Paro cowered in fear, hating the resentment nestled deep within Rudra's eyes, disgust and hatred permeating into the air as he dragged her around the fire. She struggled against his grip, wanting, praying, begging for someone to stop the madman in front of her that was about to become her husband.
But they said nothing.
She could see the tears in Maithili's eyes as she silently watched her devarji. She didn't say a word, just bit down on her lip and averted her eyes at the atrocities being committed in front of her.
Paro's long hair swayed, the weight of the sari that she had draped with joy and delight tainted by the humiliation, the insanity that had become her life. The necklace she slipped around her neck, with the little flowers and their small red gems glinting ominously under the light of the fire dug into her soft skin, marring it with tiny scratches. Her ears felt heavy under the weight of the golden, dangling earrings as they tugged on her delicate lobes.
She looked to Danveer Chacha desperately, pleading for him to say something. He opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it when Rudra gave a sharp tug on the end of her pallu, dragging her forward as he proclaimed the next vow for all to hear. She could see him shake his head in sadness, wanting to berate his nephew for the horrors he was inflicting on her.
But he too, remained silent.
Paro lost all hope at that moment, every dream of hers shattered and lying on the floor like her broken bangles. She silently succumbed to the torture, allowing him to drag her along, stumbling behind him quietly while the tears rolled down her cheeks silently, spilling over and splashing on the ground. She could hear the fire crackling behind her, mocking her desire for a simple life with a loving, caring husband and two children.
She turned her head away from the satisfied gaze of Sumer, gazing upon her as Dhuryodhan had at Draupadi upon her disrobing in front of the court. She had denied him, and she was paying, his eyes said, a taunting smirk curving the edges of those crooked lips, a dark delight seeping into those beady eyes.
She bowed her head down as Rudra reached forward, streaking the dark red powder through her shiny, silky locks and officially proclaiming her as his. He had taken advantage of the powder she had so innocently offered to him just days before, turning it from a symbol of love into one of hatred, one that resembled the blood pumping through her veins in fury and agony.
She finally got a moment of respite from the knife of betrayal when he left, collapsing in shock and relief. The kind eyes of Danveer Chacha peered into her forlorn, humiliated face, turning her chin up gently to face her. She wanted so desperately to throw herself into his arms and cry, as she would have with her father, to have him rock her gently back and forth like a baby crying for its mother's milk.
But she wouldn't. She wouldn't allow herself to grow too attached to the man who had watched silently as she was violated, not putting up a single protest in fear of his nephew. So she simply smiled quietly, accepting his token of apology with a soft, sweet blush and stepping into the golden pan shimmering beneath her feet. She held on to the sliver of happiness, the single moment of joy she had felt since that jallad had come home, wanting this ritual to go well.
But he was there too, fulfilling his vow to never let her rest in peace. Without warning, he swept her up into his arms, making a mocking statement about their suhaag raat. From behind her, she could hear Kakisa muttering angrily about the children that were sure to follow.
She had longed for this night, a night where she would finally become a woman. But she found today, that she only dreaded it. She feared the man who was now her husband, the man who society had granted the power to use her as he pleased. She shivered, summoning up the strength to send a prayer up to Bholenath.
He had promised to not give her a single dream, to throw everything on the ground and shatter them. He had promised to never give her his trust. He had promised he would stay away from her, ignore her screams and cries and leave her to the dogs. He had promised to make her life the biggest nightmare, to turn from her protector into her tormentor.
He had promised that he would never be hers.
Paro sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, taking up her last reserves of strength.
She would bear it. She would bear everything, every insult, every taunt. But she would force him to break every vow he had made to her tonight. She would kill him with her kindness, torment him with a sickening pleasure and make him feel the guilt. She would make him walk over hot coals, over glass, and grovel at her feet for forgiveness. She would make him realize the power of a determined woman, and the power of the kindness that burned him and singed his wounded soul.
She would make him break the 8th vow he had made. He would be hers, and he would regret tonight more than he would ever regret any other night. He would lose her, but she would make sure that he would fight tooth and nail to get her back again.
She turned her eyes towards the heavens and muttered a single prayer, before plastering a smile on her face and pouring a glass of milk for her newly wedded husband.
They didn't say anything, not one word to the man who had forcibly taken her. They had given her to him willingly, silently. So she would take him.
From above, Bholenath smiled. She would win this battle, and come out bruised and battered. But she would win.
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