Devil's Bride

The Grand wedding

The Raichand mansion, known for its grandeur and opulence, was transformed into a temple of celebration. The sprawling gardens were adorned with intricate floral decorations—marigolds, roses, and jasmine woven together to create vibrant garlands and drapes. Golden lights sparkled like stars, casting a soft glow over the mansion as it became the epicenter of a wedding that would be remembered for generations.

Ayaan stood near the entrance, his expression calm but his heart racing. He was dressed in a traditional ivory sherwani with intricate gold embroidery. A crimson stole draped over his shoulder completed the regal ensemble. The turban he wore, crowned with a sparkling kalgi, made him look every bit the prince that Maya imagined in her dreams.

The sounds of conch shells and drums filled the air as Maya’s arrival was announced. All eyes turned to the radiant bride descending the staircase. Maya was a vision in a crimson silk saree with golden zari work, a traditional South Indian bridal attire gifted by Ayaan’s grandfather. Her long braid was adorned with jasmine flowers, and her jewelry—golden necklaces, bangles, and a maang tikka—shimmered under the lights.

Her soft, shy smile made her glow, and her kohl-lined eyes searched for Ayaan amidst the crowd. She caught his gaze, and the world seemed to fade away.

The mandap, a four-pillared structure draped in flowers and golden fabric, was set up in the garden under the open sky. The sacred fire burned brightly at its center, symbolizing purity and divinity.

The ceremony began with a prayer to Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles. The priest chanted mantras, seeking blessings for the couple's new journey.

Ayaan's grandfather, with tears in his eyes, performed the kanyadaan, the ritual where he placed Maya’s hand into Ayaan’s, entrusting her to him. Ayaan promised to protect and cherish her for a lifetime.

Ayaan leaned forward and tied the mangalsutra, a sacred necklace, around Maya’s neck. The act symbolized their eternal bond. He then applied vermillion to her forehead, marking her as his wife. Maya’s cheeks turned crimson as their eyes met.

They stood and walked around the sacred fire seven times, each phera representing a vow of their marriage. Ayaan, ever the modern yet traditional man, whispered promises of love and protection to Maya, making her smile softly despite the solemnity of the moment.

Together, they took seven steps, each symbolizing shared responsibilities—nourishment, strength, prosperity, health, progeny, harmony, and friendship.

As the rituals concluded, Ayaan's grandfather held her hand one last time. Tears streamed down his face as he blessed her and whispered, “Be happy, my child.” Maya hugged him tightly, sobbing softly, knowing she was leaving behind the world she grew up in.

Ayaan, ever observant, stepped forward and promised his grandfather, “I will take care of her with all my heart.”

The Raichand mansion welcomed its new bride with grandeur. At the entrance, Maya gently kicked a kalash as she stepped in, signifying abundance and prosperity entering the house. She then dipped her feet in a plate of red-colored water and walked inside, leaving her footprints as a mark of her arrival.

As they sat for the final rituals of welcoming the bride, Ayaan whispered teasingly, “So, Mrs. Raichand, ready to rule my heart and this mansion?”

Maya blushed furiously but nodded, her heart swelling with love and hope.

The festivities had settled, and the night of their wedding wrapped the Raichand mansion in a serene, almost haunting quietness. Maya, dressed in her bridal red with her jewelry glinting under the faint light of the chandeliers, was restless. She had always believed that every home bore its essence in its prayer room, a sacred place that reflected the values and spirit of the family.

Turning to Priya, Ayaan's brother’s wife, who had been warm and approachable during the day, Maya said hesitantly, “Priya bhabhi, could you show me the prayer room? I wish to offer my prayers tonight.”

Priya froze momentarily, an uneasy flicker passing across her face, but she masked it with a polite smile. “Of course, Maya. Follow me.”

As they walked through the long hallways, Maya noticed how the mansion felt cold despite its grandiose. The opulence seemed to veil secrets lurking in its corners. Priya stopped in front of a door at the far end of the house and pushed it open, revealing a room that instantly shattered Maya’s expectations.

The prayer room was a dark, forgotten space. Dust blanketed the idols and prayer books, cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling, and the faint smell of neglect permeated the air. The once-beautiful carvings on the wooden shelves were barely visible under years of grime.

Maya’s eyes widened in disbelief. “This… this is the prayer room?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Priya nodded, her expression a mix of resignation and embarrassment. “It hasn’t been used in years, Maya. The family… they’ve drifted away from these rituals.”

Maya stepped inside, her footsteps stirring up small clouds of dust. She looked around, her heart heavy. The idols of gods and goddesses seemed to plead silently, forgotten in their sacred space. It hurt her deeply to see the room in such a state.

“This is not right,” Maya murmured, running her fingers over the neglected idols. “How can a home thrive without a space for devotion and peace?”

Priya sighed, leaning against the doorway. “Maya, this house… it’s not what it seems from the outside. Power, wealth, and control have taken precedence here. No one has time for prayers or traditions anymore. Especially not Ayaan’s father.”

Maya turned sharply. “What about Ayaan?”

Priya hesitated before answering. “Ayaan... he’s different, Maya. But he’s also a product of this environment. Perhaps… perhaps you can bring the light back into this house.”

Maya looked at the idols again, determination flickering in her eyes. “This is not how it will remain. A prayer room is the heart of a house. I will clean it, restore it, and bring back its sanctity.”

The Raichand mansion lay in a serene, moonlit hush after the grandeur of the wedding celebrations. Ayaan sat in his bedroom, still clad in his sherwani, his tie undone and hair slightly tousled from the long day. A faint smirk played on his lips as he leaned back against the headboard, thinking of Maya. His wife. Mrs. Maya Ayaan Raichand.

The idea of finally having her as his filled him with an unexplainable satisfaction. He glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. “Where is she?” he murmured.

Maya, however, had her mind preoccupied with something entirely different. After her unsettling visit to the prayer room earlier in the evening, she couldn’t shake the image of the dark, dust-covered idols. For someone raised in the simplicity of faith and rituals, it didn’t feel right. She had made a silent vow to herself: she would not let this house remain devoid of sanctity.

Still dressed in her bridal finery, Maya slipped out of the room. The heavy embroidered dupatta trailed behind her as she quietly walked through the silent hallways, making her way to the neglected prayer room.

Pushing open the door, Maya felt a deep pang of sadness seeing the state of the room. The idols, once radiating divinity, were dull and forgotten. With resolute determination, she lit the old oil lamp and began her task.

She carefully removed the cobwebs, dusted the idols, and wiped the walls. Her delicate hands, adorned with wedding bangles and mehendi, worked tirelessly. Slowly, the room began to transform. She brought fresh flowers from the garden, arranged them around the idols, and replaced the burnt-out incense sticks with new ones she had found in the corner cabinet.

The first rays of dawn were breaking through the windows as Maya stood back to admire her work. The once-dusty prayer room now glowed with an otherworldly radiance, its sanctity restored. She folded her hands, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer for her new life and for the mansion’s family.

Meanwhile, in their bedroom, Ayaan’s patience was wearing thin. He had waited all night, pacing the room, looking out the window, checking his phone—anything to distract himself.

“Where could she have gone?” he muttered, his voice tinged with both irritation and concern. For someone as composed as Ayaan, this feeling of helpless waiting was foreign and infuriating, and amidst the restlessness he fell asleep.