19th April 1970, Gandhabaduli, Bishnupur
(South 24 Parganas, West Bengal)
In a room, embellished with garlands of marigold and jasmine, a winsome bride sits poised with a vision of timeless grace and her wheatish face illuminated by the warm glow of earthen lamps. Her saree, which was made up of the finest silk and resplendent in conspicuous shades of red and gold, drapes around her like a gentle embrace. In contrast, delicate white and red Chandan patterns adorn her forehead, symbolising purity and auspiciousness. At that time, she looked like a perfect jade that did not fit well into the scene filled with chit-chatting people.
However, the only imperfection of this jade was the melancholy that adorned her oval face. Although the great sages say, a jade must have some flaws to reveal its preciousness, the flaw of melancholy was certainly not among them. Her eyes, lined with kohl, reflect a sea of sad emotions, as she contemplates the bittersweet journey from her childhood home to a new life; her dreams, she once cherished, were now some long-drawn thoughts.
Her hands, adorned with intricate mehendi designs, rest gracefully in her lap, holding the promise of a future yet to unfold. Red bangles tinkle softly with her every movement, each chime a blend of anticipation and nostalgia. The scent of jasmine flowers, woven into her long, dark hair, mingles with the air, which is carrying whispers of blessings and farewells. At this tender moment, she is a perfect portrait of beauty and introspection.
“Didi, Didi, let’s go, time has come”, a soft and tender voice whispered, and that soft voice echoed around the small room, thus breaking the meditative and melancholy atmosphere. The jade-like beauty, after hearing the whisper, with a soft sigh, stood up and prepared for a new journey ahead, whether the journey would be a beautiful one or a sad one was yet to be seen.
As she stood at the threshold of her childhood home, the bride eyes glistening with unshed tears, remembering all bittersweet memories that currently floods her mind, the familiar creak of the front door, the scent of her mother’s cooking wafting from the kitchen, the laughter that once echoed through these walls—all these details feel magnified, imprinting themselves into her jade heart. The courtyard, where she once played, now seems so trivial.
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The ritual of Bidaai, a poignant and emotional farewell, marked the end of her life as a daughter in her parents’ house and the beginning of her new role as a wife. As she glances back to see her parents standing together, their faces lined with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Unable to control herself, and with a heavy heart, she embraces her parents one last time. Her mother's eyes glisten with unshed tears, yet possessing puffed red eyes conveying the message of prior sorrowful crying, clutched her daughter's hand tightly, unwilling to let go. The bride's father, trying to maintain a stoic demeanour, occasionally wiped away a tear that escaped his stern resolve. The Bride’s youngest brother clutches the mother's sari, sensing the gravity of the moment even in his youthful innocence. Her other siblings and close relatives surrounded them, their faces etched with a mix of happiness for the new journey she had embarked on and the deep sadness of her departure.
As she takes slow, deliberate steps towards the palki waiting to take her to her new home, each step for her felt like a thread being pulled from the fabric of her life here. The rustling of her bridal saree against the gravel path is the only sound breaking the heavy silence. As she paused to turn to take one last look, the magnitude of the moment hit her —this is the house that sheltered her, the place where she grew up, her home, the place where she laughed, and dreamed, loved, and was loved unconditionally. Tears blurred her vision, and a lump formed in her throat. She wants to freeze time, to hold onto these moments and cherish them, just a little longer.
The family gathers closer, enveloping her in a final embrace. Her mother’s hug is tight and warm, her whispered blessings a soothing balm against the sad ache in her chest, but once the bride's eyes met her mother’s, and in that moment, both women broke down, their tears flowing freely. Her father’s hand on her shoulder feels like an anchor, grounding the bride in this sea of change. She, the bride, was leaving behind more than just a home; she was leaving behind a piece of her jade and kind heart.
The bride clasps her hands in front of her heart, making a silent promise to herself and her family that she would honour the love and values they had instilled in her. With a final wave, she steps into the palki, her heart aching with the bittersweet reality of her new life.
As the palki pulls away, the familiar sights of her neighbourhood slowly fade into the background. She watches through her tear-filled eyes, clutching her wedding jewellery, a symbol of her new life ahead, yet the bride’s tears continue to fall, mingling with the hopeful dreams of her future, now intertwined with the memories of her past. The sadness is profound, but beneath it lies a sliver of hope and excitement for what’s to come. Yet, in this moment, all she can do is let the tears flow, mourning the end of one chapter as she prepares to begin another.
