Standing at the entrance of the park, the Verma family eagerly awaited our arrival, but our baraat took its time. This was my baraat’s only chance to celebrate with me and have a good time. Also, it was customary to keep the bride and her family waiting anxiously. Everyone sang, danced, and shouted with great enthusiasm and joy. In a way, my feelings were similar to what I felt when I left India for the first time nine years earlier. As I stood on the boat pulling away from the dock in Bombay, I realized, with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and excitement, that my dreams were truly in motion, my many days of prayer and preparation had come to fruition, and the long-awaited day had arrived.
This same feeling washed over me as I sat on the mare and allowed myself to be escorted with much fanfare to the entrance of the park. I had spent many days in search of a suitable match, and before that, I waited many years until I could return home to find a girl to marry.
The moon gleamed above me in the dark sky, and for a moment, I felt as if it were reflecting its light in my heart. The stars were lovely, and at first I thought they must have come down from the sky, because as we came to the entrance of the park, I saw that all the bushes and trees flickered with thousands of lights. Hundreds of fresh marigolds and roses decorated the entrance, and on each side stood tall banana trees.
The procession stopped at the entrance, and the band played even more vigorously. The boys danced and twirled until someone put a stop to it so we could start the milni ceremony. My father and Raj’s father exchanged garlands while the priest said a prayer. Then Raj’s father presented my father with a gift of suit-length material and a strip of wool material. It is hard to keep several hundred people quiet, but the noise level was at its lowest since we set out.
One by one, my uncles went forward to meet the bride’s uncles, followed by the maternal uncles, and then finally, the brother-in-laws, and any other elderly male considered to be a close relative on the groom’s side.
Once Raj’s relatives had been escorted into a huge white pavilion, I stood in front of a couch and waited as Raj walked toward me, flanked by her sisters on both sides. Raj wore a beautiful red sari embroidered with gold, and a veil hid her face from the view of my male relatives. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, red choora bangles decorated her arms, and long gold earrings dangled from her ears. In her left nostril, she wore a gold nath, a nose ring, which was hooked to her earring. She wore a glittering gold necklace studded with diamonds, and silver ankle bracelets, and intricate henna designs decorated her hands, arms, and feet. I could not take my eyes off her for a moment. It was a sight that I will never forget. Raj looked just beautiful in her wedding sari and jewelry.
Raj stood next to me, her eyes lowered as everyone smiled, admiring her beauty. The jaimala ceremony was a difficult moment for Raj because it meant she would be leaving her parents. The priest came forward and said a few prayers in Sanskrit. Then, he handed Raj and me each a garland of fresh marigolds, and while the priest said more prayers, Raj and I placed the garlands around each other’s necks to signify our acceptance of each other. The people surrounding us cheered and clapped, calling out wishes of good luck and making all sorts of noise. With jaimala finished, we sat on the couch so the relatives could give us gifts of shagun money.
After an elaborate meal, the processional band led my baraat and me back to the guest house, playing jubilant music. This time I did not ride on the horse, and we all reached the building in much less time. The baraat members fixed their bedding and went to sleep, but my close relatives and I prepared to stay awake. The phere ceremony, the most important ceremony of all, would begin at 2:00 a.m., the time determined by the priest.
Raj and I sat side by side on two cushions in the courtyard of her house, our legs crossed. I could only imagine what was going through her head. She was about to marry a stranger, one she would travel across the ocean and live with in a foreign country. Her face was composed, graceful. The mandap we sat beneath was a type of canopy with a net covering four pillars decorated with banana trees and flowers.
The priest from Malaudh and the priest from Nabha were taking turns reciting prayers in Sanskrit. Our parents and relatives sat on the ground, forming a circle around the mandap. One of the priests lit the sacred fire in the middle of the mandap. Raj and I poured ghee into the sacred fire and dropped fresh flower petals, shavings of coconut, and rice into the flames. After the priest dabbed red vermillion paste onto our foreheads for good luck, the Nabha priest performed the kanyadaan, the giving away of the bride. Raj’s father placed her right hand into mine, asking that I pledge my enduring love and dedication in caring for his daughter. At that moment, Raj’s father was overcome
