Rajvansh Haveli – Wedding Day***
The Rajvansh Haveli was dressed like royalty that night.
Crimson and gold drapes fluttered in the warm evening breeze, fairy lights tangled with mogra strands lit up every corner, and a floral mandap floated like a dream on the courtyard’s lily pond. Inside it, firewood crackled softly, echoing the anticipation in the air.
Yuvraj Rajvansh stood tall under the mandap — a vision in ivory and pearl. His sherwani was intricately embroidered with delicate motifs, layered with strands of pearls draped across his chest. A pristine safa sat proudly on his head, pinned with a classic emerald brooch. Calm on the outside, chaos on the inside — his heartbeat drummed louder than the shehnai playing nearby.
And then, she arrived.
Yukti.
Descending from her doli like the regal storm she was.
She wore a breathtaking deep red lehenga, embroidered with gold zari and crystal-studded vines that shimmered with every step. Her blouse, rich with elaborate handwork, hugged her perfectly, the sleeves dripping with intricate detailing. Her net dupatta, edged in heavy gold, was pinned gracefully over her sleek bun. Heavy kundan jewellery adorned her neck, her wrists jingled with bridal chooda and kalire, and the maang tikka rested right at the centre of her glowing forehead.
Her eyes found his across the courtyard — and the noise around them faded.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
As the varmala ceremony began, petals rained from above like blessings from heaven. Yuvraj bent slightly with a smirk, letting her place the garland over him. Yukti, never one to play fair, threw the varmala over his neck with playful defiance, making him stagger just a little. The crowd erupted in cheers. Yugant’s whistle echoed so loud it scared a flock of pigeons.
Once seated in the mandap, the rituals began — mantras, offerings, sacred vows. The fire blazed softly, casting golden glows across their faces.
Then — a pause.
“Beta, mangalsutra le aaiye,” Panditji announced.
Yuvraj turned to Manjri. She turned to Lakshmi. Lakshmi turned to Yugant.
Yugant blinked. “Main… woh… mummy ne bola tha ki box table pe rakha hai. I thought someone packed it.”
Lakshmi gasped. “I thought you had it!”
Yukti squinted, suspicious. “Wait. Are you saying… it’s lost?”
“Misplaced,” Yuvraj corrected, clearing his throat. “Not lost. Semantics.”
Chaos.
Cousins flew off in every direction. Servants dug through makeup kits and trunks. Manjri frantically emptied every velvet pouch she had.
Yukti’s patience snapped. “Tum Kritika ko sambhal rahe the ya mangalsutra bhool gaye?”
Yugant raised both hands. “Priorities, bhabhi. Kritika ko neend mein bhejna zyada zaroori tha. Warna yeh shaadi toh kya, reception bhi nahin hota.”
Yuvraj chuckled, despite himself.
“Where is she now?” Yukti asked.
“Worry not,” Yugant said dramatically. “She’s dreaming of flipping wine glasses… thanks to one tiny pill and a giant cold coffee.”
As guests murmured nervously, one aunty whispered, “Shaadi se pehle mangalsutra gayab ho jaaye toh...”
“ Stop it aunty,” Yukti muttered under her breath. “Yeh shaadi hai, drama agency nahi.”
Just then, a helper came running across the mandap. “Ma’am! Return gift ke hamper mein ek velvet box mila!”
Lakshmi lunged forward and opened it. Inside sat the missing mangalsutra, nestled safely.
"I must’ve packed it by mistake,” she said sheepishly.
Panditji nodded. “Chaliye. Let us continue.”
As the fire blazed anew and the phera's began, Yukti and Yuvraj rose — hands entwined, eyes steady.
With each circle, their pasts melted away — anger, pride, misunderstandings — making way for silent vows:
To listen. To protect. To choose each other daily, not out of obligation, but out of love.
And then came the final ritual.
Yuvraj stepped forward, mangalsutra in hand. He reached for her neck, his fingers grazing her skin, his breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
Yukti closed her eyes.
He tied the black-beaded necklace gently around her neck, letting it rest against her heart.
Then, he picked up the sindoor.
His hand trembled as he leaned in. Yukti looked up — her eyes fierce, soft, certain. He parted her hair and filled it with vermilion, slow and reverent — as if sealing a vow written before time itself.
Gasps. Tears. Applause.
“Vivah sampann hua,” Panditji declared.
Yukti smiled — wide, radiant, real.
Yuvraj leaned close and whispered, “No more threats, Dr. Malhotra?”
She grinned, “Only lifetime prescriptions, Dr. Rajvansh.”
Laughter bubbled up as fireworks exploded above them.
And down below — two souls, once strangers — now stood hand in hand, bound not just by rituals, but by something far rarer.
Love. Trust. And a mangalsutra that finally found its way home.
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