And I never thought this day would come, but here I am, sitting in front of the ritual fire, repeating Sanskrit mantras I don’t understand. He’s looking at me now, and I can feel it on my skin. We are getting married. Damini is locked away somewhere in a room, Lakshmi is at Lord Krishna’s feet in the heavens, and I’m going to be his wife.
Without the axiom, things cannot hold. It all falls apart very quickly.
Maybe she is wrong about her marriage. Perhaps there is love, a love defined by marriage. Devoted, spiteful love.