The time had come. After spending all afternoon greeting guests and making acquaintances of the groom’s army of friends and family, Saania had almost forgotten the reason. I’m getting married today , she thought, nervous. How wouldn’t she be? She looked at herself in the mirror of the small perfumed room . It’s too expensive. Gold, silver and jewels adorned her dress to an extent that made her think she’d blind the guests were the ceremony held during the day. A knock on the door took her briefly out of her sea of thoughts. It’s time.

As she walked out the door, followed by her attendants, she reflected on the past few days. Too much color, too much noise, too much everything! Her house had been colorfully decorated and the celebration had begun days before the actual ceremony took place, as is tradition for wealthy families such as hers. Do we even need all this? The walls are almost more festive than my dress, and that’s already way beyond acceptable parameters, she thought as they walked the corridors of her family-home-turned-circus.

Finally, they reached their destination. Good, it’s already dark out. I guess the guests won’t be needing sunglasses to look at me in this disco ball of a dress. The ceremony was taking place in a beautiful inner garden, complete with flowers of all kinds and even some mango trees. She had always loved those trees. She remembered climbing them to fetch the best fruit from the highest branches before they fell and splattered their juicy goodness on the brick-red floor. She liked that floor. For some reason her father had decided to keep it after buying the house, even though he renovated every other nook and cranny of the structure. It was a decision he’d regretted after she fell down from one of the mango trees and broke her right leg. It gave me an excuse to stay in bed all day, she remembered. It had also made it impossible to resist her brother’s insistence on her picking up reading as a hobby. “You just look… right, when you read. I’m sure it’s something the gods like to watch” – That had convinced her, under one condition.

He had to steal Hesse’s Siddharta from my father’s study. It was the only book he had forbidden yet not thrown away. I guess he recognized great literature when he saw it, even if he hated its subversive value. She didn’t, however. She read it, and reread it, and then did it again. By the time her leg had healed, she could recite most scenes from memory. Tradition had always looked asinine in her eyes, but after reading Siddharta she went from childish rejection and tantrums to having actual arguments with her father about the nature of the gods, the meaning of religion, and how tradition was nothing but an outdated construct to keep early societies in line. Useful, but obsolete now that we have actual structured governments and judiciary systems.

Her life had been one of contradictions since then. Back in the day, she had endured most traditional ceremonies due to her deep spirituality. She could feel the gods in every step she took, every breath she drew and every mango she ate from the trees in the inner garden. After Siddharta, however, it became harder and harder. She felt more connected to the gods reading, or singing, or just enjoying the breeze on the treetops than during religious ceremonies. Why would I need to chant mantras in Sanskrit when the gods exist in every word of every language?

She looked around the garden while lost in thought. She saw the flowers, and the girls tasked with spraying water on them periodically so they looked shinier and prettier. She saw the mango trees and the pennant banners hanging from them. She saw the floor, and the fancy seats on it. She saw everyone’s smiling faces. It was perfect. This is terrible. She caught herself smiling back at the crowd. What am I doing? This is not me. She was genuinely happy. She knew she looked beautiful in that dress, and she felt like a princess.

I’m horrible, she thought. She felt like she betrayed that little girl who had dared defy her father. She felt hypocritical and dirty. Is this all I really am? Am I just like every other dream-eyed girl hoping for a pretty wedding and many children? Was my whole life just a prologue to my wedding? She couldn’t help it. Her base instincts had taken hold of her mind and body. The perfume hanging in the air all around the house had infiltrated her soul and perverted her thoughts. She was genuinely enjoying it all. I’m sorry, Hesse. I’m sorry, Siddharta. I’m sorry, Saania. I’m nothing but a foolish girl waiting for her prince in shini-

She was yanked out of her thoughts by a tug on her hand. She turned to the man who was holding it. There he was.

It’s your fault. Aneesh looked back at her with a puzzled look, which then changed to an almost apologetical one. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. Suddenly, she felt the heat coming from the great fire illuminating them from the middle of the garden. They were so close she feared her dress may catch on fire, but the warmth soothed her, relieved her of her doubts. She realized she’d spent most of the ceremony lost in thought, she’d completely skipped over her father performing the Kanyadaan and had somehow gone through the Panigrahana on autopilot. Remarkable, she thought, smiling at the absurdity of it all. She smiled at Aneesh, who seemed relieved she was back from her daydreaming just in time for the Seven Steps. Aneesh. Gentle, caring and loving Aneesh. I’m drowning in a glass of water, right? His smile was enough.

Gods give you strength, Aneesh. It’s gonna be a rocky ride from here on out.

Afterword

Wow! What a ride it was to write this. I’m quite sorry if I got any facts or traditions wrong, it’s hard to know how these ceremonies transpire just from researching on the internet.

Saania is a lovely character; it was remarkable how fast I became endeared to her. She has a tendency to drown in glasses of water, like now.

To be honest, it’s a story about cold feet. Who doesn’t get them during that kind of event?

I’d never written a religious character either. I tried being subtle about it. Agni, the god of fire, has her on high esteem and always comes through for her; he does in this story as well.

Many thanks to @gmuxx for organizing the contest and @thatindianlady for providing the picture prompt. What a beautiful cousin she has! Best of luck to anyone else participating!