Deviyo and deviyo ( sajjan to nhi hoga 😅) comment and vote Krna na bhule

The final chant of the pandit echoed through the hall, settling like a quiet verdict.

“Vivah sampann hua… ab var-vadhu bado ka aashirvaad lein…”

A brief silence followed.

Then—

Sultan Rafiq bin Khalid’s expression changed.

The calm he had maintained till now faded… replaced by something colder, distant, unmistakably authoritative. His gaze lifted, sharp and steady, carrying the weight of a man who bowed to no one.

His voice broke the silence—low, controlled, wrapped in an Urdu laced authority.

“Nahi…”

he said, calm yet firm,

“Sultan kisi ke aage sar nahi jhukata.”

A slight pause… his eyes swept across the hall, not seeking approval—only asserting presence.

“Nikah mukammal ho chuka hai.”

The words fell heavy.

Final.

Unquestionable.

Then he turned his gaze slightly toward Haider, his tone dropping even lower—commanding without effort.

“Haider… rawangi ki tayyari ki jaye.”

Haider immediately bowed his head.

“Ji, Sultan.”

The hall remained silent… but the shift was undeniable.

The rituals may have ended—

but the Sultan had already claimed what he came for.

Ruhani sat unmoving upon the mandap… like a figure carved in silence, adorned in gold yet emptied of all feeling.

The sacred fire still burned before her… but whatever warmth it held, did not reach her anymore.

Then—

Vidya stepped forward.

The moment her eyes fell upon Ruhani, all the restraint she had carried as a woman of the court shattered. She rushed to her, gathering her into a tight embrace, her composure breaking completely.

“Humari bitiya…” her voice trembled, soaked in helpless grief,

“humein kshama kar do… hum apni hi santaan ko is bhayanak daur se bacha na sake…”

Her hands clutched Ruhani’s shoulders as if trying to hold her back from a fate already sealed.

“Humne… tumhe ek jeevit balidaan bana diya…”

Her words dissolved into quiet sobs.

But Ruhani…

Remained still.

No tears.

No resistance.

No response.

As though her soul had already stepped away from her body.

A few steps behind, Rajmata Amba advanced.

Her presence alone commanded

stillness. Draped in regal authority, her every step echoed dignity… yet her eyes betrayed a storm she dared not reveal.

She came closer and gently placed her hand upon Ruhani’s veiled head.

A blessing.

A burden.

“Putri…” her voice was deep, composed, carrying the weight of the throne itself,

“aapne jo tyag kiya hai… uska rin yah rajya yugon tak nahi chuka payega.”

A pause followed, heavy with unspoken sorrow.

“Apne Bhaisa ke praan bachane hetu… aapne swayam ko samarpit kar diya… yeh keval balidaan nahi… veerta hai.”

Her fingers lingered for a moment… almost protectively.

And then—

A sharp, authoritative voice tore through the fragile moment.

“Rajmata…”

The air shifted instantly.

Maharaj Veerendra Pratap stepped forward, his presence radiating power… and wounded pride. His expression was hard his eyes blazing—not with grief… but with injured ego.

He halted near them, his gaze falling upon Ruhani with a cold detachment that carried neither affection nor remorse.

“Aapki drishti bhramit ho rahi hai, Rajmata…” his tone was edged, controlled, yet cutting,

“Yuvraj Abhiraj ki is duravastha ka mool kaaran yah kanya swayam hai.”

The words struck like a verdict.

Vidya stiffened.

Amba’s gaze hardened.

But Veerendra did not stop.

“Yadi yah us din rajmahal ki maryada rekha na langhti…”

his voice grew sharper, echoing across the hall,

“to us videshi Sultan ki drishti ispar kabhi na padti…”

A pause—bitter, humiliating.

“Na yudh is roop leta… aur na hi aaj humein apne hi rajya ke madhya is apmaan ka samna karna padta.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

These were not just accusations…

they were a king’s wounded pride speaking louder than truth.

Ruhani’s fingers curled tightly into her lehenga.

Just for a moment.

But her face remained still.

Because she had heard this before—

in glances, in silence… in the absence of love.

Rajmata Amba finally stepped forward, her spine straight, her gaze unwavering.

“Maharaj…” her voice carried the calm authority of a ruler who feared no truth,

“rajdharm kewal vijay aur ahankar tak simit nahi hota. Yah kanya ne apne parivaar, apne vansh ke liye jo tyag kiya hai… usse dosh dena, na keval anyay hai, apitu rajmaryada ke viruddh bhi.”

Her words did not rise in volume—

yet they overpowered the hall.

For a moment, the two stood facing each other again.

Not as family…

but as power and truth

The tension in the hall had barely settled… when a voice—cold, absolute—cut through everything.

“Bas.”

Sultan Rafiq rose slowly, his presence commanding the very air around him. His gaze locked onto Maharaj Veerendra Pratap—steady, unblinking, dominant.

“Ab woh aap ki beti nahi rahi, Maharaj…”

his voice was low, controlled, laced with refined authority,

“woh ab humari zawja hain… aur humari zawja ki tauheen hum hargiz bardaasht nahi karte.”

A pause.

His eyes hardened, just slightly.

“Behtar hoga ke aap apni hudood mein rahen… aur guftagu mein ehtiyaat bartein.”

The words were not loud…

but they carried a weight no one dared to challenge.

His gaze then shifted toward Haider.

“Haider… rawangi ke intezamaat  mukammal hua ya nhi .”

“Ji, Aaqa.” Haider bowed deeply, stepping back to signal the soldiers with silent urgency.

Then—

The Sultan’s gaze moved toward Rajmata Amba and Vidya. For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through his expression… but it vanished just as quickly.

“Apni beti se jitna deedar  Krna hai kar  lijiye…”

his tone lowered, calm yet final,

“kyunki mumkin hai… phir yeh lamha aapko dobara naseeb na ho.”

The hall fell into a suffocating silence.

Ruhani’s breath faltered beneath her veil.

Her trembling gaze lifted toward him—

And met his.

No warmth.

No softness.

Only a hard and emotionless as if emotions were beneath him.

A quiet fear settled deep inside her.

—

Behind her, Vidya broke completely, rushing forward and pulling Ruhani into a desperate embrace.

She clung to her, as if refusing to let destiny take her away.

Her sobs echoed through the hall.

Ruhani, for the first time, broke.

Her hands rose… clutching her mother tightly.

“Maa…” her voice cracked, trembling,

“I… I don’t want to go…”

Tears streamed down beneath her veil as she held onto her like a child afraid of being taken away.

—

Rajmata Amba stepped forward.

Her posture remained regal, unwavering… but her eyes carried a storm hidden beneath royal restraint.

She placed her hand gently upon Ruhani’s head.

Ruhani Pov.

I don’t want to leave…

This is my home… my maa… my everything…

Why does this feel like I am being taken away… not married?

Her grip tightened around Vidya.

If I hold her tighter… maybe they won’t take me…

Maybe this moment will stop…

But slowly… gently…

Hands separated them.

And reality returned.

Outside the palace, the night had deepened into something solemn.

Fire flames burned along the towering walls, their flames casting long, trembling shadows. The air carried a cold stillness… one that spoke only of departure.

At the grand entrance stood a royal palki, draped in rich silks and adorned with golden tassels that shimmered under the firelight. Soldiers lined both sides, their hands resting on their swords, eyes sharp and alert.

Horses stamped against the ground impatiently.

The slow beat of dhol echoed in the night—

not of celebration… but of separation.

As Ruhani was being led toward the palki… her steps slow, her world already slipping away—

Vidya suddenly held her wrist.

Gently… but firmly.

“Thahar jao, putri…”

Ruhani turned, her tear-filled eyes meeting her mother’s trembling gaze.

Vidya took a trembling step back… as if gathering the last pieces of her shattered strength.

For a moment, she looked at Ruhani—her eyes memorizing every detail of her daughter’s face, as though afraid this might be the last time she would ever see her like this.

Then, without a word—

She turned.

Her steps were slow, unsteady, yet purposeful as she moved toward the inner chamber. The soft sound of her anklets echoed faintly in the silence, each step carrying the weight of a mother’s helplessness.

After a brief moment that felt like an eternity—

She returned.

In her hands, she held a small, delicately adorned murti of Kanha ji, wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth, as if it were something sacred… something she had protected for years.

Her fingers tightened around it before she stepped back toward Ruhani—

Ready to give her the only protection she had left to offer.

“Isse apne paas rakhna, putri…”

her voice broke, yet carried a mother’s last strength,

“Yeh Shree Krishna tumhari raksha karenge… har dukh, har andhkaar mein tumhare saath khade rahenge…”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Jahan hum tumhare saath nahi ho paayenge… wahan yeh tumhara sahara banenge…”

Ruhani’s hands trembled as she looked down at the murti.

Her vision blurred.

Ruhani’s pov.   

Even now… Maa is trying to protect me…

When she herself couldn’t protect me from this fate…

Her grip on the murti tightened.

Maybe… I’m not completely alone…

—

Vidya cupped her face with both hands.

“Humein yaad rakhna, meri bachi…”

And this time—

Ruhani broke again.

She threw her arms around her mother, crying uncontrollably.

“Maa… please…”

Her voice shattered.

“I don’t want to go…”

Vidya held her just as tightly, as if time could be stopped in that one embrace.

But fate… didn’t wait.

Slowly…

They were separated.

—

Rajmata Amba stepped forward, her gaze falling upon the murti in Ruhani’s hands.

A faint, knowing softness crossed her face.

“Yeh sirf ek murti nahi, putri…” she said in a deep, composed royal tone,

“yeh shraddha hai… aur shraddha kabhi apne bhakt ko akela nahi chhodti.”

She placed her hand over Ruhani’s head one last time.

“Aapka maarg kathin ho sakta hai… lekin aap kabhi akeli nahi hongi.”

—

Ruhani looked down at the murti again…

Then back at her mother…

And finally—

She was led toward the palki.

But this time…

Her hands weren’t empty.

She held onto something.

Something small…

Yet powerful enough to give her a reason to breathe in a world she never chose.

Ruhani was led forward.

Step by step.

Each step pulling her further away from everything she had ever known.

She turned back—

Again… and again…

Her eyes searching only for her mother.

This is the last time…

The last time I see her…

The last time I belong here…

Her chest tightened painfully.

Why does destiny feel like punishment…?

—

At the entrance—

She stopped.

Turned back one last time.

Vidya stood there… shattered beyond repair.

Rajmata Amba stood tall… yet her silence held unspoken grief.

Ruhani’s lips trembled.

“Maa…”

A whisper.

Barely there.

But enough to break everything again.

—

She was gently seated into the palki.

The curtains fell.

Darkness surrounded her.

Ruhani Pov.

It’s over…

Everything is over…

Her hands trembled in her lap.

I didn’t walk into this…

I was given away…

A tear slipped down her cheek.

And now…

I belong to a man… whose eyes held no softness for me…

What kind of life is waiting for me…?

—

Outside—

Sultan Rafiq bin Khalid mounted his horse with effortless authority. His expressi

on remained hard, unmoved.

He didn’t look back.

“Rawana hua  jae.”

One command.

That was enough.

The soldiers moved.

The horses advanced.

The palki lifted.

And slowly…

The grand gates of the palace began to close.

Leaving behind—

Not just a place…

But a life that once belonged to her.

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