Begusarai - The saga continue

053

The sky was soft with the gentle hues of morning, almost as if it, too, shared in the sorrow. Shivangi's bidaai had come to this inevitable moment—one that was supposed to be filled with joy for a new beginning, yet carried a weight of separation that was felt by everyone who had gathered.

Family members, neighbors, friends—everyone's eyes glistened, hearts heavy, though none were as shattered as her two siblings, Gola and Mitthu. They clung to her, their small arms wrapped tightly around her in a joint embrace, refusing to let go as if by sheer will they could keep her from leaving.

Akash gently pried them away, holding them back, though he had to stifle his own tears to make way for the others to say their goodbyes.

Roopa kaki, her hands trembling, held on to Radha and Kaka for support as Shivangi knelt to light the diya at the Tulsi, a gesture of love and tradition, her final offering as a daughter of this home. There was something achingly symbolic in that flickering flame—steady, hopeful, yet transient.

Then Radha approached, her hands shaking as she placed a delicate gold chain around Shivam's neck and a thick ring on his finger. Her voice was steady, but her heart echoed each word louder than her lips. “Promise me,” she whispered.

"I can’t say she’ll never face hardships, but whatever comes, she won’t face it alone.” he assures smiling gently when he touches her feet.

To Shivangi, she handed a pair of jhumkas, intricate, heavy and beautiful, the same ones her mother had made when her own marriage was arranged. A keepsake, a blessing, a reminder of where she came from. She has kept them for Niyati but giving it to Shivangi fills only right.

As the gift-giving unfolded, Deepa's eyes instinctively wandered to the items Radha had brought forward—a gleaming gold chain, a thick, intricate ring, and the prized jhumkas that had been crafted for her years ago when her own marriage was set. Each piece spoke of care, affection, and a quiet pride.

Deepa glanced down at her own small, beaded bag, where a simple pair of silver anklets and toe rings lay nestled. Her husband had suggested she buy something in gold, something that would shine as a fitting send-off for Shivangi, but she’d dismissed it, not wanting to spent too much.

Resentment began to creep in, the nagging thought that Radha was showing off. Just because Radha had a steady income, she seemed to make it a point to give a bit extra, to make her presence felt.

Deepa told herself it was unnecessary, an excess, something that was more about display than true sentiment.

As Shivangi neared the car, her eyes swept the crowd one last time. "Amu... where is she?" Her voice was strained, almost desperate, scanning for the face she hadn’t yet seen since the moment Niyati had handed her the gift box with matching gold bangles—a pair that matched her own—and for Shivam, a branded watch that held silent promises. But Niyati had disappeared, her absence weighing on Shivangi's heart like a missing piece.

Suddenly, a soft cry called out, “Amu! Amu!” It was Reecha who found Niyati, slumped against the first door, tears streaming down her face, her body almost defeated by the grief of separation. When Reecha pulled her gently, Niyati shook her head, fighting the inevitable.

But Shivangi saw her then, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. “Amu…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Dii…” And just like that, the dam of their shared pain burst, and the two sisters collapsed into each other’s arms, sobbing without restraint.

Their tears mingled with whispered memories and laughter, of stolen moments, shared meals, long nights of secrets and silly stories—moments that had been so natural, so endless, now a precious treasure locked in the past. Gola and Mitthu soon ran to them, and the four siblings clung to each other, enveloped in a circle of love, crying for a time that had slipped beyond their reach.