Saturday 6 September
Desert Luxury Resort, Jaisalmer
5.30 pm

Ishita woke up with a start.

She must have fallen asleep during the spa treatment she realised, as she sat up, still dressed in her snowy white dressing gown. She felt refreshed and pampered, her skin soft and glowing, her nails gleaming, her hair falling in soft curls around her face

"Mere pati kahan hai?" (Where is my husband?) she asked the attendants, who were busy with some garments in a corner.

"My husband" It was the first time she had addressed Raman as her husband to someone else, she realised, and the words gave her a thrill. She was his wife. And tonight she would become so, in every sense.

"Woh toh tayaar ho kar bahar chale gaye memsaab. Aap bhi ab tayaar ho jaiye."
(He got dressed and went out ma'am. You should get dressed too)

"Theek hai" Ishita said. "Mein tayaar ho jaongi. Kitni aachi tarha se aap ne treatment ki. Thank you."
(Fine, I'll get dressed now. You've done the treatment so beautifully. Thank you)

"Hum aap ko tayaar kara denge memsaab" (We will help you get ready ma'am )

"Nahi, theek hai. Mein khud sari pehen loongi" (No that's fine. I can put on my sari)

"Sari nahi memsaab. Aap ke pati ne yeh Rajasthani joda kharida hai. Shaadi wala. Yeh dekhiye"
(Not a sari ma'am, your husband bought you a Rajasthani set. A bridal one. Here, look at this)

Ishita looked on in wonder as the women brought over the heavy red and gold garments they had been laying out, and draped them on the bed.

The outfit consisted of a voluminous ghagra and a small choli, with a matching dupatta. Both the ghagra and dupatta were blood red, with hundreds, nay, thousands, of tiny pieces of glass stuck on in swirling patterns, embroidered in gold.  The choli was a sleeveless wisp of gold fabric with one just button at the back to hold it all together.

The outfit was beautiful, and it was bridal.

Ishita had loved the white and red sari that she had worn for her wedding, but this ... this was something out of this world, the sort of bridal outfit that little girls dreams were made of. And big girls too.

She smiled lovingly as she thought of his ordering the set for her - what had been going on in his mind, she wondered? So he wanted her to dress as a bride for him? She would never have known her Raavan Kumar to be so sentimental, and she blushed as she remembered her first impressions off him.

They had come a long way indeed - from hatred, to indifference, to friendship, to desire, to love. And tonight, tonight was going to be the culmination of that love and that desire.

One of the women smiled knowingly as she handed a small package to her. "Yeh bhi tha memsaab" she said giggling. "Aap pehen ke aaiye." ( This was included too ma"am. Please put in on and then come).

Mystified, Ishita took the package with her to the bathroom. Washing her hands after using the facilities, she picked it up idly as she stared at her glowing skin in the mirror. The next moment, she was blushing heavily, as a brief gold string bikini tumbled out.

"Calm down Ishita" she chastised herself, as she tentatively touched the flimsy material. The thought that he had bought this for her, had chosen it, that others had seen it, caused tremors of anxiety to ripple through her. "But what did you expect Ishita" she reasoned to herself. "You know what's going to happen tonight. And you want it too. You know that."

Yes, she wanted him, wanted to be loved by him, but all of this was so new, her feelings still so raw, and she was terrified of not meeting his expectations. Still, it was all or nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she put on the wispy gold garment, blushing furiously as she tied the thin strings. Then she tied her robe tightly and walked back into the tent.

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Ishita sat unresisting as the women first did her make up, then helped her into the choli and then the heavy ghagra. She could not wear anything under the choli and blushed at the way it revealed her contours, it's flimsy material barely covering her.

The women smiled knowingly, then helped her to put on a heavy ornate gold necklace, which completely covered her neck and cleavage, settling over the choli, making it look like one high necked piece. She sighed in relief, thankful for this small mercy.

The necklace was followed by matching jhumkas, a nose ring and an ornate maang tikka. Her Chooda covered her arms and her hands had been adorned with matching haath phool. A beautiful gold kamarbandh was slipped around her waist, the ornate clasps fastened tightly, partially hidden under the ghagra. Then payals and toe rings were placed on her feet, followed by bejewelled slippers. The whole outfit was topped off with the heavy ghunghaat, which covered her head and extended past her waist, blending in with her ghagra.

One of the women had been humming an old Rajasthani folk song and she sang it in full voice now, as she brought a mirror to Ishita. Ishita looked at her reflection and gasped.

                          Saj dhaj ke mein darpan dekhoon
                        Khud ki najar utaru re
                        Chath par bhaithi sajna
                        Tera pal pal rah niharu re

She looked every inch a bride, a radiant bride. Her make up had been done subtly, but her blushing cheeks and kohl rimmed eyes gave her a look of radiant expectation. The jewels that glittered on her face and body, the tiny mirrors that shimmered in the soft glow of the approaching dusk, the blood red colours that surrounded, covered and swirled about her.

She blushed and covered her face with her hands, as the woman sang on:

                          Ho meri galee mein, ho meri galee mein
                        Meri galee mein yeh sor macha re
                        Ke piya ghar aaya re

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Raman stood in the entrance way, watching his bride as she watched herself.

He saw the change of expressions on her face, the surprise, the wonderment, then the dawning shyness as she smiled at her reflection, throwing her hands over her face as she sat, her ghagra swirling around her like a glittering jeweled many petaled flower on a bed of clouds. 

He walked deeper into the tent, motioning to the two Rajasthani women to leave, as he handed them a sheaf of notes, in appreciation of their work. They smiled and obliged and he was left alone, with his blushing bride.

He walked slowly towards the bed, as the sudden silence alerted Ishita to his presence. She tensed, and then slowly took her hands away from her face. Her eyes were closed and he marvelled at the perfection of her long lashes caressing her cheeks, as she slowly opened her eyes.

Piya aiso jiya mein samaye gayo re
Ki mein tan man ki sudh-budh ganwa baithi
Har Aahath pe samjhi woh aa gayo re
Jhat ghunghat mein mukhda chupaye baithi

Their gaze met and held each other's as he approached closer and closer.

He was dressed simply in a white chikaan kurta and loose white Rajasthani trousers. His short hair lay close on his head and his freshly shaven face looked young and stress free. His dark eyes blazed with passion and infused his entire face with an intense longing.

Her smile faded and her lips parted as she saw the intensity on his face, but suddenly she was afraid no longer. She got up from the bed and stood before him, extending a hand to him.

Morre angana mein jab purwaiya chali
Morre dwaare ki khul gayi kiwadiyaa
Maine jaana ki aa gaye saanwariya morre
Jhat phoolan ki sajiya mein jaa baithi

He stopped just inches away from her, his eyes blazing fire as they hungrily drank in the sight of his bride. She felt as if she would melt, be consumed by the heat in those eyes, and her own closed again, her face flushed and her lips parted as she stood, her hand extended.

He took her hand gently in his, bringing it up to his face and sinking his lips on her palm. His eyes still on her face, he saw her bite her lips, her chest heaving as she struggled to control her breathing. He felt her hand tremble in his, her fingers tightening around his.

"Chalein?" he asked huskily. (Shall we go?)

Her eyes flew open.

"Kahan?" She whispered.(Where?)

"Come" he kissed her hand again and walked her to the entranceway, pride in every step at the beauty by his side.

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Ishita stood at the entrance looking out into the desert dusk, entranced. Raman stood beside her, an arm proprietarily around her waist, his fingers tightly entwined with hers.

The vista before them had been transformed into a desert fantasy - a seat made of cushions and bolsters on a carpet of dhurries lay empty, awaiting them, facing a tableau of around a dozen Rajasthani dancers, who stood in formation, waiting for the signal to begin. Their garments were a riot of colour, a virtual kaleidoscope against the stark white sands of the desert.

Musicians sat around a small fire, also awaiting their cue.

Ishita dragged her eyes away from the sight before her, looking at the even more beloved sight of her husband.

"Raman" she whispered. "You did all this, for me?"

"I want to give you the world Ishita" he said simply, and tears welled in her eyes at the love in his voice.

"Shh, no crying, you'll spoil your make up" he ushered her towards their seat. "I asked them to send a photographer. Tumhari is rup ki nishaani chahiye mujhe" (I want a momento of this look of yours) His voice changed from playful to husky, sensual, and again Ishita could feel the rapid beat of her heart.

He led her to the cushions and helped her to sit, arranging her ghagra around her, taking his place beside her, his arm and hands always on her, protective, proprietorial .  She was vaguely aware of a smiling young man with a camera taking photos, but she would not, could not look up at him or at anything else. Her eyes stayed on her husbands face, drinking him in, conscious only of him, and the touch of his hand in hers, the feel of his body pressing against her, as they sat close together in that rapidly cooling desert night.

Meine sindoor se maang apni bhari
Roop saiyaan ke kaaran sajaya
Iss dar se kisi ki nazar na lage
Jhat nainan mein kajra laga baithi

Torches were lit around them and she snuggled close to her husband.

She heard the music start, a plaintive ballad about love and longing, sung in a voice laden with pathos.

She had loved and she had lost, as had he. But then they had found each other, and she knew now why the others had to go from their lives - this was the truth, the soulmate that had been anointed for her, the one who would complete her journey.

The music changed, a more upbeat song about a lover returning home, about a woman dressing up for her beloved.  The words of the ballad seemed to reflect her own heart as she watched the dancers twirl, their skirts billowing and swirling.

She glanced down at her hands, the glittering rings, the haath phool, and his hand in hers. She looked up at him and blushed. The was no mistaking what she saw in his face - he could not wait to make her his and she knew, without a doubt, that this was what she wanted too.

Piya aiso jiya mein samaye gayo re
Ki mein tan man ki sudh-budh ganwa baithi
Har Aahath pe samjhi woh aa gayo re
Jhat ghunghat mein mukhda chupaye baithi

                       
He caressed her face with gentle hands, and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Come" he whispered.

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