~:MANJIRI:~
The beginning
The sky over Ayodhya was still sleepy—painted in pale saffron and rose, like it had been touched by a gentle prayer.
At the Saryu Ghat, the morning air carried a sacred kind of calm.
The bells began to ring.
Ding… ding… ding…
Just enough to make the heart feel… lighter.
Raghav Mishra stood among the devotees, hands folded, eyes steady—his face calm like he had been coming here for years. The sound of the river was soft beneath the devotional music, and the Saryu flowed as if she too was listening.
A priest’s voice rose in the air.
random priest
“Saryu maiya ki jai…”
The lamps swayed in circles.
The flames danced.
And the water reflected it all—like a thousand tiny suns floating on devotion.
A few steps away, Navya Mishra stood on the edge of the crowd, scanning faces.
Her eyes searched the ghat impatiently.
Navya Mishra (fl sister)
“Where is she…?” she muttered, adjusting her dupatta.
She was supposed to come here.
Because this wasn’t just a morning routine.
Meanwhile, not far from the ghat, the first temple bells of Ayodhya echoed through the lanes.
Inside a quiet corner of a Lord Ram temple, Kriti Mishra sat with folded hands.
The scent of sandalwood and marigold surrounded her, and the morning sunlight fell gently
Through the temple pillars—softly touching her forehead like a blessing.
Her lips moved in silent prayer.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just pure.
As if she had been taught long ago that faith doesn’t need an audience.
The priest offered her a small pinch of chandan, and she bowed her head.
Somewhere outside, a conch blew.
And Kriti’s heart… fluttered for a second.
For no reason.
Or maybe… for a reason she didn’t know yet.
At home, the Mishra house was already awake—at least in spirit.
The sound of bangles, steel utensils, and gentle scolding filled the kitchen.
Kavita Mishra moved like a storm wrapped in a saree—efficient, loving, and unstoppable.
Kavita Mishra (fl mother)
“Pratham! Uth ja beta!” she called, turning off the gas and wiping her hands.
She walked to his room, knocked twice, and pushed the door open.
Kavita Mishra (fl mother)
“Pratham Mishra… if you don’t wake up right now—”
Kavita Mishra (fl mother)
From inside came a muffled groan.
Pratham Mishra(fl brother)
“Maa… five minutes…”
Kavita sighed like every mother in India does when her son becomes suddenly allergic to mornings.
Kavita Mishra (fl mother)
“Five minutes? It’s already morning’s second morning!”
She pulled the curtain aside, letting sunlight attack him.
Kavita smiled softly, despite herself.
Back at the Saryu Ghat, Navya’s eyes finally caught the familiar figure.
A girl walking towards the steps of the ghat—simple, graceful, and quiet.
Because Kriti wasn’t alone.
She was walking with someone…
No.
Not someone.
Her father.
Raghav Mishra.
And in his hands was a small brass plate, still carrying the scent of the aarti.
As Kriti came closer, the bells behind them rang again.
And Navya, as if remembering something important, suddenly whispered—
Navya Mishra (fl sister)
“Oh! The lotus!”
She turned and ran towards the flower seller.
Because Kriti always bought a lotus after the aarti.
Always.
Like it was a rule written in her fate.
And while the flower seller wrapped the pink lotus carefully, the Saryu flowed quietly beside them…
As if she knew something.
(Secret… for the next scene.) 🌙✨💟
Where Love Was a Decision
The Rathore Haveli didn’t wake up like normal houses.
It woke up like a kingdom.
The marble floors were cold even in summer. The corridors carried silence like it was part of the family tradition. And the sunlight that entered through the jharokhas didn’t look soft…
Inside one of the largest rooms on the upper floor—
Rudra Rathore was still in bed.
As if the world could do whatever it wanted, and he would still remain untouched.
The sheets were perfectly arranged.
The curtains were half-open.
And Rudra’s face…
Calm, unreadable, and cold.
Like a man who didn’t believe in fate.
Downstairs, in the hall that smelled faintly of sandalwood and power—
Meera Rathore stood near the temple corner, holding a small diya in her hands.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Vikram… we should go.”
Vikram Rathore sat on the sofa, reading the newspaper as if nothing in the world could disturb him.
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“Go where?”
Meera turned to him, irritated.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Ayodhya. For Ram Mandir darshan.”
Vikram’s eyes lifted slowly.
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“And?”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
"And… for Rudra.”
The silence after that sentence was heavier than the chandelier above them..
Vikram folded the newspaper slowly
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“You want to search for a girl… in Ayodhya?”
Meera’s lips pressed into a line.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Not search like a market.”
Vikram raised an eyebrow.
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“Then what? Aarti ke baad rishta?”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“You know very well… he is twenty-six.”
Before Vikram could reply—
A voice came from the doorway.
Old.
And sharp enough to cut through pride
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Twenty-six?”
Mahendra Rathore stood there with his walking stick, eyes blazing like the man had ruled half the world in his youth.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Twenty-six isn’t an age,” he said.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“It’s a warning.”
Meera immediately softened.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Babu sa…”
Mahendra walked forward, slow but powerful.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Do you know what people say now?” he continued.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Rudra Rathore shaadi nahi karega.’’
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“Father—”
Mahendra’s stick tapped once on the floor.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Don’t ‘father’ me, Vikram.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“He’s… not interested.”
Mahendra’s eyes narrowed.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Interest? Marriage is not a hobby, bahu. It is a responsibility.”
Like a storm with zero warning—
Someone entered the hall with an energy that didn’t belong to that serious atmosphere.
He walked in with messy hair, a half-open kurta, and a face that looked like he had just woken up and already regretted life.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Good morning… my royal family.”
No one replied.
Om blinked.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“…Okay. Good morning to myself then.”
Om straightened instantly.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Yes, yes, Dada. I’m serious. Very serious.”
Mahendra’s voice turned dangerous.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Where is your brother?”
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“In his room. Where else? Our Rudra bhai sleeps like a prince.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“He is not sleeping.”
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Yes. He is just… emotionally unavailable in bed.”
Mahendra looked ready to throw his stick.
Om quickly raised his hands.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Okay okay! Sorry! No jokes!”
Om was the only one in the haveli who dared to bring laughter into a place filled with pride.
Even if his humor was… questionable.
Footsteps echoed down the staircase.
And heavy enough to make everyone turn.
He didn’t look like a son coming down for breakfast.
He looked like a man walking into a board meeting.
Or a war.
Meera’s heart softened instantly.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Rudra…”
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Come here.”
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“Dada ji.”
Mahendra didn’t waste time.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“We are going to Ayodhya.”
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
Vikram said, “For Ram Mandir darshan.”
Rudra’s eyes didn’t change.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
Meera added softly, “And… for you.”
Finally, Rudra blinked.
Not surprised.
Not shocked.
Just… bored.
He looked at all of them like they were discussing something unnecessary.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
Om whispered to himself, “Here we go…”
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“You will marry.”
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“I’m not interested.”
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“Rudra.”
Mahendra slammed the stick lightly.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Enough.”
Rudra exhaled—slow, cold, tired.
And the entire hall froze.
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“Fine.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
Meera whispered, “Rudra…?”
He looked straight at them.
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“I will marry.”
But Rudra wasn’t finished.
His voice turned even colder.
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“But only if you can find a girl…”
He paused.
His gaze sharpened.
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“…a girl I can approve.”
Vikram’s face went serious.
Rudra finished, calm as poison—
Rudra Rathore (ml)
“Until then… don’t waste my time.”
And then he turned, walking away like he had just signed a business deal.
The Saryu river continued to flow.
🌼Author 🌼
To be continued...
When Royalty Came to Ayodhya
A whole week passed after Rudra’s cold agreement.
And in the Rathore Haveli…
That one sentence became the new commandment.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“We are going to Ayodhya.”
The next few days were chaos—royal chaos.
Meera Rathore’s room looked like a battlefield of sarees, shawls, and temple clothes.
She held up a cream silk saree.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Vikram… this one or the maroon?”
Vikram Rathore, sitting calmly, replied without even looking—
Vikram Rathore (ml father)
“Whichever looks… respectable.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“You men don’t understand anything.”
From the doorway, Om popped his head in.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Mom, I’m packing too.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Good. Finally someone responsible.”
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Yes. I packed… my charger.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“…And clothes?”
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Clothes? Mom, it’s Ayodhya. I’ll buy a kurta there.”
Meera almost threw a pillow at him.
Rudra Rathore packed in silence.
No excitement.
No emotion.
Just a black suitcase.
Two shirts.
One watch.
A laptop.
A perfume bottle.
And a face that looked like he was going on a business trip.
Not a journey that could change his life.
Mahendra Rathore watched everything like a king preparing his army.
He gave orders to servants.
He made sure the family name was carried with dignity.
And when he saw Rudra walking past—
Because for the first time in months…
Rudra was going somewhere.
The Rathores didn’t “arrive” at the airport.
They entered it.
With calm authority.
With security behind them.
With luggage in perfect order.
With eyes that didn’t look around—because the world always looked at them.
Meera adjusted her dupatta.
Vikram walked beside her like a shadow of discipline.
Om was busy taking selfies.
Rudra walked like the airport belonged to him.
A girl passing by whispered to her friend—
Om heard it and whispered proudly—
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“My brother. The walking red flag.”
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Om!”
Om rubbed his arm dramatically.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“What? It’s true.”
The plane lifted into the sky.
And Ayodhya slowly became closer.
Meera folded her hands softly, eyes closed.
Meera Rathore (ml mother)
“Ram ji… bas sab acha ho.”
Vikram read the newspaper.
Mahendra stared out the window like a man who had already decided the future.
Om ate his snacks like he was at a wedding buffet.
Rudra listened to nothing.
He stared ahead.
As if he didn’t want destiny to touch him.
🛕 After a long journey....
Ayodhya welcomed them with sunlight and sacred air.
The moment they stepped out, the city felt different.
Not loud.
Not modern.
Just… holy.
The sound of bells travelled through the streets like a song.
The Rathores arrived at their guest house—clean, traditional, and quiet.
Meera immediately lit a diya in the room.
Mahendra’s eyes softened for a moment.
Mahendra Rathore (ml grandfather)
“Ram ki nagri…” he whispered.
Om looked around and smiled.
Om Rathore (ml brother)
“Okay. This place is… actually beautiful.”
Rudra didn’t speak.
But his eyes moved once—slowly.
As if even he couldn’t deny the calmness.
🌼Author 🌼
To be continued....
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