The Bride's Brother: A Story of Beginnings | Thursday Tale No. 20
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| Photograph by Mysara Hassan on Pexels. |
Over 1.2 metric tonnes of fireworks illuminated the night sky on 17th February to rejoice the wedding of Ms. Mridula Ranganathan, the daughter of garment
industrialist Mr. Subbaiah Ranganathan. The sparkling sky flourished over acres and acres of a field generously bejewelled for the ceremony. The entry of the bride and groom in helicopters caught the awe of the guests. It was the wedding of the decade, with over 375 food dishes, and gold coins offered as return gifts. In dowry itself, the groom was given a shopping complex in the centre of a cosmopolitan city, a Rolls-Royce, and a Burmese ruby ring. The bride was gifted 8.6 kilograms of gold ornaments, 365 designer sarees, and handbags and footwear to pair with each. She was also gifted premium furniture and appliances so that she does not experience not even the slightest inconvenience at her in-law’s.
Around 3 a.m., the groom, with his bride and the bride’s family, departed. It was a tradition for the bride to bid goodbye to her family and not look back after the nuptial union. Likewise, Mridula bid adieu—weeping on her father’s shoulder, consoling her sobbing mother, and teasing her brother who was trying hard not to cry. Then she got into the bedecked car with her new husband and rode off without turning back. The groom’s party was made up of a long northern-style band procession and his merrily dancing relatives. A series of fireworks were shot into the silence of the night to celebrate the arrival of his new bride.
Back in the emptying acres and acres of field, amidst the ground scattered with plastic confetti and firecracker shells, stood Ranganathan and his wife, looking at the vantage point into which the bride and groom’s car had vanished. They stood there feeling a multitude of emotions whirling and twirling through them with the passing wind. They were melancholic that Mridula would never return to them as their daughter ever again. But they were also content that she was married off into the Durai family.
The Durai family was a generation of traders whose fortune multiplied fiftyfold under the direction of Mr. Chella Durai, the great-grandfather of Arjun Durai, the groom. Arjun Durai himself was a refined business tycoon who was bringing in modern reforms to their generational legacy. So when the Durai family proposed the marriage—after Arjun was enticed by Mridula’s grace at her arangetram—Mr. Ranganathan hesitated not even a moment and agreed to all their demands for the wedding. Within a week after the proposal, Arjun and Mridula were engaged, and the wedding muhurtam was fixed. In another two months, Mr. Ranganathan sold a few properties and shuffled around some money to arrange for the grand wedding expenses. In such a manner, the wedding was neatly planned, pompously executed, and successfully concluded.
Now that the wedding was over and all the emotions dealt with, Mr. Ranganathan’s next focus was to smoothly hand over his enterprise to his son Kartik and retire. He had wished to lead both his children into significant milestones of their lives around the same time and retire from his duties into the countryside. Coincidentally, the Thai Rohini muhurtam, an auspicious time window for prosperous nuptial union, and the Abhijit muhurtam, for business undertakings, aligned on consecutive days. Mr. Ranganathan did not wish to lose such divine timing, so he had made all the arrangements for Kartik’s takeover of the company alongside the wedding plan.
Mr. Ranganathan had groomed his children from a young age to become accomplished individuals. He had invested greatly in their education, sports, and specialised arts like archery, sword fighting, playing the sitar, and a few classical dances. Both his children were triple-degree holders, completing their education from countries like Germany, France, and England.
In particular, they both held MBA degrees. Despite that, Mridula was not given the opportunity to utilise her knowledge, and Kartik was not wholeheartedly interested in leading his father’s legacy. Given his early exposure to the arts, Kartik was more inclined towards the finer things of life. But his duties were calling him, and he had to respond.
So, the morning after the wedding, a pooja was observed. The legal documents were arranged, and the board members were gathered. The papers, along with the responsibilities, were signed off, and the board cordially welcomed their new chairperson.
Before delivering his speech and officiating his role, Kartik took a moment to look at a painting hanging on the wall behind his seat. He had painted it for his father, who had diligently hung it in his boardroom for over a decade. In the painting was a man, peacefully sitting by a pond, becoming one with the evening sky. Slowly, he pulled out the speech he had crafted from his pocket and began addressing the board.
The same morning, at Udhaya Villa, Mridula—still in her wedding attire, which she had no energy to take off the previous night—woke up in a sweat. She looked around to find the AC gifted to her by her father turned off. She turned to her husband’s side of the bed, which was crumpled and vacant. He was not in the room.
Mridula began to wonder who turned it off.
“In our house, ladies wake up at five in the morning every day,” said a voice from outside the door as it faded into the long hallway.
Mridula sat on the bed, gifted to her by her father, for a brief moment before she shut the door. She went to the dresser and began unraveling. She slowly took off her nethichudi. She pulled off all the hairpins and the hundred pearls that embellished her hair the previous night. She proceeded to unfasten the dozens of gold necklaces and aaram with a difficulty she had never experienced in the presence of her dear ones. As she put down her necklaces on the dresser, she noticed that it was a replica of the dresser in her house. Mridula quickly opened its drawer to find it fully stocked with lipsticks of her usual shade and brand, perfumes, concealer, eyeliner, serum, a comb, a straightener, hair ties, clutches, and everything under the category of grooming products. Finding some element of familiarity in the room, she steadily took off her bangles, rings, vangi, and the otiyanam. She unpinned the thousand pins that held her wedding attire together and put them in the pin section of the drawer.
While unpinning her dress, she thought to herself, I wish I had someone to help me unwind just the way I had while getting dressed up.
Finally, after twenty minutes of struggle, she took off her heavy clothing and changed into the yellow churidar her mother had picked for her. She took out the micellar from the drawer and cleaned off every layer of makeup. She washed her face and was applying a little bit of moisturiser on her cheeks when she heard a rustle outside the door.
“Arjun will be back from his walk at seven. He likes his tea the moment he gets back home; otherwise, he gets cranky, you know,” said the same voice.
Mridula opened the door.
The lady at the door scanned Mridula briefly. “In this house, ladies cook for their husbands despite having house help. You know, right…” said the woman, as if the reason was obvious. Mridula did not know the reason, but she still nodded.
“Also, in our house, women only wear sarees, you know. And put on a pottu. Look how empty your forehead looks.”
“Seri, athai,” acquiesced Mridula as she gently shut the door to change into one of the many sarees given by her parents.
As she was looking for a pottu (bindi), her mobile phone blinked.
Her father had sent her a photo. It was a photo of her brother in his new office. He was smiling.
Mridula was happy for him. She looked at the photo a little longer, just like Kartik had looked at the painting. Beyond his smile, she found a few creases under his eyes that fell in another direction.
“Come fast. He’ll be back soon,” called the woman.
Mridula put down her phone, put on the pottu, and headed to the kitchen.
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