𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-39

Pandaal = A huge decorative tent

Babuni = An affectionate term for daughters

Rasmalai = A sweet made up of milk

-*-*-*-

In the room, Ira sat cross-legged near the edge of the bed. A thick black woollen shawl was wrapped tightly around her, its warmth slowly seeping into her shaking form. In her lap rested a pillow, and on it a steel bowl she clutched with trembling fingers. Steam curled upward and faded into the cool air.

Her eyes lifted slowly as she looked up at her mother with narrowed eyes and a small pout. "This is so bitter..." Her voice was hoarse from constant coughing. "You've put too much black pepper in it."

Vaidehi stood before her in a synthetic light-pink saree, a glass of hot turmeric milk held securely between her fingers. Her pressed lips parted as she jabbed a finger at her daughter, her eyebrows dancing in rhythm with every word. "Be quiet and finish this. After that, drink this haldi doodh too."

Ira opened her mouth to protest, but a fit of coughing stole her voice. Her free hand clutched the bedsheet, and the shawl slipped off one shoulder.

Vaidehi's eyes widened as she lunged forward, setting the glass aside. She extended a hand, rubbing Ira's back with a firm gentleness. "The whole house is echoing with music and laughter. And here… her cough just won't stop." Her face twisted in worry as her gaze moved from Ira's clenched fist to her reddened face.

The bedroom door creaked open, letting in piercing sounds – dhol beats, shehnai, and Bollywood songs tumbling into the quiet room.

An elderly woman walked inside, her plain orange cotton saree standing in stark contrast to the glittering lehengas and sherwanis outside. One of her hands was folded neatly behind her back while the other swung gently with each careful step.

Behind her came Panchhi, holding up the fabric of her pink lehenga, lifting it just enough to avoid stepping on the hem. Her black hair flowed down her back like a dancing serpent. Kajal lined her eyes, light pink lipstick coloured her lips, and a soft layer of foundation brightened her brown, round face. A small white stone bindi nestled perfectly between her naturally arched eyebrows.

"Vaidehi... how is your daughter now?" Dadi's voice trembled as she pressed on each word, forcing them audible.

Ira's eyes shifted from Dadi to Panchhi. Her pale face broke into a faint smile. "Wow, Panchhi. You're killing."

"And you're dying," Vaidehi said flatly.

Panchhi let out a stifled chuckle.

Ira shot her mother a playful glare, her lips twitching at the corners.

Panchhi walked closer and picked up the turmeric milk from the table, holding it near Ira's lips. "Come on, Di. Don't be Palak now, just drink this. Then we'll enjoy the night together. The baarat will be here any minute."

Ira's chest rose heavily, as though something weighty sat on it. "I'll look like a cartoon..." Her hand reached for the glass, fingers curling slowly around it. The warmth seeped into her skin, oddly comforting. "Pale face, oily hair, 100° fever, coughing and sneezing—cherry on the top."

Vaidehi gently ran her fingers through Ira's hair as she began sipping the milk. "Finish it, then freshen up. After that, come downstairs," she said softly, giving her head a final pat.

Ira's eyes narrowed as she shook her head slowly. "Nah... I won't go. I'll just sleep. My head feels heavy, and my whole body is aching like hel—" A loud sneeze interrupted her. She blew her nose into a white handkerchief, her nose now bright red from constant wiping.