𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-40

The concrete terrace was buzzing with muffled activity. Strings of fairy lights stretched across the walls and bamboo poles, casting a warm, golden hue over the space. Their glow flickered now and then, as if dozing off along with the crowd. A faint chill hung in the air, but most of the guests paid it no mind. Their shawls were worn more for fashion than warmth, draped loosely over Banarasi sarees and embroidered kurtas.

In the centre of the rooftop, four bamboo poles stood firmly at the corners, their leaves swaying gently under the open night sky. A square havan kund blazed in the middle, its flames crackling softly against the hushed conversations that drifted between chants. Smoke curled upward, carrying with it the scent of ghee, dried herbs, and burning mango leaves. Around it, the marriage rituals continued.

The bride and groom sat cross-legged side by side, their bodies swaying gently before they steadied themselves, their tired eyes blinking with alertness. The groom's right hand rested around the bride's left, their palms filled with uncooked rice, marigold petals, and a few drops of Gangajal that glimmered in the firelight. Their fingers trembled slightly, perhaps from nervousness, or from the cold and the fatigue that had slowly seeped into their bones.

The priest, dressed in a yellow dhoti and a full-sleeved khadi kurta, sat opposite them, reciting Sanskrit mantras in a voice that rose and dipped, softened by long repetition. Every few moments, he glanced up from the holy texts to ensure the couple and guests were still awake.

In one corner, the women from the bride's side sat with mics in their hands, swaying in rhythm as they sang traditional marriage folk songs. Their voices were hoarse now, cracked from too much laughter and too many verses since sunset. Somewhere in the back, a dholak thudded once before falling silent, its player rubbing his eyes behind the drum, trying to shake off drowsiness.

Children lay scattered across charpais and plastic chairs in odd positions. Some were curled up in their mothers' laps, others wrapped in shawls on the thick carpet with mouths half-open, dreaming of Iron Man and Barbie dolls.

The adults weren't much livelier. A few uncles leaned back against the railing, pagdis slightly tilted, eyelids heavy after an evening of forced enthusiasm. Conversations had dimmed to whispers, and every now and then, the sound of someone yawning stretched louder than the mantras.

"Vaidehi…," a woman in a bright red saree, looking more like a bride than the actual bride, said, pressing a palm against her bloated stomach, "after Jheel, it will be your daughter's turn to get married, won't it?"

"Hmm…" Vaidehi hummed, scanning the rooftop for a glimpse of her daughter in the sea of people.

Where is this girl? Has she even taken her medicine? Why is she so careless...?

"Vaidehi!"

Vaidehi flinched at the sudden voice and the cold fingers wrapped around her arm. "Y-yes, yes, Bua ji?" Her eyes widened as she looked at the overly excited aunt. "What were you saying?" She adjusted the shawl closer around herself, settling back into her spot, the black blanket now warm where she had been sitting.

"Oh-ho!" The aunt pressed her fingers to her forehead, shaking her head before turning her attention back to Vaidehi's distracted face. "I was saying... Ira has reached the age of marriage. Will you start looking for a suitable match for your daughter now, or just sit with your hands in your lap till she turns thirty?"

Vaidehi's lips trembled slightly, and she offered her a hesitant smile. "Ah, no, no, Bua ji. Not yet." She drew her knees closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Let her study... get a job. After three–four years, I'll think about her marriage."

A quiet pause stretched between them. The aunt looked at Vaidehi with pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows.

Vaidehi's eyes drifted toward the groom, who was walking around the sacred fire, performing the seven vows, his bride following behind him. "And... the way she's always sick and weak... who will accept her? People taunt a lot. And she's very sensitive," she continued in a lower voice.