The name on my mehendi was still Shravan's yet Shravan was not the one I was going to be wed. Our maids tried everything to get that one name off my mehendi but it was useless. Oddly similar to my pathetic prayers for everything to still turn out to be nothing but a nightmare.

However, I never broke out in a cold sweat. Sleep didn't even cross my eyes let alone made me hope for -

"Is she not ready yet?" My mother barged into my room as the makeup professionals turned to look her way. "Almost done, ma'am. Just adding the last touches." The woman in her late thirties, with olive tainted skin and slender figure spoke.

"Okay, be fast. We don't want her to miss the auspicious time. It's already a mess and I can handle no more." Mother defined the pleats of her saree, "Also can any of you fix this pin of mine. It keeps on tugging and I'm having problems sitting."

"Yeah sure." One of the other assistants went to help her with three pins pinched in her mouth. Mother didn't spare me a look. Her eyes were tainted in rushed worry. I wasn't sure what to feel. I wasn't sure I could feel either. Normally I would have been dreading it. My chest, my gut, my mind everything would be dreading with sickening knots. But except for my parched throat everything was numb, my toes, my fingers, my everything. I looked at myself in the mirror, wrapped in a silk saree of red mahogany, embellished in metal thread of zardosi work, layered necklaces of heavy gold, maang tikka, nath, and what not. I was supposed to be happy, all of these were for Shravan...if only he-

I sighed and looked down, fidgeting with my haath-phool to cover up the name of Shravan designed in my mehendi. Mother told me to hide it, since it won't rub away.

"It's all done, Srishti is ready, ma'am." The slender lady in green kurti chimed as the numbness flew away and an overwhelming sensation to throw up burned my throat. "Okay let's go, we can't keep them waiting forever." Mother exclaimed over the streaming melody of folk songs, khartal, sarangi and loud beats of trumpets from the already arrived baraat.

The lady in green helped me stand up and another lady with big round eyes and fuller cheeks bent down to fix my saree pleats. Mother's heavily embroidered saree in saffronaut gleamed of joy and happiness, pure in contrast with her tone of hurry.

Mother took one of my hands in her as she guided me past the door to my room, now decorated in garlands of marigold and some other white flowers.

Should I run away?

I almost laugh at the thought. If I do, where will I come back to? The Tyagis will never accept me, and the Chauhans will make sure none of the Tyagis ever remain in the society of Elites.

One week ago, later that night father came in and announced the wedding will happen no matter what and the one to replace Shravan would be Sushant Chauhan's youngest - Shravan's brother.

We didn't even meet and I wasn't able to find any photos of him. When I asked father of one he dismissed me saying I'll see him in a week anyway. The only thing I'm aware of is his name - our maid Mita informed me when she accidentally eavesdropped on my father's conversation with someone else over the phone.

The sounds of trumpets and khartal intensified as we reached the foyer and descended the steps of the stairs down to the mandap - where he is.

Strings of fragrant flowers ornate the wrought iron railings and with each step I feel the thundering of my heart block my ears. Nothing will ever be the same.

Taking one deep breath, I finally muster the courage to look past the handing garlands of yellow and orange marigolds, the same white flower i don't know the name of and roses along with the white curtains draped over hanging around the four pillars raised on the dais where the agni kund is flaming its sparks.

I see the purohit, sitting on one white low bench and adding something to the fire pit to make the fire blaze more. And - opposite to the purohit I see the back of a man, dressed in champagne gold sherwani in silk brocade and heavy embroidery, his back facing me with a wrapped stole draped over his shoulder.

The low seat beside him was empty - it was meant for me.

He must be the youngest Chauhan. The one to replace his brother. The one to be my husband.

Whatever knots I didn't feel before, I feel them now, everything around me started swirling and I felt as if someone were twisting my intestines. My feet touched the last step.

Before we turned to the mandap my mother halted mid-way. "Srishti, take the blessings of your in-laws." In front of me stood a man in his late 50s, as formidable and intimidating as my father. He wore a brown embroidered kurta, fine lines were carved under his bushy brows. He must be Sushant Chauhan. When I met his eyes, cold crawled up my spine. His eyes were as still as a statue, no expression crossing his face. He didn't seem impressed or disgusted. I didn't spot any scorn either. Mother nudged me with an elbow when the woman standing beside him cleared her throat. I immediately bent down and took his blessings.

He tapped on my head once, blessing me, more like dismissing me. I stood up and then moved on the woman standing by his side - his wife. Pranali Chauhan. I was going to bend down and take her blessings when she grabbed me by my arm and pulled me up till I was looking into her eyes. "Don't you know that a bride must be in her veil until the vermilion ritual?" Her tone was anything but kind.

"Ah- we were in a hurry. I forgot to take her veil down." Mother murmured in an apologetic manner, tucking the piece of fabric up my head down till I could see nothing but their feets. "We didn't want to miss the auspicious time."

"I hope your daughter isn't as forgetful as you. Chauhans have less use of inadvertance." A jolt of shame and annoyance surged through me; if this is what it's like today, I cannot fathom what it will be like tomorrow, when I'll be all alone in that house without the person I was promised to be with.

Mother nudges me again and I bend down pressing my palm on her feet taking her so-called blessings.

"Make haste, we don't have all night to complete the rituals," A rusted voice surfed above the khartaal songs and I realised it was Shravan's father who spoke.

"Yeah, we should." My father spoke from somewhere near enough to be heard above the floating noises of folk melodies.

Mother then guided me near the dais before other cousins of mine surrounded me till I was directed to the low sitting bench. "Bride please take your seat." I heard the purohit say.

One of my cousins helped me sit as I couldn't see much but the carpeted and flowered floors of the dais and the bit of embroidered sherwani of the person forced to marry me.

My heart thrummed against my rib cage. He must hate me so much. Just a week ago he lost his brother and now he's getting tied in a knot his brother was supposed to share with me. I felt bad for him. I felt pathetic for him. I felt like a burden to him.

But who will feel sorry for me? He has his entire family to mourn with - share taunts and jeers about me, as I already see his mother's contempt in regards to me. He has people who will side with him and deride me.

I have none. My parents are too busy tossing me aside just to save them the shame and embarrassment from a broken marriage.

"Om gan ganpatiye namah," The purohit recited. "Bride's father, please step forward for kanyadaan."

A rush of fabrics came up the dais, behind me whom I assumed to be my father. He didn't even speak to me last week except for when I wanted to see the picture of the man I'm getting married to.

A coconut wrapped in banarasi silk was placed above the betel leaves cupped in my palms, a few rice grains were then added with flowers and gold coins.

"Place the Bride's hands into the groom's." I froze the moment father took my palm and placed it over his. His skin was calloused against the back of my palm. "Now, please pour the Gangajal over their hands to complete the ritual."

Cold water pouring from the Kalash over my hands did less to soothe my wrapping anxiety but agitated it even more. I'm actually getting married - not to Sharvan.

"Now, the groom, please take the sankalp and repeat after me," The purohit started chanting, "Dharme cha, arthe cha, kaame cha, na ati charaami."

"Dharme cha, arthe cha, kaame cha, na ati charaami." A low silvery voice repeated the words of the purohit. It was so smooth and so sure like some breezed honeyed velvet, I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or to want to listen to it again.

In duty, in prosperity, and in desire, I shall never leave your side.

Will he though? Shravan was the one who should have promised me that. But he left me.

"Please stand up for gathbandhan." The purohit urged, taking away the coconut and betel leaves, placing them somewhere near the mandap. We both rise to our feet, hands holding each other.

Ghee from the fire pit crackled and popped as the woodsy smoke irritated the back of my throat. Slow tendrils of incense joined the heavy air, worsening the itch in the back of my throat. I gulped thickly and cleared my throat to soothe the itch.

Bangles clink. Sarees rustle. Cameras flash.

"Srishti?" The voice in honeyed velvet spoke with dregs of hesitation, my hand tensing in his. His tone suggested a question, probably making sure he's taking the right name. "Ah, yeah."

The purohit stood up, walking around the fire pit, he took one edge of the beige stole and my pallu, tying them together in one knot.

"Sa...Samrudh?" His name sounded weird on my tongue. I was used to Shravan...but Samrudh is-

"Hm."

"Om Vriddhi Kuru Ishta Dev Mad Granthi Bandhan Shubhada Bhavantu." The purohit chanted before returning back to his seat. "Please take the saat pheres around the sacred fire,"

Samrudh tugs on my hand and the next moment we start rounding the fire. "Om Ekamishhe Vishnu Twa Yajmanoenuvrat Esha Twam Anu Bruhi."

First Phera.

"Om Dve Urvarasya Vishnum Tva Yajmano'Nuvrat Esha Tvam Anu Bruhi."

Second Phera.

"Om Trini Vratani Vishnu Tva Yajmano'Nuvrat Esha Tvam Anu Bruhi."

Third phera.

"Om Chatvari Mayabhyah Vishnu Tva Yajmano'Nuvrat Esha Tvam Anu Bruhi."

Fourth Phera.

"Now, for the rest three, Bride will lead the rounds." The purohit says and I gulp thickly. It's fine, I remind myself, I have no other option. If i don't marry into the Chauhans the Tyagis are done for and if I do I'm done for. Either way is a dead end for me. Letting out a shuddering breath was a pathetic way to calm myself as I turned around on my heels. I hope I don't fall.

"Om Panch Pashubhyaah Vishnu Tva Yajmano'Nuvrat Esha Tvam Anu Bruhi." The purohit starts chanting in Sanskrit again, offering things to the sacred fire pit, as if I didn't sacrifice my entire future in it. Just how hungry is this fire people call sacred? How many wishes does it burn?

Fifth Phera.

"Om Shat Ritubhyaah Vishnu Tva Yajmano'Nuvrat Esha Tvam Anu Bruhi."

Sixth phera.

"Om Sakhyam Saptapadi Bhava. Sakhayam te gameyam. Sakhyam te mayogyam. Sakhyam te mayosmi."

Applauses bellowed like ocean tides, somewhere near a conch shell rang, bangles clicked and fire burned in golden sparks, hotter, heavier and hungrier than ever.

"Seven Pheres are now complete, lastly, it's time for mangalsutra and sindoor. Please take your seats."

I wasn't sure I was breathing properly, the embroidery work scratched against my skin each time I breathed. I felt a tug on my hand as I realised Samrudh already took his seat. Embarrassment burned within me as I lowered myself beside him. "Groom, please take off your Bride's veil and fill her crown with the vermilion of your name."

If my heart wasn't beating wildly enough I feared it'll, now, violently even. Samrudh turned towards me, his hand leaving my clammy ones and then - he took the veil off.

The lights from the chandeliers were too bright, nothing was dim red anymore. My breathing came out shaky as I finally dared to look up into the eyes of a man I've never seen before.

Onyx eyes. Straight nose. Carved jaw.

The fire from the mandap casted a dreamy amber over his muted skin. Every edge, every lash over his stormy eyes, every peeking lock from his turban with ornated kalgi is cruelly, scathingly, devastatingly beautiful.

Handsome.

He resembled Shravan. I thought Shravan was the most handsome man I'd ever met and yet -

Red fell over my nose and more conch shells roared, claps intensified so did the camera flashes. Samrudh's hand backed away from my crown's partition. I didn't even realise when he filled my partition.

I gulped and Samrudh blinked away. "Your groom must be dearly in love with you, for it is very auspicious if the vermilion falls on your nose." The purohit commented and a humourless laugh almost escaped my lips. What love? This is the first time I'm seeing this man, a man who is nothing but a replacement of my dead betrothed. Why will he even think of loving me when...they claim the reason for Shravan's suicide to be his repugnance of me.

I tried mustering a weak smile at the purohit. No matter what, I must not show reality. And I can only hope I was successful in it.

A hand looped a slim chain of gold and black beads - a mangalsutra - they retracted as soon as they came.

"The rites of the marriage are fulfilled. You may now begin your journey together as husband and wife." The purohit announced with casting joy and I envied his perfect smile I hoped I could wear too.

For I was no longer Srishti Tyagi...but Srishti Chauhan.

Wife of Samrudh Chauhan.

Not Shravan's.