The Weight of a Garland
By Lokanath Mishra
The air in the grand marriage Mandap of a five-star hotel in Bhubaneswar was thick with the scent of jasmine and the excited chatter of a hundred guests. Rasmita watched her best friend, Sunny, her face radiant, her eyes sparkling with a love she had only ever seen in movies. This was it—the culmination of a whirlwind romance, a love story they had all rooted for. Sunny, in her resplendent red bridal lehenga, stood opposite her groom, Niranjan. The final stage of the wedding ritual was at hand. They exchanged garlands, their smiles a perfect match, and the pundit declared them man and wife. A collective sigh of relief and joy rippled through the crowd as applause began to swell.
Then, a single word cut through the celebration.
“Wait.”
It was Niranjan. The applause died instantly. A puzzled hush fell over the room. Sunny blinked, her perfect smile faltering as Niranjan leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Rasmita, watching from a few feet away, saw the transformation. The radiant glow on Sunny’s face vanished, replaced by a cold, hard confusion. “What?” she mouthed, her eyes wide. He repeated it, a little louder this time, and a flicker of disbelief crossed her features. She stumbled back, the intricate patterns on her bridal dress swaying with her sudden movement. “You’re joking,” she said, her voice shaking. “Tell me you’re joking.”
But he didn’t. He just stood there, silent.
Then, the dam broke. “YOU HAVE A CHILD?!” Her voice was no longer that of a bride but of a woman betrayed. It cracked like thunder, echoing in the stunned silence of the room. “YOU NEVER SAID YOU HAD A SON! AND YOU TELL ME THIS AFTER WE’RE MARRIED?!”
A slap. Sharp and final. The sound was like a gunshot in the dead quiet of the Mandap . It turned out Niranjan had been married before, had a son, and was a divorcee. He had confessed only after the vows were spoken, after the garlands were exchanged, after they were officially bound by law. His reason? He was scared of losing her.
Sunny, her face stained with tears and rage, turned and walked out of the hotel. Rasmita followed, her heart pounding in her chest. She found Sunny sobbing uncontrollably by a small, peaceful lake near Nicco Park. The lights of the hotel glowed in the distance, a mocking reminder of the joyous celebration that had just shattered.
They sat in silence for a long time, the quiet broken only by Sunny’s shuddering breaths. Rasmita didn’t know what to say. She had no words to offer. She just sat beside her, her own memories flooding back—the way Sunny’s face had lit up when she spoke of her wedding, the sparkle of the engagement ring on her finger, the pure, unadulterated joy in her voice as she handed out the wedding invitations.
“I never wanted to get divorced,” Sunny finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to be married just once and forever. What do I do now?”
Rasmita had no answers. There were none. She simply sat, a silent presence, wiping the tears from her friend’s cheeks. They stayed there until the night grew colder, the silence a heavy blanket over their shared grief. The next morning, Sunny filed for a divorce. The honeymoon suite at the five-star hotel remained empty. The weight of the garlands, meant to symbolize a new beginning, had instead become a symbol of a trust that was broken the moment it was finally earned.