Dassani Brides

Chapter 3

The room was laden with tension as Geetanjali entered, her head bowed and her footsteps virtually silent against the thick carpet. She placed a brass tray bearing tea and a small dish of dried fruits onto the low center table. As she straightened her posture, her gaze lingered briefly on Shiv, who sat squarely on the main sofa, a stoic, imposing figure completely commanding the space. Conscious of her precise place in this household, she retreated several paces, positioning herself silently behind his right shoulder—a quiet, unobtrusive observer in the unfolding drama.

Opposite them sat Karan, Shiv’s younger brother. Shiv had already confronted their mother, Madhu, who remained resolute in her decree to keep Karan and his young bride, Anjali, cast out from the family fold. Madhu’s initial rejection had been fueled by pure class disdain over Anjali’s lower social standing, but she now staunchly hid behind the defense that the couple’s union lacked the formal approval of the family elders.

As Karan unraveled his story, his narrative diverged completely from the distorted, spiteful version that had circulated among the servants and elders. He spoke now with raw, unfiltered truth.

Anjali, he explained, had been his classmate in engineering college. Despite Karan’s underhanded tactics—which included bribing university staff for leaked question papers—Anjali had consistently secured the top rank in every examination through sheer, unrelenting hard work.

"I couldn't stand it, Bhai," Karan admitted, his head hung low, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. "Every semester, no matter what shortcuts I took, her name was always at the top of the board. Out of pure frustration and bitter envy, I did something monstrous. In a drunken stupor with my friends at a hostel party, I started a rumor. I told everyone she was scoring top marks by sleeping with our department professor."

Geetanjali felt a cold shiver run down her spine as she listened from behind Shiv’s shoulder.

"Anjali didn't break," Karan continued, his voice cracking slightly. "She went straight to the dean, demanded an audit, and proved that all our exam scripts were corrected anonymously with blind roll numbers. She cleared her name immediately. But she wasn't done with me. She wanted vengeance—and she earned it. She orchestrated a fake paper leak ahead of our finals, ensuring that the exact 'leaked' questions I paid for were completely wrong. I and my entire group failed the semester miserably, while she topped the university once again."

Shiv remained motionlessly silent, his grey eyes fixed on his brother with an unreadable, icy intensity.

"I lost my temper," Karan whispered. "My friends and I... in a fit of absolute rage, we ambushed her outside the campus. We kidnapped her, intending to scare her, to break her pride. But halfway through, one I realized how far out of line we were and intervened. I stopped the car, faced my shame, and released her unharmed. But the damage was already done. The rumors of her being forced into a car spread like wildfire. Her family blamed her, accused her of dragging their name through the mud, and threw her out onto the street."

Karan looked up, meeting Shiv's stoic gaze. "Haunted by what I had destroyed, I went looking for her. I found her wandering Old Delhi late at night, pursued by ominous figures in the alleys. Remorse surged through me. When I stepped in and drove those men off, she didn't curse me. Instead, she looked at me and thanked me for saving her life. In that exact moment, I realized the depth of my crime. I resolved to help her—to support the life I had ruined. But her parents insisted that the only way they would accept her is if I got married to her."

Yet, even after bringing her home, their plight had not ended. Banished by grandfather, they were forced to live in the small, neglected outhouse on the edge of the palace grounds.

When Karan finished, a heavy, suffocating silence enveloped the room. Shiv sat in contemplation, absorbing the totality of his brother's dark misdeeds and his chaotic attempt to make amends.

Finally breaking the silence, Shiv spoke, his tone measured and authoritative. "You two stay in the outhouse for now. I will do my best to persuade Grandfather to accept you. If he agrees, they will let you into the main house."

Shiv stood up and turned his head toward Geetanjali. "Make sure these two are living as comfortably as possible. Ensure they get four proper meals a day sent directly from the palace kitchen, along with everything else they require."

Geetanjali bowed her head slightly. "Yes."

As Shiv turned and strode out of the room, Geetanjali followed him at a respectful distance—a silent companion in a household governed by redemption and reckoning.

Two days later, the grandeur of the Dassani family dinner unfolded in the vast, chandelier-lit dining hall to mark Shiv’s successful return from America after sealing a major corporate deal. Heavy silver platters and fine porcelain lined the long mahogany table.

Geetanjali and Meera, the two senior daughters-in-law, moved diligently around the table, executing their domestic duties with practiced grace, greeting the esteemed family members. Seizing what he believed was an opportune moment during a lull in the conversation, Shiv broached the subject of Karan and Anjali with patriarch Dhananjaya Dassani.

"Grandpa," Shiv began, his voice calm and persuasive as he placed his linen napkin beside his plate. "Regarding Karan and his wife... they made youthful mistakes, but Karan has acknowledged his wrongdoing and is taking full responsibility. Keeping them banished in the outhouse reflects poorly on the family's standing. We should allow them back into the house."

Shiv presented sensible, structured arguments, emphasizing family unity and Karan's willingness to reform. However, Dhananjaya did not even pause his meal. The old man set his spoon down with a sharp, echoing clatter.

"The matter is closed, Shiv," Dhananjaya said, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the hall with absolute finality. "A boy who lets his passions override discipline is not ready to walk through these doors, nor is a girl brought in through scandal. Do not bring this request to my table again."

A palpable, dangerous tension settled over the table, lingering visibly across Shiv’s tight brow. Geetanjali, standing nearby with a serving bowl of rice, felt her pulse quicken. She knew Shiv’s temperament well enough to sense the impending aftermath of this public rejection, and a familiar fear gripped her heart—knowing that when his authority was thwarted, the collateral frustration inevitably trickled down upon her.

As the family dinner wound down, Shiv, in a visibly foul and dangerous mood, retreated directly toward his private quarters on the upper floor.

Upon opening the heavy door, he was greeted by the soft, unmistakable sound of silver anklets—a gentle, rhythmic chiming he had rarely heard so loudly in their quiet room.

Geetanjali was standing near the tall bookshelf in the corner, stretched on her tiptoes, trying desperately to reach a leather-bound volume on the highest shelf. Taken completely by surprise by his sudden entry, her foot slipped slightly. Before she could lose her balance, Shiv silently closed the distance between them. Reaching up with effortless ease, his tall frame looming over her, he pulled the desired book from the top shelf and held it out.

The instantaneous, reflexive reaction that spilled from Geetanjali’s lips was an immediate apology. "I am sorry... I did not mean to disturb you."

Over three years of cold conditioning, she had learned never to inconvenience her husband or draw his attention for her menial tasks.

Shiv offered no acknowledgment of her apology. He handed her the volume without a word and proceeded straight into the adjoining washroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Left alone, Geetanjali let out a quiet, shaky breath. Realizing he had grabbed the wrong reference text in her hurry, she quickly adjusted the loose end of her sari around her waist. Wanting to finish before he emerged, she carefully climbed onto the marble countertop beside the bookcase, reached up, and swapped out the book her husband had pulled for the correct one.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of the washroom lock turning echoed through the room.

Panic instantly set in. In her desperate haste to scramble down off the counter before he saw her, her foot caught on the edge of her sari pleats. She slipped, falling backward toward the hard floor, bracing herself instinctively for the painful impact.

Instead of crashing down, she was caught securely mid-air. Shiv caught her cleanly in his arms, his strong grip supporting her weight easily. He stood there holding her, his face a mask of complete, indifferent stoicism.

Shiv assisted her down onto her feet. A frantic cascade of apologies spilled uncontrollably from Geetanjali’s lips. "I am so sorry... I fell... I was just changing the book... please forgive me—"

Shiv ignored every word of her panicked rambling. His gaze dropped to the thick, aged book in her hands. He reached out, took the heavy volume from her fingers, and read the embossed title on the cover aloud in his mind: War Crimes in Germany.

Giving her a long, piercing look that made her skin prickle with deep unease, Shiv turned on his heel and retreated straight into his private study.

Not knowing what else to do, and terrified of leaving his presence without permission, Geetanjali simply followed him into the study.

Shiv placed the heavy book on his desk and signaled for her to sit in the leather chair opposite him. He waited silently until Geetanjali forced herself to face him. Her eyes were filled with a turbulent mix of fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion, darting everywhere—to the lamp, the desk blotter, the carpet—anywhere but at the powerful man sitting in front of her.

Getting straight to the point, Shiv spoke in a flat, unyielding tone. "Grandfather refused my request at dinner. Tomorrow morning, you will go and talk to him about Karan and Anjali. You will convince him to let them move out of the outhouse and live in the main palace."

Geetanjali stared at him, bewildered. She tried to fathom why such a monumental responsibility was being thrust upon her. While it was true that Dhananjaya had always shown a quiet, subtle favor toward her ever since she had saved his life during the riots, she deeply doubted whether the stern patriarch would entertain such a sensitive request from a quiet daughter-in-law.

Placing his hand over the heavy book on the desk, Shiv added coldly, "You can leave now."

Geetanjali stood up quickly, picking up her book and clutching it tightly against her chest as if it were a literal lifeline. She departed the study without another word, slipping down the grand staircase until she found herself in the quiet solitude of the kitchen.

In this dark refuge, untouched by prying eyes, she leaned against the cool marble counter and contemplated the crushing weight of her miseries, utterly uncertain of what lay ahead.