The first morning after his return dawned gently, the sky tinted in soft hues of saffron and pink. The village still stirred slowly, roosters calling in the distance and the faint smell of wet earth from the dew lingered in the courtyard. Inside the haveli, Sarvari moved quietly, her anklets chiming faintly - the very ones he had tied around her the night before.

She draped her dupatta over her head, arms filled with a thali prepared for the pooja. The diya flickered in the brass lamp, its golden glow illuminating her face. The sound of her bangles accompanied the soft murmur of mantras she recited under her breath. She stood before the small temple in the corner of the courtyard, where the idols of  Shri Krishna and Maa Durga rested, decorated with fresh marigold garlands.