The mantras of the priest rolled on like a river, ancient and unyielding, weaving us into vows that reached beyond flesh and blood, binding our souls in the sight of gods and men alike. I sat with my palms folded, the weight of Rudra’s presence beside me more constant than the fire itself. My heart still trembled from the kanyādān, from the sight of Bhaiya’s hands letting go of mine, and though I tried to steady my breath, I felt each word of the ritual echo in my bones.

Then the priest’s voice shifted, calling upon the moment of gathbandhan, the tying of our garments, the sacred knot that would symbolize our union. From among Rudra’s kin, a cousin of his stepped forward, smiling with the mischief of youth yet reverence in her eyes. With careful hands, she took the end of Rudra’s deep red scarf and the loose end of my saree’s pallu, knotting them together as instructed, tying not just fabric but our destinies into one thread. The knot was pulled firm, the cousin’s grin widening as she blessed us softly, “May this bond remain unbroken for all lifetimes.”