No, I won't go."
It took immense courage for Bani to voice those words. To outsiders, they might have seemed simple or impulsive. But for her, they were a declaration of freedom—a lifeline to escape the suffocating silence she had endured for far too long.
The old man, wrapped in his panche, shifted uneasily on the wooden chair. He was from the groom's side, brought here as a mediator—a voice of reason, or so they believed. His role was to de-escalate tensions, not take sides, and certainly not raise his voice.
"Bani," he began cautiously, "divorce is not the solution to everything. Why do you want this? Let's sit down and talk calmly. Perhaps we can understand where things went wrong."
Bani let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Where it went wrong? Uncle, it didn't go wrong because it never started. This marriage never began."
The old man froze momentarily, caught off guard by her words. He glanced at Piyush and his family seated across the room, their expressions shifting between discomfort and indignation. The groom's mother whispered something to him, but no one else dared to speak. Clearing his throat, the old man turned back to Bani. "What do you mean?"...he asked carefully.
Bani took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly. But her voice remained steady, fueled by months of bottled-up frustration. "After a year and a half of marriage, I am still a virgin."Piyush's mother finally found her voice, trembling with anger. "Do you know what people will say? Divorce will bring shame to both families. Everyone will talk—"
"Let them talk," Bani replied, her voice unwavering. "I'd rather face their judgment than live in silence. I deserve more than this."
The old man sighed deeply, his regret palpable. "I see your pain, Bani," he murmured. Then, turning to Piyush and his family, he began, "Listen to me—"
At that moment, Gayatri Aunty, a relative to both families, interjected. "Bani, beta, marriage isn't easy. It requires adjustments."
Bani let out a bitter laugh. "Adjustments, Aunty? Let me tell you about my adjustments."
The room grew quieter as she spoke.
"When I entered their home, I didn't even have a room of my own. That room didn't even have a bolt—no privacy, no space to breathe." She paused, her voice trembling with restrained emotion.
"After months, they gave me a room, but it was far from the main house. I had to finish all the cleaning, cooking, and serving before I could even go there. By the time Piyush and I reached the room, it was too late, too dark, and we were too exhausted to talk—let alone spend time together."
She turned to Gayatri, her tone sharper now. "And what did everyone say? 'Adjust. Be patient. This is marriage.' But how can a marriage survive when there's no time for the husband and wife to even know each other?"
Gayatri nodded slowly but did not interrupt.
"And my husband?" Bani continued, her voice rising slightly. "He never tried, Aunty. When I suggested trips or outings, he'd shrug and say, 'What can I do? No leaves are allowed.' But he had time for his friends' weddings, trips with his cousins, and celebrations.