With her feet settled over the threshold of her ancestral Wada (mansion), her body leaning against the grand doorway, Meera gazed at the bustling Angan (courtyard), where a hum of wedding preparations was filling the air. Morning sun’s golden glow over green waving fields and dusty paths of rural Madhya Pradesh added serenity to the lively scene of her home.

Sound of the postman’s bicycle bell distracted her for a moment, reminding the sky-blue inland letters she once exchanged with her school friends. Life was the rhythm of ‘All India Radio's’ morning bhajans and ‘Murphy’s’ crackling speakers that delivered news, messages, and latest Bollywood hits by Sanu and Alka. Simple joys of time when ‘Doordarshan’ was the only TV channel and ‘Weddings’ were grand communal affairs.

Since the untimely passing of their parents, Kusum and Devendra Sharma, Meera had taken on the roles of both mother and father to her beloved brother. She now cherished the immense responsibility of ensuring that every detail of Raghav’s wedding, was perfect.

Her parents, revered figures in the village of Keshavgarh, had left legacies of kindness and generosity that had a lasting impact on everyone they touched. Legacies, that were a precious treasure which she determined to honour with the same warmth and grace.

Angan was filled with relatives and villagers, each busy with tasks assigned by Meera. She watched as the halwai (sweet-maker) stirred large cauldrons of mouthwatering temptations, sajawat-wala (decorator) hung sparkles and marigold garlands along intricately carved columns. Gadde-wala (mattress-seller), phool-wala (florist), mandap-wala (pavilion-crafter), and panditji (priest), all performing their duties, methodically. Freshness of flowers and aroma of frying delicacies, reminded of many weddings Ma-Papa organised in this very place.

Next morning, Meera went to the bank to retrieve her mother’s ancestral jewellery, which had been kept safe in the locker for years. The journey back home was filled with memories of her mother wearing these authentic pieces during special occasions. Later that day, Meera, along with her uncle Prakash, aunt Saroj, and Raghav, carefully examined each piece. The heavy gold necklaces, intricately designed bangles, and sparkling earrings.

“This necklace,” said Saroj, holding up the heaviest and most ornate one, “was your mother’s favourite. She wore it on her wedding day.”

Meera smiled fondly as Saroj playfully continued, “I used to tease her, saying I’d wear this and run away. I know she’d be happier to see it on our new daughter-in-law.”

After they had admired and catalogued the jewellery, Meera placed everything back into the potli (cloth-pouch), along with the cash she withdrew, for wedding expenses. She locked it securely in the almirah, a heavy wooden wardrobe in her room that always safeguarded the family’s most valuable possessions.

Next morning, as sun climbed higher, Meera sat with all the vendors, from halwai, to phool-wala, to Panditji. Each of them reviewed the final details as she handed out the advance payments. She thanked everyone personally for their assistance and dedication.

The day went on with the Wada echoing in laughter, music, rhythmic beats of the dholak (double-drum), clanging pots, and rustling silk saris. The senior ladies, impressed by Meera’s efforts, expressed their admiration, and wished for her own wedding to happen soon.

“Hey Meera! If you have someone in mind, tell us quickly and we’ll arrange your pheras (seven-sacred-rounds, a couple takes around holy-fire during traditional Hindu wedding) right here, in this same mandap.”

Meera smiled and blushed as a brief memory of her childhood admirer and crush, Aditya, flashed through her mind. She had no idea where he was, or what he was doing. However, she quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on many tasks that still needed her attention.

After lunch, Meera decided to tally the remaining cash, preparing for a final round of payments. She retrieved the potli from her almirah, and sat down with Raghav to count the cash. As she unfolded the cloth, her heart stopped!

“The necklace,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “It’s gone.”

Raghav looked at her in shock, “Didi (elder sister), what do you mean, gone?”

“It’s not here! The most important piece, it’s missing!”

Panic set in as they frantically searched the almirah, the room, all the rooms and the entire house. Prakash and Saroj joined the search too, but Ma’s favourite necklace was nowhere to be found.

“You made so many payments today,” Prakash suggested, trying to stay calm. “Maybe it got mixed up with the money and, mistakenly, ended up with one of the vendors?”

Meera’s mind raced. “It’s possible. I’ve been so absorbed and distracted in the wedding details. Without wasting a second, I should visit each vendor immediately.”

She started with the sweet-maker, wedding decorator, mattress-seller, and priest. Each greeted her with concern and assisted in searching their premises, but the necklace was nowhere to be found. They all, in their own ways, tried to console with courage and assurance that the necklace would surely turn up and advised to keep faith in the divine.

As the sun began to set, only one vendor remained- Gopal, the phool-wala living on the outskirts of Keshavgarh, near the wide gardens that supplied blooms throughout the region. Walking through the fields, Meera was enveloped by the fragrance of marigold, jasmine, and roses. The scents began to soothe her, bringing back cherished childhood memories. Summers spent sleeping under the stars, waking each morning to the fresh aroma of flowers delivered daily by Gopal and his wife, Suman.

Gopal and Suman were kind, with hands rough from years of work but gentle while crafting delicate garlands. Whether decorating the deity during special rituals at the Keshavgarh main temple, or preparing the first cradle of a newborn, their skill and warmth were evident in all floral creations. Their deliveries of fresh flowers had been a constant presence, contributing to the vibrant flower-rangolis and decorations at her Wada.

After Ma and Papa's passing, Gopal and Suman continued the tradition of visiting Meera and Raghav every morning. Suman would lovingly decorate Meera’s hair with gajra, just as Ma used to do. The floral adornments were a comforting reminder of their parents’ presence and love, a daily tribute to the warmth and care they had shown.

Lost in the fragrance, Meera finally reached Gopal and Suman’s modest home, where she was excitedly greeted by their 14-year-old son Arjun, who beamed at the very sight of hers. “Didi, what a lovely surprise! You’ve come to meet me! Please come inside. Ma and Baba will be home soon, they’re out working.”

Meera sat on the charpai (woven-bed) as Arjun offered her a glass of water. As she waited, they talked about his school, friends, and his routine. He was a bright child, full of life. As their conversation deepened, he shared about his dream of becoming a pilot.

Suddenly he got up, looked first at the small, half-broken wall clock and then, at the road worriedly, “They are usually back by now. Wonder, what is keeping them so late today.” He turned to Meera and continued, “let me make my special gulkand (sweet preserve made from rose) milkshake, for you.”

As Arjun went inside, Meera took the opportunity to look around. She noticed baskets filled with bundles of flowers neatly segregated and wrapped in the tattered segments of old, worn-out cotton saree. Suddenly, her gaze fell on a thick medical file kept on the rusted shelf with Arjun’s name written on it. An uneasy feeling settled in her chest as she reached for it, her fingers trembling slightly.

She impulsively opened and was shocked to discover that Arjun was suffering from heart ailments. She turned and saw him holding a terracotta tumbler filled with a drink that exuded the delicate scent of roses.

“Arjun, what’s this?” Meera confronted softly, her voice quivering with concern.

Arjun’s face grew serious. “Didi, oh that! …my heart…mm... surgery.

“My core is sinking with worry Arjun, just say it.”

“Didi my heart needs surgery. It’s going to cost about three lakh rupees. Ma-Baba are working very hard for more money, also at Wadas in nearby villages. I too help, with flower orders. We are all trying hard, have made some money but haven’t been able to save enough.”

Meera’s eyes filled with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Arjun’s voice was quiet but resolute. “We didn’t want to burden anyone. Ma-Baba always say they’ll manage. I promised them to stay quiet about it. They’ve worked so hard to provide for me. I don’t want to add to their agony.”

Meera reached out, gently took Arjun’s hand. “You’re not a burden. We’re family and shall stand by each other, no matter what.”

Arjun looked at her, a mix of relief and gratitude in his eyes.

The warm scents of the flowers around seemed to inspire Meera, filling her with a sense of purpose. Arjun’s fight felt like her own and she decided to support them.

Meera continued, “Your health is what matters most right now and nothing else is more important.”

Just then, Gopal and Suman appeared at the gate with faces etched in worry and exhaustion, their eyes widened with relief at the sight of Meera.

“Thank God bitiya (daughter-like), you’re here!” Gopal exclaimed, rushing to her side. “We found this among the flowers. It must be yours.” He held out the missing necklace, its gold glinting in the fading dusk.

Meera stared at the necklace, momentarily forgetting the reason of her visit. The relief she felt was overwhelming, but it paled in comparison to what she had just discovered.

“We came to return it right away,” Suman added, “But you had already left. We searched the whole village for you and were so worried. Now that we’ve returned your inheritance, we can finally breathe.”

Meera shook her head and replied, “Thank you for returning the necklace, but I’m upset. You should have told me about Arjun’s condition.” With a mix of shame, hesitation, and helplessness Gopal, Suman, and Arjun first glanced at the file in Meera’s hand, then lowered their eyes in silence.

“I’m going to take care of the surgery and related responsibilities. Will arrange for the best doctors. You don’t need to worry about the expenses anymore.”

Gopal, Suman, and Arjun were speechless. With tears welling up and hands clasped over his heart, Gopal exclaimed, “No bitiya, we can’t…”

“You can and you will,” Meera interrupted, “Ma-Papa would have wanted the same. Arjun is as dear to me as Raghav.” Gopal, Suman, and Arjun’s weeping eyes reflected a mix of various emotions. Pain from their long wait, hint of relief, and a deep sense of hope.

Upon reaching home and presenting the necklace, her family breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, Raghav could clearly read the profound concern on his beloved sister’s face, which she was efficiently hiding from the rest.

After dinner, Meera shared the entire story with Raghav. Initially, they were both scared and worried, but together they meticulously planned the details and prioritized the necessary preparations and tasks to start Arjun’s treatment, as a matter of urgency.

The next morning, Meera used one of her late father’s trusted contacts to secure a telephonic appointment with Dr. Anand Nigam, the state’s leading cardiologist at Hamidiya Hospital, Bhopal.

"Hello, Meera. I’ve reviewed the details you faxed about Arjun’s condition," Dr. Anand started with politeness and experience evident in his voice, "We need to proceed carefully."

Meera’s concern was palpable. "Yes, Dr. Anand. We’re really worried. What do you suggest?"

"Surgery is necessary. However, looking at Arjun’s young age, we can be optimistic about his recovery," Dr. Anand reassured as he further mentioned, "As it happens, there’s a Heart-Awareness camp concluding today in a village near Keshavgarh. My top cardiologist is in-charge there. Tomorrow morning, they’ll be passing through Keshavgarh on their way back to Bhopal."

"Oh! That’s perfect timing," Meera exclaimed, feeling a wave of relief.

"Indeed," Dr. Anand agreed. "I’ll instruct the in-charge doctor to stop by, conduct some tests, and bring Arjun along for further treatment. They have got the necessary equipment and an ambulance with them."

"Thank you, Dr. Anand. That’s a huge relief. Also, tomorrow is my brother’s wedding, and I’d love to invite your team. My chacha, Mr. Prakash Sharma, will take care of their stay."

"Hearty congratulations!" Dr. Anand responded warmly. "That’s very thoughtful. With the respect I have for your father, I gladly accept your invitation on behalf of my team. The in-charge doctor is also a native of your village, so don’t you worry, Arjun is in best hands."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Anand. We’ll be honoured to have them tomorrow." With a heart full of gratitude and renewed hope, Meera shifted her focus to the wedding preparations.

A profound sense of happiness, peace, and joy enveloped the household as Raghav, Meera, Prakash, and Saroj poured their hearts into the rituals of bariksha (Purification Ritual involving a series of prayers for the couple), mehendi (Henna Application ceremony), haldi (traditional pre-wedding turmeric application ritual), and other ceremonies.

The vibrant colours of the decorations, the fragrant flowers, and the lively chatter created an atmosphere brimming with familial warmth. The air was thick with emotions as the villagers, including Gopal and Saroj, showered the family with blessings. Each ritual was a testament to the love and support that bound them together. Songs of celebration filled the air, mingling with the rhythmic beats of traditional dances, and laughter echoed through the Wada. The festivities became a heartfelt tribute to the love and resilience that had sustained from ages.

Finally, the wedding day arrived and the ambience was a whirlwind of activity and joy. Meera, dressed in a stunning, traditional, yellow and red Banarasi saree, was carefully adjusting the ornate brooch on her beloved brother’s sherwani. Each intricate detail of the brooch, was a reflection of her love and devotion, and she took great care to ensure that everything was perfect for his big day. As she stepped back to admire her work, chacha Prakash approached with an urgent message, “The team of doctors who arrived today morning, have come. The in-charge doctor wishes to see you two.”

Meera and Raghav exchanged a quick glance, both curious and slightly anxious. They asked Prakash to bring the doctor inside, unaware of the surprising turn their day was about to take.

As the doctor entered, Meera and Raghav were met with a mix of shock and pleasant surprise. Standing before them was Dr. Aditya Mishra. Tall, with a commanding presence, his deep-set eyes exuding a quiet confidence. His well-tailored silk kurta only highlighted his polished demeanour as he carried an air of grace that immediately captivated the room. For Meera, the sight was both jarring and exhilarating. This was not just any doctor. This was Aditya, her Aditya, her childhood crush, and admirer.

Meera's breath caught in her throat. The bustling wedding preparations seemed to blur into the background as she was transported back to the innocent, good old days. Memories of stolen glances in the school corridor, shy smiles exchanged across crowded classrooms, and the unspoken words that had lingered between them, came rushing back. She stood there, frozen in time, her heart racing, unable to believe that fate had brought him back into her life at this precise moment.

Raghav, noticing his sister’s dazed expression and the flush of colour on her cheeks, playfully nudged her with his elbow. “Didi, the mandap is ready. Should I ask Panditji if we can arrange for a double wedding?” He teased with a mischievous grin on his face.

Meera, snapping back to the present, blushed deeply, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. She smiled shyly, her eyes still locked on Aditya, feeling a warmth spreading through her, that she hadn’t felt in years.

Aditya, observing her reaction with a gentle smile, stepped closer, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and delight. “Hi, Meera. How are you? You haven’t changed at all,” he said, his voice carrying a familiarity that tugged at her heartstrings.

Meera looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of nostalgia and joy. “Neither have you,” she replied softly, her smile reflecting a sense of something long lost but never forgotten. Her head wavered slightly, betraying the depth of her emotions as she tried to reconcile the memories of her past, with the present moment.

In that fleeting instant, the years seemed to dissolve, and Meera felt a new sense of hope and possibility. The weight of past uncertainties lifted, replaced by an exhilarating sense of new beginnings and, what the future might hold.

 As the wedding celebrations continued around them, there was an unspoken understanding between Meera and Aditya. A feeling, that perhaps, this unexpected reunion was more than just a coincidence. It was a serendipitous twist of fate, offering a chance to rekindle something beautiful from their shared past.

The sounds of joyous celebrations swirled around them, but for Meera and Aditya, the world had narrowed to just the two of them. The glimmer of a new beginning sparkled in their eyes, and as the wedding festivities carried on, there was a tangible sense of excitement about the future. One where the possibility of rekindled love and new beginnings seemed just within reach.