In her red and golden bridal gown, Naina looked like a Christmas tree overly decked. It wasn't as if she had been showered with jewels and draperies, but her figure was so thin that anything more than two layers would outweigh her. She had been saved from the shame of adorning fake jewellery as her would-be-husband had sent over their ancestral necklaces, bangles and jhumkas. They sat shimmering over her dupatta that she couldn't take her eyes away from them. Everyone mistook her downcast eyes as a virgin bride's shyness.

She struggled to walk in those clothes and her mother and the neighbourhood girl each helped her by the arm. She was too enamoured by the jewels to pluck their gripping fingers off her as they reached the altar. Gone were thoughts of her would-be-husband or the people flocking around her, gemstones and gold were a better company to her. She flushed in rapture at them and her mother smiled uncertainly, confused (but relieved) that her daughter was happy marrying a stranger.

The stranger entered the hall then, so smooth and elegant that drew everyone's eyes except for Naina's. Naina was blinded by the light flashing from the jewellery to even look up and see her would-be-husband. All she knew and hoped for was to spend some days with the old pervert, choke him with some poison or smother him with a pillow and blame it on his old age. In front of the mirror, she had practiced weeping like a widow all these weeks. A little pinch here or there helped squeeze out some fake tears as simply as turning on tap water, even to a headstrong girl like Naina.

Amidst the applause and showering petals at the entrance of the groom, Naina was asked to walk towards the sacred fire. Even the brightest flames of the fire couldn't kindle an interest in her for her own marriage. She walked with her eyes glued to the jewellery, calculating their value with a sharp mind that was otherwise mathematically weak (especially during her board exams).

"Watch where you're going!" her mother's shouted, her warning coming late like the thundering sound during a lightning strike. First Naina tripped right over the fire that lapped and licked its flames as if opening its greedy mouth to swallow her alive. A mute scream was stuck at the base of her throat, her jewels jingled, distracting her eyes and bringing them back to reality. She was going to die right before her wedding, right before her one opportunity to get rich. At that thought, her mute scream turned into a high-pitched wail that tore through the hall, invoking the handsomest Gods and angels above.

One such God (or so she thought after meeting his eyes) gripped her naked waist firmly, his hard fingers digging into her soft flesh. That sudden, sizzling contact caused her heart to leap out of her breast as she was crushed against pure, male hardness. That mysterious scent engulfed her senses, smudging the boundaries between reality and fantasy.

"Oho they're meant to be!" someone cooed, breaking the unreal silence and making Naina look at him.

There he was, tall and upright with his broad shoulders and chest filling out every inch of his navy blue kurta. He didn't bother to throw as much as a glance towards her, all she could see from her little height was his strong jaw. That jaw dotted with his perfectly shaved beard made her want to rub her cheeks against his stubble. To feel the coarseness, perhaps as prickly as scotch brite. But who was he?

"Your husband is already promising to protect you," someone else cooed and at that, he pressed his fingers hard on last time in her soft flesh before leaving her waist, conscious of their closeness.

"My husband?" She fully looked up now, registering his strong nose, sharp eyebrows and keen, darkest brown eyes. His eyebrows dug deep trenches in between, but he didn't look at her, it was visible that he was also confused and brooding. It was Naina's mother who pulled her hand to stop her from ogling at this drool worthy guy in front of her.

"The bride and groom please stand here," the pundit said in his monotonous voice and Naina barely felt him walk beside her as if the air parted to make way for his majesty. No, no, no! She couldn't glorify him this way, she needed to kill him.

Thoughts of killing him swam laboriously in her mind, dashing against the waves of mischief that pointed at how gorgeous he was. Her inner conflict spread brighter flames in her mind than the sacred fire that burned before her, so much so that all chants felt like a baby's jibber jabber. She followed her husband's movements in a daze, her eyes glued to the broad back as he strode before her during the seven rounds. Here he was, being a walking stick to her old grandma like movements when she had thought that the opposite would be the case.

And with the showering of more petals and grains of rice that fell over her like hard, little snow, it was all over. And just like that, Naina snapped out of her trance. Her husband next to her, however handsome, was her ticket to a luxurious and independent life that she could get within a snap of his neck.

Her shorter parents waddled forward to give their blessings, stretching their stodgy arms towards the tall statue that stood next to her, unsmiling. Her father gave his blessings as a formality as if a photographer had asked him to pose in a certain way. Her mother filled in the silence with words that gushed out of her mouth, "We welcome you home! We're so lucky to have you as our son! Hope you live a long, long, long life!"

"We'll see about that," Naina snorted, provoking her mother to laugh in hysteria.

"She loves to joke," her mother said, finding "the joke" so hilarious that she didn't stop laughing for the next few seconds till her husband interrupted in irritation.

"We should leave them alone," he said, turning around and marching away without the vidaai ceremony. By now, all guests had dispersed like insects in search of food that lay stacked and brewing in the buffet and after her mother followed her father with an apologetic smile, Naina was left alone with her husband. The sudden emptiness made her still, very still.

Why was she suddenly so afraid? How could she be afraid of the victim? She was the murderess, the Goddess.

"Come," the handsome God said, startling her. His deep voice was neither rude, nor soft, but a simple command- come. And Naina came very hard.

Her vision was hazy and her nose muffled in his intoxicating scent that the surroundings passed by in a blur till they arrived at a long, plain corridor and a plainer door inside the building. That snapped her out of her trance as she stood, blinking in confusion. Where was the posh mansion with doors the size of gates to heaven? The red carpet? A garden with a fountain with naked cherubs? A---

He unlocked the door with a click, a silver watch dangling on his wrist and catching her eye. She had seen that watch at roadside stalls! They sold it for 299 rupees!

Naina entered the apartment with the support of the walls around her, feeling faint. By now, she was hopeless as she surveyed the room. A neat, but tiny room with narrow beds like train berths on opposite ends. A few, beige cabinets above and a beige cupboard. There was not a speck of gold, glitter and jewels anywhere except for the crystal tears that arose in her eyes at noticing the poverty. What had she married into?!

A skinny watchman lugged in her bags and when he set them on the floor, her husband said, "Do you have change?"

"What?" Naina's voice was croaky and all wrong.

"Money," he repeated, raising his sharp eyebrow.

He didn't even have ten rupees to give to the watchman! That voice screamed at her as she stood mute in shock. The watchman left at his own accord, hopeless of getting any money from an equally hopeless couple. Her husband sighed as he shut the door, the heaviest silence falling over the little room.

"Lie there," he ordered, suddenly cutting through the silence and undoing the top button of his kurta. When she didn't move, still shocked at how she ended up marrying this man, he cocked his head towards the bed. "There."

Her legs underneath her draperies and lehenga shuffled towards the bed, until she caught herself obeying his command. Why was she? She was a murderess, a bloody Goddess! She wasn't going to obey some poor fellow. So she sat instead of lying down, refusing to do so even when his frown deepened. He looked richer and more powerful with that frown as if he owned the whole world and disapproved when the wind didn't blow in his intended direction. Yet, why was he so poor?

"The position isn't right," he observed, still frowning. "I can't do it with you sitting there."

Do it . . .?

"Do what?" Naina asked, her eyes wide in alarm as another tsunami of shock knocked the air out of her lungs. Did he mean . . . He couldn't! They didn't even say a hello to each other yet!

"I can't do it over you if you sit," he continued, ignoring her and switching off the lights. In the darkness, his voice grew softer and huskier. "So lie down."

Sweat broke out on Naina's head, the head that had been plotting his murder and willing to sacrifice her virgin body for money. Now that body stiffened hard, perhaps harder than him. She could hear her wildly throbbing heart, her still breath and his footsteps approaching her. She never imagined her wedding day to unravel in such an unruly fashion, months of plans and courage effaced by this handsome and strange man.

As he placed his cold hand against her forehead, a chill ran down her erect body and goosebumps arose like prickly thorns. "What are you---"

He hushed her, laying her down and hovering over her. His large shadow fell over her smaller frame, a streak of moonlight cutting in through the small window and slashing his face, spilling light on his eyes. He frowned again as if angry at the moon for its gentle assault. And their eyes met, his darkening to the colour of the pitch black sky outside as he brought his body closer to her. She could feel the heat of his body as she squeezed her eyes shut, her cheeks flushing at the sudden closeness.

Never in her sorriest dreams had she seen herself as a shy, blushing maiden. Yet here she was with the flaming fierceness of the sun, her bright flames so consumed by his darkness that she burned herself out and turned to embers under his keen gaze. She could feel his hard chest against the soft rise of her breasts and her breathing escaped her body as if she had ran a marathon.

Seconds passed . . . Minutes passed . . . Perhaps an hour or a year did, but nothing happened. She heard a ruffling noise and peeked through her closed eyelids. Oh. . . Oh!

"This mosquito net is small so I needed you to lie down and see if it covered you," he said, tackling the mosquito net with little irritation like a fisherman who caught a shoe in his net. How stupid of her to think that! Thank goodness for the darkness to conceal her shame. "Here you go. This should suffice."

He stepped back, gauging with satisfaction the net that fell over her like a bridal veil as if it was a work of art. Then his eyes grew droopy as his gaze dropped to her, as if she was a work of art. No, no, no, she was overthinking! Such a self-assured man like him could never fall for a pretend Jhansi ki Rani like her. Besides, why did she want him to fall for her? She was going to murder him!

"It's small even for a tiny person like you," he mused, the faintest trace of smile vanishing as quickly as light drizzle during sunshine.

"I'm not tiny," she said, stretching her hands and legs as far as she could to show how big and dangerous she was.

A smile broke out on his face before he quickly turned around, walking towards his bed and unfurling another mosquito net. "Sure."

"I'm not tiny!" she snapped (for she grew angry at anyone who belittled her strength), huffed and with one pull of the blanket, she closed her eyes and declared herself asleep. Soon, her little snores echoed in the room. And all night as the naked moonlight danced on her face, her eyes fluttered like the twinkling stars above. He watched her. . . His eyes dark and mysterious as he planned on what all he could do to her . . .