Short Stories collection

Unwanted Marriage

Part (1)

Kesarwadi, a small village tucked away in the heart of Rajasthan, stood as a peaceful yet time-worn testament to a traditional way of life. The village, with its narrow lanes and simple mud houses, carried an air of quiet dignity. Surrounded by endless fields of wheat and mustard, the land was dry and arid in parts but fertile and full of life in others. The rustic beauty of Kesarwadi was a blend of ancient history, folk culture, and simple living. The wind whispered stories of generations who had lived and toiled here, upholding family values and traditions with pride.

At the heart of Kesarwadi stood the Maheshwari household—a sprawling haveli that was both a symbol of affluence and a monument to family pride. The house was grand yet unpretentious, with high stone walls adorned with traditional Rajasthani architecture—large wooden windows, ornate carvings on the door frames, and jharokhas (overhanging balconies) that provided a stunning view of the surrounding landscape. The house was built around a central courtyard where every part of the family's life unfolded: meals, conversations, festivals, and the everyday rituals that defined their existence.

The Maheshwari family had lived here for generations. They were known for their strong adherence to tradition, especially the family's sense of duty and honor. The eldest son, Abhimanyu Maheshwari, was the embodiment of that legacy—quiet, reserved, and steadfast in his commitment to the family. He was the heir, groomed from a young age to carry the weight of their reputation and uphold their values. He was the true owner of the textile industry Maheshwari family owned. Despite their wealth, the Maheshwaris were far from showy. Their wealth was kept in the background, the businesses they ran. What mattered more was the respect they commanded in Kesarwadi and beyond. The name Maheshwari was synonymous with respect, tradition, and moral authority.

The family lived in a joint family system, with multiple generations under one roof. Abhimanyu's parents, Harish and Sunita Maheshwari, ruled the house with a firm hand, expecting everyone to abide by strict rules. They were traditional to the core, particularly Sunita, who placed an enormous amount of pressure on Abhimanyu to marry a woman who would live up to the family's expectations. This pressure, along with the family's high standards, made it difficult for Abhimanyu to express his feelings freely.

The house itself was a mix of old-world charm and modernity. The family's living room was filled with plush sofas, rich silk cushions, and large wooden furniture, each piece a relic passed down through generations. There were tapestries on the walls, woven by hand, depicting ancient Rajasthani battles and religious symbols. The air always smelled of incense, a constant reminder of the family's reverence for tradition.

One of the most intricately designed rooms of the haveli belonged the only Rajkumar of the family. The space was both inviting and intimidating-an oasis of calm, with large windows that overlooked the family's expansive garden. A four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, draped with rich maroon and gold linens, reflecting the family's wealth and sense of tradition. The bedside lamps flickered softly, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. On the walls were old family portraits.

The evening had settled in with a quiet serenity, the moonlight bathing the entire Maheshwari household in a soft, ethereal glow. The sky, dotted with stars, was clear, and the distant sound of crickets blended into the tranquil atmosphere. Inside, the large room was a beautiful fusion of modern elegance and traditional Rajasthani grandeur. The walls, adorned with intricate carvings and golden-framed paintings, echoed the family's long lineage. But the sleek, contemporary furniture—a large bed draped in rich maroon and gold linens, the luxurious sofa, and polished wooden shelves—brought a modern touch to the space. The room was decorated with flowers and delicate fairy lights, a subtle nod to the celebration of this new chapter in their lives.