From Cauvery to Ganga

Chapter 21: The Bride in the Wrong Skin

The remote temple on the outskirts of Erode stood quiet under the setting sun, its ancient stone walls covered in fading vermillion and yellow turmeric paste. The air smelled of incense, jasmine, and distant rain. A few oil lamps flickered around the sanctum. This was where it would happen.

What a fucking joke.

Sunita stood in the small room behind the temple, staring at her reflection in the large mirror Robby had brought. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.

I am Satyaraj Gounder. Male. Rich. Twenty-two years old. And today… I am getting married as a woman. To a poor Bihari migrant worker.

The absurdity of it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Robby Roberta and two local women worked on her with frightening efficiency. They had transformed her completely into the perfect traditional Bihari bride.

The Bridal Preparation

First came the undergarments, new but still modest and cheap-looking. A soft red cotton panty that hugged her realistic vagina perfectly. A heavily padded red blouse and a matching petticoat. Then the main saree, a beautiful but traditional maroon Banarasi-style cotton saree with heavy golden zari work on the border and pallu. It was draped in perfect Seedha Aanchal style, the pallu brought forward over her right shoulder and tucked securely at the waist. The fabric was slightly stiff, rustling with every movement, clinging to her wide hips and soft thighs.

The blouse was a deep red, extremely tight, low-backed, with short sleeves that dug into her soft arms. It pushed her heavy breasts upward, creating deep, realistic cleavage that made her blush furiously. The hooks strained against her back.

Her long hair was oiled, parted neatly, and styled into an elaborate bun adorned with fresh jasmine flowers and a small gold maang tikka. Thick, bright red sindoor filled the parting of her hair. A large, round red bindi sat between her eyebrows. Her eyes were lined heavily with kajal, making them look bigger and more innocent. Lips painted deep red.

Heavy traditional jewellery completed the look.

When Robby stepped back, even she looked stunned.

“Bahut sundar lag rahi ho… bilkul asli Bihari dulhan.”

Sunita touched her reflection with trembling fingers. The woman in the mirror looked breathtaking, shy, traditional, fertile, and completely real.

This is actually happening. I’m getting married.

Nithya entered the room quietly. She stared at Sunita for a long moment, her usual teasing smile gone. She looked conflicted.

“Raj… are you really sure about this? You don’t have to do it. We can find another way.”

Sunita looked at her with tired, kohl-lined eyes.

“I have to. For Pihu.”

She didn’t mention the Swamy’s secret condition, that the marriage must be consummated for it to be “genuine.” Nithya didn’t know. And Sunita didn’t have the courage to tell her.

The Swamy had laid down strict rules before disappearing:

- Completely give up the old identity for one full month.
- No contact with previous life. Even if she saw Nithya or anyone from her past, she must behave and speak only as Sunita Devi — Ramesh’s wife.
- She must fulfill all duties of a proper wife, cooking, cleaning, caring for Pihu, and… sharing the marital bed.
- The union must be real.

Sunita had accepted everything.

The ceremony was simple but painfully real.

Ramesh waited near the sacred fire in a clean white dhoti and kurta, looking nervous but hopeful. The priest chanted mantras as Sunita was brought forward, her anklets jingling softly with every hesitant step. The heavy saree pallu covered her head like a veil.

They sat together in front of the fire. The heat from the flames made her already nervous body sweat even more. The tight blouse felt suffocating. Every time she moved, the bangles clinked loudly, reminding her of her new reality.

The priest guided Ramesh’s hands as he tied the mangalsutra around Sunita’s neck.

The black beads and gold pendant settled heavily between her breasts, right above the old one she had thrown away. The moment it touched her skin, Sunita felt a strange finality wash over her. Ramesh’s rough fingers brushed against her neck as he tied the knot. Their eyes met for a brief second.

She was now officially married.

They exchanged garlands. Took the seven pheras around the sacred fire. With each step, the reality sank deeper. The weight of the saree, the jewellery, the sindoor, the mangalsutra, the man walking beside her, it was all real.

After the ceremony, Nithya and Robby stood at a distance.

Nithya looked emotional. She stepped forward and gently held Sunita’s hands.

“Be safe… okay?”

Sunita lowered her gaze like a proper shy bride and whispered softly, “Thank you… Nithya Madam. Aapne bahut madad ki.”

Nithya’s eyes widened slightly at being addressed so formally, but she understood. She gave a small, sad smile and left with Robby.

The car disappeared down the dusty road.

Now only Ramesh, Sunita, and the priest remained.

Ramesh looked at his new “wife” with deep gratitude and quiet desire.

“Chaliye… ghar chalte hain… Sunita.”

Sunita, once Satyaraj Gounder, stood there in her bridal saree, heavily adorned, newly married, heart pounding with fear and resignation.

The joke had become her reality.

And tonight… she would have to fulfill the final, most terrifying duty of a wife.