She sat motionless with her eyes fixed on her as anger and sorrow churned within her.
Why had God given her such a cruel father and an equally heartless younger sister? She couldn't fathom it.
"You're ready," her sister muttered, avoiding her piercing gaze. "I'll call the men to take you to the ceremony." She turned quickly and walked out with her head bowed low.
Anita released a long, exasperated sigh, her lips pressed together in frustration.
She shut her eyes tightly, "Dear God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I beg you for one last chance. One chance to apologize to Akash for everything I said to him. I know I failed to trust him, and I've been punished for it. But please, please save me from this nightmare. I'd rather join you in death than marry that disgusting man. Please, God, hear me." Tears then trickled down her cheeks.
The men barged into the room and their heavy footsteps echoed like thunder against the walls.
Without a word, they grabbed her roughly, lifting her as if she were a sack of grain.
The ropes binding her hands and feet dug painfully into her skin as they carried her out.
Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, and she clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to cry out.
They entered the hall.
Women clad in colourful sarees filled the room, and their bangles kept jingling as they moved about.
Their laughter and chatter were loud, almost suffocating, while a group of children danced gleefully in one corner.
The men dropped her onto a soft, decorated sofa.
Her wrists throbbed after they pulled at the tight knots binding her. Before she could even catch her breath, one of them thrust a cloth into her mouth, muffling her objections.
She writhed against them, her eyes blazing with rage, but her movements were futile against their overpowering strength.
"Hold her still," came the Mukhiya's cold voice from somewhere in the crowd.
She struggled harder as the henna artist approached with her small tin of paste in hand.
"Stop!" she tried to shout through the gag, but it came out as an unintelligible sound. Her body stiffened as the woman took her trembling hand, but the men gripped it firmly, forcing it to stay in place.
The artist began to apply patterns on her palm.
The cold touch of the henna paste felt like chains being drawn tighter around her spirit.
Each stroke of the design felt like a slap to her.
She clenched her teeth behind the gag and squeezed her eyes shut.
Her breathing slowed, though her heart still raced.
The henna artist continued her work.
The other women in the hall laughed and gossiped though their voices mixed with the rhythmic drumbeats from the corner.
Her gaze darted across the room and it landed on the Mukhiya's eyes who was watching her like a predator ensuring his prey didn't slip away.
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and bit down on the cloth, her resolve hardening.
"Hide my name in her palm," the Mukhiya commanded with a wicked grin, his voice echoing through the hall, and it silenced the murmurs of the gathered women.
He leaned forward, his presence as oppressive as the heat from the oil lamps burning around them. "She's still young, so I'll give her the liberty to experience her youth tomorrow night while I search for it," he added.
Her glare was sharp, piercing through her tears, but her fury only amused him further.
The henna artist nodded obediently.
Slowly, she dipped her fingers into the bowl of henna paste and carefully wrote his name—Virendra—within the patterns on Anita's palm.
Her chest heaved while she sobbed silently. She jerked her hands, trying to pull them away because she was tired, but the men flanking her tightened their grip, their fingers digging painfully into her wrists.
"I will not let you keep branding me like a doll!" she tried to scream, but the gag muffled her voice into a frustrated whimper.
She thrashed in her seat.
"Stop moving, girl," one of the men barked harshly.
His tone was sharp, almost cruel as he continued. "You'll get your hands back when the design dries up."
She shot them a glare filled with rage.
On the other hand, the Mukhiya smirked at her, clearly enjoying her helplessness and his dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
The henna artist, her hands shaking slightly, continued her work in silence.
After she finished, Anita looked down at her palms, now stained with the name of a man she loathed with every fiber of her being.
Her mind screamed at her to scrub it off, but her bound hands rendered her powerless.
However, her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists as much as the ropes would allow, smearing some of the fresh design.
****
It was ten at night.
Akash dialed Divya's number.
She answered after the first ring, and he asked. "Are you still at the lodge?"
"Yes. We didn't go anywhere like you asked," she replied quickly.
"Good," he said and exhaled deeply. "I'm leaving Mumbai right now. I tracked Anita's phone. It's showing a location near the valley, close to the ravine village. Keep your phone on. I'll meet you all soon."
"Sure!" she responded.
He hung up without another word and went towards the waiting helicopter.
Two of them stood on the tarmac, their blades pruning in the cold night.
One was filled with police officers who were fully armed and ready for any thing.
The other was for him.
Some of his cars had already departed Mumbai a long time ago.
The floodlights shone very brightly.
He climbed into the cockpit and buckled himself in.
The pilot turned to him, confirming the coordinates one last time.
He gave him the nod and the engines roared to life.
He leaned back, staring out at the horizon with a single thought burning in his mind, I will save you, Anita. I'm coming.
Both helicopters lifted into the dark sky, their rotors mowing through the silence of the night as they headed toward the valley.
****
Anita stared out at the small, barred window, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of the night sky.
A smile tugged at her lips as memories of the first day she arrived in Mumbai flooded her mind.
In her village, a woman leaving her marriage was a taboo.
Yet, she became a divorcee.
She had fought relentlessly, alone against a world that judged her, until Akash entered her life.
"He was like an angel," she whispered to herself, her voice quivering with regret. "I didn't do justice to his love. I didn't. Maybe that's why God is punishing me like this."
"Woman, it's very late. Go to sleep," barked one of the guards stationed in the room, his tone very gruff and impatient because he was sleepy.
She didn't even flinch.
Their voices were mere noise her brain didn't register.
Her eyes dwelled on the shimmering stars outside.
"My love for him is pure, though," she murmured. "I was manipulated... but never again. This time, no one will poison my mind against him. I will never stop loving him."
The stars twinkled brighter.
The gentle breeze caressed her face and its cool touch soothed her tired soul.
Slowly, it lulled her restless mind into a quiet calm.
Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment until, at last, they blinked shut, and she drifted into a deep sleep.
*****
"Di! Di!" her sister's voice nudged her, shaking her awake.
She groaned softly, her eyes pushing open, heavy with exhaustion.
She turned her head slowly to see her sister standing beside the bed, her face pale and her hands fidgeting nervously.
"It's morning," her sister whispered.
Anita blinked at the sunlight spilling into the room.
She sat up slightly, leaning against the headboard, and shrugged indifferently. "So? What does that even mean? There's no restaurant here. I can't go to work..."
She reminded her timidly, "It is your wedding day. You haven't had food since you arrived. Please, eat breakfast."
Anita's face darkened. "Do you still not feel any shame? How dare you stand here and pretend to care? Get out. I told you I don't want to see your face again," she snarled angrily.
"Hate me as much as you want, but please, just eat something."
Anita let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "If you really cared about me, genuinely cared, you wouldn't have connived with him behind my back. So stop this pathetic act of concern. It's disgusting."
Two elderly women then draped in spirited coloured sarees entered the room and their anklets jingled with each step.
One carried a lehenga with a cup half-filled, and the other carried a bundle of glittering jewels. They moved closer, their expressions stoic, and addressed her sister.
"Can you leave us for a moment?" she said.
Her sister nodded, casting one last glance at Anita before exiting the room.
The women settled beside her on the bed, their aged hands resting on their laps as they studied her while her gaze were fixed on the window.
"We have been sent by the Mukhiya," the older of the two began.
"I never asked," she mumbled flatly.
Unperturbed, the woman continued, "He sent us to explain how you are to conduct yourself later in the bedroom."
At this, her head snapped toward them, "I am not marrying him," she spat. "The sooner he understands that and lets me go, the lenient his punishment will be."
The women exchanged a glance, then chuckled softly like she was a mere stubborn child throwing a tantrum.
They ignored her words entirely, brushing them off like dust from their sarees.
"Well, we've brought you a herbal medicine. It will increase your fertility rate, and if you bed together tonight, there are high chances you will become pregnant."
Anita turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing at the audacity of their words. "What nonsense are you talking about? Take that garbage and get out," she spat, her voice sharp with disgust.
The second woman remained unbothered and she unfolded the heavy lehenga whose embroidery glittered in the morning light.
She laid it on the bed alongside the ornate jewelry. "These are for you," she spoke. "The Mukhiya personally selected them. You will wear them for the ceremony."
Her eyes flicked to the shimmering fabric and then back to the women. "Tell your Mukhiya I'll wear his shame before I wear this," she said coldly.
The women exchanged glances with unreadable faces.
Ignoring her words again, they continued. "You need to let go of this stubbornness," one of them said. "The Mukhiya will be your husband, and it is your duty to please him. When he comes to your room, you will—"
"Enough!" she snapped and her voice came out like a whip. She glared at them. "Do you hear yourselves? Do you even realize the filth you're spouting? I will never listen to a word you say, so stop wasting your breath."
The women remained seated, their calm demeanor never faltering. "You're only making things harder for yourself," the woman replied evenly. "If you cooperate, it will be easier for everyone."
She turned her gaze once again to the window, and replied. "Tell him that the only thing I have for him is hatred. And if I ever get free, I'll make him pay for everything."
The older woman sighed. She adjusted her saree and leaned closer, her voice now firmer and colder. "You may refuse to listen, but we still have a duty to prepare you. You are marrying the Mukhiya today, and tonight, you will become his wife in every sense."
Anita stiffened, her hands clenching into fists against the restraints.
The woman continued, unbothered by the venom in Anita's glare.
"When he enters your room, you must greet him respectfully," she said. "Lower your gaze, do not speak unless he asks you to, and respond softly. Men do not like women who talk too much."
The second woman nodded in agreement, adding in a softer tone, "When he sits beside you, you must not flinch or pull away. Accept his touch, even if it feels unfamiliar or uncomfortable. He would be your husband then, and it is your duty to make him happy."
She let out a bitter laugh, a hollow, cold sound that echoed in the room. "You speak as if I'm some lifeless doll he can play with," she said, "Do you have no shame or sense of humanity?"
The first woman frowned irritated, but regardless, replied. "We are only trying to help you, girl. The Mukhiya is a powerful man, and it is better for you to submit than to provoke his anger. You may hate this now, but once you have children, you will understand your place and find peace."
"Peace?" she snapped, her voice rising. "You think I'll find peace in being sold like cattle? In being forced to marry a monster? If that's what you call peace, please, I'd rather live in chaos!"
The second woman placed a hand on her arm to calm her, but the gesture to her was neither comforting nor kind.
"You must calm yourself. This stubbornness will only make things harder. If you do as you're told, this will all be over soon." she told her.
Anita's chest thrust up and down with fury, and she simply turned her head toward the window.
The older woman sighed again, before she spoke. "We will leave you to think. But remember, your life is no longer just about you. It is about fulfilling your duty as a wife and ensuring the Mukhiya's happiness. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you."
She didn't respond.
She kept her gaze fixed on the window, watching the sunlight filter through the thin curtains.
The women eventually stood, adjusted their sarees, then left.
••••
It was four in the afternoon.
She sat on the bed, her body adorned with the heft of the heavily embroidered lehenga and layers of jewelry that dug uncomfortably into her skin.
Her face was concealed by a shimmering dupatta that draped down to her chest.
She wanted to rip it off, but her hands remained tied.
The door creaked open, and the men stormed in.
Without a word, they untied her legs, their rough hands bruising her skin in the process.
One of them grabbed her arm harshly, pulling her to her feet.
"Move," one barked.
Her jaw tightened, her feet dragging against the floor as they led her toward the door.
Each step she took felt like walking toward her own funeral.
"I will never take the wedding vows," she hissed. "I will never take them."
The men ignored her and continued dragging her through the corridor.
Suddenly, they stopped.
She staggered to a halt and the dupatta shifted, and then it was lifted.
Her father's face came into view, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
He studied her appearance with a satisfied grin, his hands clasped behind his back like he was admiring a work of art.
"Finally," he said, his voice filled with a twisted pride. "Finally, you'll discharge the duties you were sent to this world for. A wife. A mother. A servant to her husband. Just as you should be."
She spat at his face in disgust, then exclaimed, "I will kill you. I promise you, I will kill you. I will not forget any of this. And this time, no one will hand you over to the law. I don't mind being imprisoned for life. I'll confess I killed you in my right state of mind, but I will kill you."
He wiped his face with a handkerchief, unbothered, and let out a cold chuckle. "Take her to the mandap," he ordered.
The men dragged her forward while she struggled against their grip.
Then her eyes widened in horror, catching the sight before her.
Dangling in the air, just a few feet above a roaring red fire, were her mother and sister with ropes tied cruelly around their necks.
The flames licked dangerously close to their feet.
"Mother!" she screamed, her voice cracking while she thrashed against the iron grips of her captors.
She tried to lunge forward, but the men held her tightly, dragging her back.
Her father's voice echoed. "Their safety entirely depends on you." He gestured towards them with a casual wave of his hand.
"The more time you waste, the more pain they will endure. If you don't silently marry the Mukhiya without any tantrums, 1 promise you, that fire will burn them alive. Right here, in front of your eyes."
He leaned in closer, and whispered, "Now, we'll see if your heart is really frozen."
Her vision blurred with tears while her heart pounded like thunder.
Her mind told her not to go ahead, but the sight of her mother and sister dangling helplessly paralyzed her.
A lump rose in her throat as the flames crackled louder, threatening to devour them.
"I love all my children, but you... you hold a very special place in my heart, an exceptionally special place," her mother's voice echoed in her mind.
The words sliced through her like a knife, and her cries grew louder, raw and unrestrained.
Her tear-streaked face turned to her father, but his expression was as cold and unfeeling as ever, devoid of even a shred of humanity.
She looked away, her gaze locking onto her mother and sister again. They both hung limply, unconscious, their heads tilted awkwardly.
The fire beneath them hissed and popped, its heat rising dangerously close to their dangling feet.
"I will not marry!" she screamed.
Overwhelmed by the pain in her chest, she shouted louder, trying to release the unbearable weight suffocating her soul.
Her father's voice rang out, "Lower the ropes. Let them feel the fire's heat then. Let them burn."
Her eyes widened in horror as the ropes creaked, lowering them even closer to the flames. The fire's red glow illuminated their faces, and its heat licked at the soles of their feet, the edges of their clothing dangerously close to catching.
"Stop!" she cried, her voice breaking as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please, stop!"
"It's your choice. Their lives or your stubborn pride." her father responded calmly.
Her body shook violently and she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
She forced herself to nod through the tears, her heart breaking into pieces.
The strength she had fought so hard to preserve crumbled.
"I'll do it," she choked out.
The men hauled her forward toward the mandap.
Her legs felt like they were made of lead.
Finally, she sat at the altar beside the Mukhiya.
Her hands clenched into fists beneath her heavy lehenga.
She bowed her head, and mumbled, "Priest, please conduct the wedding as soon as possible."
Her father's lips curved into a victorious smile and he folded his arms, watching with satisfaction.
Her tears soaked the veil draped over her face.
Beside her sat the Mukhiya, his face obscured by the sehra of flowers cascading over his sherwani.
His silence felt louder than any words he could have spoken.
The priest began chanting the mantras, but her mind was elsewhere.
Her gaze flickered toward her mother and sister, still dangling perilously close to the flames, their bodies swaying slightly in the heat.
The sight seared into her mind, burning hotter than the fire below them.
The priest's voice droned on and each chant felt like a nail driven into her coffin.
Her tears continued to fall silently.
She sat motionless and her eyes stared at the flames of the sacred fire in front of her.
When it was time for the garlands to be exchanged, one of the men placed a garland of fresh marigolds in her trembling hands.
Her fingers tightened around it.
"Stand up," one of the men barked, gripping her arm roughly and hauling her to her feet.
The Mukhiya stood too, towering over her, his sehra swaying slightly as he moved.
Her knees wanted to buckle, but she forced herself to stand upright.
Her father stepped closer, his grin widening as he saw her lift the garland.
"Do it," he commanded coldly.
Her hands shook uncontrollably as she raised the garland, her eyes locking onto the sehra for a moment before she placed it around his neck.
He placed his own around her neck immediately.
The flowers' sweet scent turned her stomach.
The priest then instructed them to begin the pheras.
The Mukhiya grabbed her hand, his grip like iron, and began leading her around the sacred fire.
The priest's chants grew louder and by the time they completed the pheras, she felt like she was sinking into the earth itself.
When the final rites approached, the priest handed the Mukhiya the sindoor.
Her breath stopped as he lifted her veil slightly, just enough to reveal her forehead.
She closed her eyes tightly and her body continued shaking as the cold powder touched her skin.
Her tears fell freely while he tied the mangalsutra around her neck.
The crowd erupted into cheers, and the priest declared them husband and wife.
Her father smiled triumphantly, standing tall like he had won some great battle.
She lowered her gaze, unable to bear the scenery of the guests' cheerful faces.
The Mukhiya beside her, his face still hidden behind the sehra, remained quiet.
Just as her father opened his mouth to congratulate him, the doors to the hall burst open with a loud bang, silencing the room.
All heads turned toward the entrance, where a group of inspectors in uniform strode in, accompanied by armed officers.
At the center of them was the Mukhiya, his hands bound in handcuffs while his face was twisted in rage and disbelief upon seeing another groom.
Gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd.
"What is the meaning of this?" her father barked in shock. "Who is the man with her then?" he looked with disbelief.
One of the inspectors stepped forward. "We've arrested the Mukhiya for multiple charges, including unlawful confinement, extortion, and attempted forced marriage."
The hall fell into stunned silence.
Her heart began to pound, and she turned to look at the groom beside her.
He lifted the sehra slowly, revealing a face she had thought she'd never see again—Akash.
Her breath caught, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Akash?" she whispered.
The Mukhiya struggled against his restraints, shouting, "This is nonsense! She's my wife! This marriage is invalid without me!"
The inspector ignored him and motioned for the officers to take him away. Two officers grabbed him by his arms and began dragging him out.
Her father, seething with fury, pointed an accusing finger at Akash. "Do you know who I am?"
Akash stepped forward, leaving Anita behind. "I know exactly who you are, and you'll pay for what you've done. The law will deal with you too."
The inspectors nodded, signaling to their men.
Another officer stepped toward him while producing a set of handcuffs. "You're under arrest as well, for aiding and abetting criminal activity."
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