how will the chunni ritual be done in the future? The chunni for a princess comes from her maternal side, and our queen… well, she doesn’t even know her parents. How will our princess manage without that?” 

Queen Mother Antra overheard the hushed conversation, but as always, she remained silent. The truth of their words stung—there was no denying the reality of Aachal’s background. Yet, the Queen Mother’s concern extended far beyond these petty remarks. Her worry was deeper, more profound, as if sensing a storm on the horizon. 

At that moment, Preeti Singhaniya arrived with her husband Anmol and their seven-year-old son Riyansh. Their presence brought warmth to the atmosphere, and Aachal’s face lit up as she saw her lifelong friend. From their days in the orphanage to college, from first jobs to married life, Preeti had stood by her side like a true sister. 

Preeti and Anmol approached Queen Mother Antra, bowing to touch her feet in respect. Preeti smiled warmly. “Today, I am not here just as a royal guest, but as Aachal’s family, her maternal side.” 

Anmol added with a sincere smile, “Aachal may be my wife’s friend, but she’s like my sister too. We will fulfill all the rituals, just as tradition demands. We’ve come fully prepared to represent her maternal family for our little princess.” 

The Queen Mother’s eyes softened at their words. She had always known the depth of Preeti’s loyalty to Aachal. Her smile deepened when her gaze fell on little Riyansh, standing proudly beside his parents, dressed in a three-piece suit that made him look far older than his seven years. There was a warmth about him, an innocence that could melt even the hardest heart. 

Preeti, brimming with affection, took baby Nitya from Aachal’s arms. Cradling her gently, she whispered, “Here you are, my little princess. I’ll protect you with my life. You’re a reason for joy, a beacon of hope for many. My Nitya.” 

The head priest beckoned Anmol and Preeti to sit before the sacred fire, cradling Nitya as they performed the maternal side’s rituals. With great care and love, Anmol draped a delicate pink chunni over Nitya’s tiny head—a chunni he had personally designed, despite being the owner of Singhaniya Fashions, the world’s largest fashion house. Preeti smiled at her friend’s daughter. “Just wait, little one. When this pink chunni turns red on your wedding day, I’ll pamper you with all the fashion the world can offer.” 

With the maternal rituals complete, the time had come for the thaal process, a ceremony that carried immense significance in royal circles. King Ranjith, ever the vigilant father, meticulously checked each thaal sent by the other royal families. He examined every detail, arranging them with precision, ensuring everything was perfect for his daughter’s future. 

Queen Mother Antra observed him, understanding his silent concern. “You cannot change future, Ranjith,” she said softly. 

But Ranjith, his eyes filled with determination, replied, “Maa Saheb, who needs to change future, when I can decide my Nitya’s future?” 

Queen Mother Antra smiled knowingly at her son, sensing the unspoken fears of a father determined to protect his daughter from the uncertainties of royal life. Yet, deep down, she knew that no amount of planning could guard Nitya from the twists of destiny. The thaal process, after all, was not merely a ritual—it was the first step in shaping her future, a future that even a king could not fully control. 

And so, the stage was set for the thaal ceremony, a moment where tradition, fate, and the hopes of a royal family would converge. As the princess lay in her family’s arms, her future began to unfold, as uncertain as it was grand.