Part 12
The Saree and The Ultimate Choice
The Patil household was in a state of chaotic frenzy. The scent of frying *kanda bhajis* and freshly brewed lemongrass tea wafted from the kitchen, but inside Rajani’s room, the air was thick with a completely different kind of tension.
Lying across the bed was a stunning, traditional Paithani saree in a deep royal blue with a heavy golden border. It was the ultimate test of Rajani’s six-month-old womanhood.
"I can't do this, Rani," Rajani panicked, staring at the meters of unpleated silk like it was a complex system architecture crash. "I’m going to trip, I’m going to ruin the border, I—"
"Shut up and stand straight, Rajjo," Rani chided softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.
What followed was a masterclass in secret, electrifying intimacy. Rani took charge with her usual dominant confidence, but her fingers were incredibly deliberate. As she gathered the silk to create the pleats, her hands repeatedly brushed against Rajani's bare waist, sending sharp, thrilling jolts through Rajani's frame. Rajani's face burned crimson, her breath catching as Rani leaned in close to tuck the fabric into the waistband, her lips almost grazing Rajani’s collarbone.
"You look absolutely breathtaking," Rani whispered, her eyes dark with affection as she pinned a fresh, fragrant string of *gajara* into Rajani's neatly tied bun. With practiced ease, Rani applied a stroke of kajal, slid glass green bangles onto Rajani’s wrists, fastened silver anklets that jingled softly with every micro-movement, and pressed a small, round maroon bindi perfectly between her eyebrows.
Rani stepped back, admiring her work with a proud, possessive smirk. "Now go out there and show them what a perfect Marathi girl looks like. But remember... you’re mine."
The Tea Tray and The Iron Cage
The living room was packed. The groom’s family had arrived, sitting alongside Rani’s parents, who were acting as the familiar bridge between the households.
Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, Rajani walked into the hall, carrying a heavy stainless-steel tray loaded with cups of hot tea and plates of *chivda*. Following the traditional decorum of a prospective bride, she carefully draped the golden pallu of her saree over her head, keeping her gaze respectfully lowered.
"Wah, Rajjo looks so graceful," Rani’s mother smiled proudly, nudging Rajani's mother.
Rajani served everyone gracefully, her silver anklets jingling softly in the quiet room. Her eyes briefly locked with Rani’s, who was sitting across the room, giving her a secret, encouraging wink.
Soon, the elders cleared the room for the dreaded "private discussion" between the prospective groom and Rajani. The boy, an IT professional himself, sat across from her in the small veranda.
"So, Rajani," the boy began, his tone polite but rigidly firm. "Your profile is impressive. But in our family, we hold traditional values. My mother handles the house, and we expect the same. After marriage, you will have to resign from your job. There is no need for two people to earn, and managing a household requires a full-time commitment. I hope you understand."
Inside, the soul of the 27-year-old software engineer recoiled. *Resign? Give up the career I built? Sit at home?* The boy's family embodied the restrictive, old-school thoughts that completely disregarded her hard work.
After a few more minutes of polite nods, the session ended. The groom's family departed, giving the Patils a few days to discuss and convey their final decision. Because of their close ties, Rani’s family stayed behind, anchoring themselves at the Patil house until the final call was made.
The Divine Support Ticket
That night, the weight of the universe returned to Rajani's chest. She tossed and turned, the jingling of her leftover anklets echoing her anxiety. When she finally drifted into sleep, the reality around her dissolved.
She found herself standing in a vast, luminous white space. Sitting on a grand, golden throne before her was Ganpati Bappa, glowing with divine warmth. But instead of a traditional modak, Bappa was casually holding a glowing smartphone.
"Hello Rajanish, or shall I say Rajani" Bappa’s voice resonated, sounding surprisingly modern, like a senior project manager reviewing a sprint. "I’ve been tracking your logs for the past six months. Your talk time with Rani has increased exponentially. Tell me, what is your learning?"
Rajani bowed her head, her voice trembling but clear. "Bappa... I learned that I was a coward as a guy. I cried about responsibilities, EMIs, and expectations, thinking it was a curse. But I watched Rani. She carries the exact same burdens, as a girl, with a smile. She never makes her duties look like a tragedy. She taught me that responsibility isn't a burden—it's a privilege. I learned how to be strong from her."
Bappa smiled, tapping the screen of his phone. "Excellent. Your ticket is ready for closure. I am giving you a choice right now. Option A: I flip the switch back. You wake up tomorrow as Rajanish, the 27-year-old boy. The timeline resets. Option B: You remain Rajani forever. But remember the condition for Option B—if you choose to be a woman, you will hold this frame for life. No more crying about burdens. No more escaping the responsibilities. You will face the world standing tall, just like Rani."
Rajani looked down at her hands, then thought of Rani’s fierce, protective eyes on the street, her soft kiss in the trial room, and the unbreakable strength she had shown. The choice was instantaneous.
"Option B, Bappa," Rajani said, a tear of pure conviction rolling down her cheek. "I want to be Rajani forever. With all the burdens, and with Rani by my side."
Bappa nodded, his image fading into a warm, blinding light. "Deploying code to production. Permanent build."
The Hall of Judgment
Two days of suffocating, nervous silence passed. The weekend was coming to an end, and the deadline to give an answer to the groom's family had arrived.
The afternoon sun beat down outside as both families gathered in the spacious living room. Rajani's father sat in his armchair, a grave look on his face, while her mother adjusted her saree pallu anxiously. Rani’s parents sat adjacent, waiting to convey the decision.
Rani stood near the curtain of the inner hallway, her fingers tightly gripping the fabric, her bright eyes locked onto Rajani with a mixture of intense nervousness and unspoken solidarity.
Rajani walked into the center of the hall, wearing a simple, elegant cotton kurti with a dupatta hanging on shoulders.
"Rajjo beti," her father said, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "The boy's family called. They want our answer. Your mother and I think the family is decent, but the condition to leave your job is a heavy one. The final decision is yours. Tell us... what have you decided?"
Every eye in the room pinned itself onto Rajani. She stood entirely still, her heart hammering, the weight of her permanent future hanging on the next breath.
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