✫ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐈𝐧 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬
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She is a chatterbox
He is a listener
She is childish
He is mature
She is passionate
He is supportive
She is impatient
He is patient or is he?
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VARE...
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More rituals have already taken place from both sides. Be it the Ashirwad Ceremony, the sacred Janeu ritual, the emotional Aiburobhat or even the fierce Rajput Sword Ceremony. But tonight is different. It's the night before the wedding and sleep has abandoned the bride's house. Excitement hums in the air. Every corner glows with anticipation.
Because right now, one of the most sacred rituals is being performed: Odhibash. This isn't just another tradition. This moment marks the true beginning of the wedding. And more importantly, for Varenya, it's the moment she begins her journey as a bride.
From this ritual onwards, she will wear the Sakha-Pola. The red and white bangles that speak of marriage, tradition and a promise that lasts a lifetime.
This ritual is mostly performed by married women. So today, it is Bhavya who has given charge of the sacred duties. Beside her stands Kanonbala, watching every move with the wisdom of generations. She gently instructs Bhavya, guiding her on what needs to be done.
"Sobai jokar dao." Bhavya says softly.
(Everyone, give the jokar.)
She lifts the Sakha, the white conch bangle and gently touches it to Varenya's forehead, whispering blessings through that touch. The air vibrates with the sound of jokar, the conch shells blowing made by the women around them. It's a sound that stirs something deep within the soul.
Varenya's cheeks turn warm, glowing red not from the ritual but from the shyness that blossoms across her face. Her eyes lower, her fingers twist nervously in her lap but her heart is full.
One by one, her wrists are adorned: first with the Sakha, then the deep red Pola. The bangles are crafted with delicate golden designs, the ones she had chosen herself. But now, wearing them, it feels different. Real, sacred, a little overwhelming.
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Next comes the pair of gold Mantasha: heavy, intricately carved bracelets, holding memories more precious than gold itself.
Because, these aren't just ornaments. They were left behind by Bondita Mukherjee.
As Bhavya carefully lifts one of the Mantasha from the red velvet tray, the air stills for a moment. A hushed silence falls as if even the walls of the house are aware of the emotion tied to them. Everyone knows what they mean. What they carry.
Bhavya gently clasps the bracelets onto Varenya's wrists one by one, right above the Sakha-Pola.
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