The next sunrise marked a new chapter in Rithanya’s life.
She woke as sunlight filled her small room, gently yet insistently pulling her from restless sleep. Her head felt heavy, weighed down by the previous day’s events.
The marriage was over before it had even begun… but its consequences were just starting.
She turned toward the window.
The garden that had seemed dim and distant the previous evening now appeared clear, vast, and alive.
For a moment, her spirits lifted.
She quickly got ready and stepped out to freshen up. Like many traditional homes, the washrooms were located outside the main living area.
The Aranthad household had already moved on with its day—as if nothing had happened. As if the previous day had been quietly erased.
The women were busy in the kitchen.
After freshening up, Rithanya walked along the verandah toward it. The fragrance of the garden tempted her to stop, but she resisted. She had to acknowledge her presence in the kitchen first.
She stepped inside.
No one looked up.
It was as if she didn’t exist.
Expecting nothing, she maintained a calm expression and approached her mother-in-law, Annapoornamma, who was busy preparing breakfast.
“May I help with the cooking?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible.
“No.”
The reply was immediate. Flat. Final.
Vanaja and Avantika continued chopping vegetables, their silence sharper than words.
“Then… shall I wash the dishes?” Rithanya tried again.
“No. Not required,” Annapoornamma said firmly.
Rithanya stood still, unsure of her place in a house that refused to acknowledge her.
Moments passed in suffocating silence.
Then Annapoornamma spoke.
“You have no duties here. Sit in the verandah. Your meals will be served there—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
The words were not loud, but they carried quiet cruelty.
“But… Maa… I can cook. I can help,” Rithanya said gently.
Annapoornamma paused.
Then slowly turned.
“Trust,” she said, voice low and sharp,
“is required to enter this kitchen. You do not qualify.”
Her gaze hardened.
“We will keep our food safe from deceit.”
“Do you understand?”
Rithanya nodded, her face pale.
“I didn’t know… Maa… I swear, I didn’t know about the jewellery,” she whispered.
“What you knew or didn’t know is irrelevant,” Annapoornamma snapped. “We were betrayed.”
Her voice rose.
“We stand humiliated before the village. And you…” she pointed at Rithanya, “…still dare to stay here, claiming rights.”
“Do not assume we will accept you with time.”
Her tone turned cold.
“This household does not consider you a member. Stop calling me ‘Maa.’ "
A pause.
“Claim your rights. Eat what is served.
And stay out of our affairs.”
Annapoornamma’s words left no room for argument.
The silence that followed felt heavier than her words.
Rithanya stood frozen for a moment. Then she nodded.
Acceptance was a distant dream.
Without another word, she turned and walked to the backyard verandah. Sitting beside a wooden pillar, she rested her head against it and watched the house move on—like she was never part of it.
After some time, she saw Raghav walking toward the kitchen.
She stood, hoping…
But—
he walked past her without a glance.
She slowly leaned against the pillar.
I can’t blame them…
They’ve suffered.
What happened wasn’t right…
But… why did Father do it?
The question lingered.
Her gaze drifted toward the garden.
And just like that, her thoughts stilled.
For a moment, the garden felt too peaceful… almost like it didn’t belong to the same house.
A wave of freshness washed over her. The pull was quiet—but irresistible.
Should I ask permission?
But recalling their sour mood that morning, the answer was obvious.
She didn’t.
She silently tip-toed into the garden.
The blooming buds, the fragrance, the greenery—it wrapped around her, easing the weight she carried.
After wandering for a while, her eyes fell on a small patch in the corner.
A plot dedicated to the herbs.
Drawn to it, she moved closer.
A variety of herbs had been planted with careful planning, but the plants were uneven—some overwatered, some diseased, others barely surviving.
Her expression softened.
It was evident that whoever tended the garden had little knowledge of herbs. The garden flourished—but the herbs struggled.
“They’re not weak… just misunderstood,” she murmured.
Without thinking, she knelt and began tending to them.
A sound behind her made her stop.
She turned.
A gardener stood there, holding a pot of water, staring at her in confusion.
“I was just… trying to help them,” she said nervously, forcing a faint smile.
The gardener realized she was the new bride. But he didn’t respond. He simply stepped forward to water them.
“Wait… please don’t,” she said quickly.
“They don’t need water.” she said, gathering courage, as though she were protecting her children.
The gardener shifted his gaze and moved forward without responding.
“Please,” she said softly, almost pleading.
“These herbs just don’t listen to me,” he muttered in frustration.
“Sometimes they are dry, and when I water them, they start to rot. I’m tired of figuring out their needs.”
Rithanya hesitated… then spoke.
“They’re overwatered. The roots are rotting. They need shade… and manure.”, she said, pointing to a group of herbs.
She pointed gently toward another group.
“And those need rice water.”
The gardener looked at her, surprised.
Realizing she had overstepped, Rithanya stepped back and quietly walked away.
The gardener paused… then lowered the pot without watering them.
As she returned to the verandah, she noticed a group of villagers gathered near the main entrance.
Their expressions were serious.
Familiar.
They were the same committee members from the previous day.
Her chest tightened.
From the kitchen, she overheard voices.
“Mother-in-law has gone to meet them,” Avantika said. “Father-in-law asked her to collect the list of ornaments from Devendra Pratap.”
“I heard the buyers have also come,” Vanaja added. “They want to decide what to do next.”
Rithanya’s blood ran cold.
Something was about to unfold.
And this time…
it was no longer just about her father.
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Author’s Note:
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