10 parts Ongoing In the heart of post-independence India, where golden waves kiss the horizon,
A child named Gulaab blossomed, her laughter unbroken.
Beneath the skies of a newly free land, hope mingled with shadowed customs,
And the sun set too soon in the springtime of her youth.
Barely eight, with dreams still forming,
Tradition arrived, unbidden, like a quiet storm,
Binding her to Keshav, a boy of thirteen years,
Both were too young to fathom the weight of the marigold-laden bond.
The chants rose, the drums played, a festival in disguise,
But beneath the colors and fragrance, her spirit wondered why.
Keshav laughed like the day was a game,
While Gulaab clung to her world, fragile and untamed.
Through the rituals, a silent defiance took root,
Not in rebellion, but in the quiet strength of a child.
Her heart whispered dreams against the pull of tradition,
A bud yearning to bloom in the storm's embrace.
This is a tale of love and loss, of hope unyielding,
Where innocence battles the chains of an ancient rhythm.
And in Gulaab's eyes, wide yet steady,
Lies the fragile yet enduring promise of change.
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