We all paused to think about this. It was normal for girls to get married in their early twenties, and twenty-four seemed to be the cut-off age. A girl of twenty-five was considered rather old to be unmarried.
I sighed. Now my marriage process would take even longer. In the Indian tradition, if any elder, such as an uncle or an aunt, brought up a point or made a suggestion, it must be taken seriously.
To uncover the truth of the matter, we contacted the Verma family and asked to see Raj’s matriculation certificate. To our dismay, they said they could not find it. We insisted they find it as soon as possible because normally all the documents should be there, and we needed to see her certificate.
That night at my sister’s house, we all went to bed early because her children needed to get up for school the next morning. At around 10:30 p.m., a knock sounded on the door. Who could it be at this time of night? My brother-in-law picked up a large hockey stick and went to the door. Annoyed at being disturbed at such a late hour, he opened the door to find Yash, Raj’s brother Satish, and her other uncle standing outside.
“We want to talk to Krishan,” they said.
Hearing this, I came into the room. My brother-in-law let them inside, and we all sat in the drawing room. My brother-in-law sat in the corner of the room with his hockey stick, and glared at the three men from Nabha.
Turning to me, Yash said, “Whatever we are telling you about age, that’s what it is, and we cannot locate the matriculation certificate, so it is up to you whether or not to continue this relation and set a date for the engagement.”
I was taken aback. My father was staying at my uncle’s house, forcing me to make the decision on my own. In that moment, all that mattered to me was that I liked the girl, and I liked her family. I felt sure she was a good match for me.
“It’s okay with me,” I told them. “I do not want to call off the relationship.”
They asked me again, not wanting to have any doubt about the matter.
“Yes, I am ready to finalize the marriage,” I said.
Relieved, the three men stood up to leave.
“Do you want tea or anything to eat,” I asked.
“No,” they said, glancing nervously at my brother-in-law in the corner. Still clutching the hockey stick, he watched them with an angry expression. Later, Raj’s brother told me that the whole time they were there, he was afraid somebody was going to get hit with that stick.
Shortly after our late-night meeting, we set the engagement date for November 18 and the wedding date for November 26.
A few days before the wedding, my mother and several ladies carried a clay pitcher of water and walked around the village at around ten o’clock at night, singing traditional wedding songs, such as, “Jaggo Aiya,” meaning, “Wake up people! The wedding celebration has started.”
The day before the wedding, several female relatives applied turmeric and sandalwood paste to my body. My relatives from villages far and near began to arrive for the sehra bandi ceremony. The house bustled with people greeting each other, setting down luggage, giving me hugs, wishing me the best for my big day, and drinking tea. Cooks hired by my father prepared large quantities of food on makeshift stoves set up in the courtyard near the kitchen. Amid all the excitement, my nerves were on edge. Soon I would be a married man. How different my life would be!
After dinner, the sehra bandi ceremony began. I sat on the floor while my father and brother tied an orange turban around my head, and around the turban, they tied a veil of small golden flowers which draped in front of my face like a curtain. Around my neck, they placed a garland of shiny silver tinsel. My relatives approached me one by one and presented me with shagun, cash money placed in envelopes or small cloth pouches to wish me good luck and blessings. At the end of the ceremony, someone read a poem, and everyone shared a prayer that all would go well with the wedding and the future of the bride and groom.
After the ceremony, my brother helped me get on the horse, decorated with gold and silver-colored artificial jewelry that made a jingling sound when it walked. Orange marigold garlands hung around its neck. A band began to play, and they walked in front of our procession. Children followed them, skipping and dancing to the music. I followed behind on my horse, and my relatives walked behind me. The villagers of Malaudh came out of their houses and shops to watch us pass by. My parents and relatives waved money over me and dropped it for the poor people to pick up. The villagers scrambled to retrieve the coins, calling out blessings for my future marriage as we passed.
The next day was a whirl of nonstop activity. After we arrived in Nabha, followed by a busload of more than fifty of my relatives and guests, the baraat, we spent most of the day partaking of an endless array of snacks and drinks provided by the Verma family. Then, at around 8:00 p.m., the local band escorted us to the park where the wedding would be held. Once again, I rode on a mare decorated with garlands and jewelry, sparkling golden and silver even in the dark of night. The groom riding a mare to the bride’s home symbolizes that he is a warrior coming to take his bride. I carried a sword on my left side, a sign that I would always protect her.
On either side of me, servants held kerosene lamps, and in front of me, a dozen boys
