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— AVANTIKA —

Palace of Nawanagar

Official Communication

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Subject: The Wedding Announcement of H.H. Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki and H. H. Avantika Kumari Raje Scindia of Gwalior

The Palace of Nawanagar is honoured to announce the forthcoming nuptials of Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki, the King of Nawanagar, to Avantika Kumari Raje Scindia of the Gwalior royal family.

Their union is one of deep-rooted affection and shared history. The two met in school as teenagers, where a bond of friendship soon blossomed into love. Their decision to marry, however, was tragically interrupted by a time of national uncertainty and personal grief.

In the wake of the presumed demise of Rawal Siddharth Sinh Solanki, then the reigning monarch, following a catastrophic accident in Antarctica, the kingdom was engulfed in unrest. Amid the storm, Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki assumed the throne prematurely and was thrust into immense responsibility at a time of emotional fragility.

In those difficult days, misunderstandings between Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki and Avantika Kumari Raje led to a painful separation.

It is with deep regret and repentance that Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki acknowledges having pushed her ruthlessly away during that period — unaware that she was carrying his child.

The truth, long buried, came to light recently.

Their daughter, Brahmi Kumari Solanki, now seven years old, has been joyfully embraced by the Solanki dynasty.

A formal DNA verification establishing Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki as her biological father has been submitted to the Council of Nawanagar and will be entered into the Solanki Lineage Archives alongside her official birth documentation.

Brahmi Kumari Solanki of Nawanagar now stands affirmed in name, in heritage, and in love.

With healing behind them and their family restored, Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki and Avantika Kumari Raje will wed in a grand ceremony on the auspicious occasion of Dev Diwali, celebrated with full state honours in Nawanagar.

A week-long events, religious ceremonies, and royal processions will mark the occasion.

Further details on the programme will be shared in due course.

Issued with joy and solemnity,

The Principle Secretary

Palace of Nawanagar

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Life in times of joy passed quickly. But life in times of excitement, preparation, announcements, shopping, trials, decor-consultations? That life passed like a blur. Here one moment, weeks away the next.

With event planners, Hira ben’s team of chaperones who were better-equipped and more learned in palace events than the professional event planners, and Rajmata’s continuous support of the planning, Avantika felt time slip like butter over a hot piece of waffle.

Kresha flew down with Gopi and Aniket, her parents returned with preparations completed.

The summer palace on the outskirts of Nawanagar was chosen as their wedding venue, where her parents were put up with their loyal subjects of Gwalior who had held affection for them even after all these years, and travelled for Gwalior’s youngest Kumari’s wedding.

Except for the wedding itself, all other celebrations and functions were scheduled inside the palace premises.

Avantika jerked her head to the side and pushed the heavy jhumka through her earlobe hole.

It had been ages since she had worn something so heavy and dangly in her ears.

A team of local chaperones, friends from Gwalior and school and university buzzed around her.

Professional drapers worked around her to pin her gaawthi multicoloured kali-work lehenga-odhani in place.

Her mother stood in the distance with Rajmata, the two of them deep in some conversation.

Avantika observed their exchange through the mirror. Kresha joined them and it looked tense.

She stopped staring and concentrated on her earrings instead.

These slightly hot discussions weren’t new.

The mild friction between their families was visible.

Correction — the mild friction between her family and Samarth was visible.

His father openly supported her family and dispensed a tense moment with his incredible humour.

His stepmother though, was known to stand up for him from time to time.

Avantika was hard-pressed to judge her. On the one hand, she wanted to respect her.

On the other, she couldn't bring herself to look at her without remembering the last twenty years of Samarth’s life — years that she had stolen.

“Mama, can I have a pony tattoo here?” Brahmi pointed to her bicep. Avantika smiled. She looked so beautiful in the tiny version of the same ensemble.

“It’s called mehendi, poppet,” Kresha came up behind her, turning her and bending down to apply blush over her cheekbones.

“The same, Maasi!”

“You can,” Avantika held her arm up for the drape of her dupatta to be pinned, in that local Gujarati fashion. It went and tucked in the hemline of her waist and flowed with her as she moved.

“Where will you tattoo Samarth’s name?” Tulika sat back on a lounger, sipping from the orange juice she was sure was tampered with. A bottle of champagne had been snuck into her bungalow early this morning by her friends but Brahmi had woken up and they had hidden it.

“On her palm,” Ananya answered for her. She was the only chaperone and childhood friend from Gwalior who had come. Her cousins, and her Kaki Maharaj had all cited other commitments and rescinded the invitation. Her Kaka Maharaj had only accepted the wedding day invitation.

“In Hindi or Gujarati?” Tulika went on.

“Hindi, of course,” Kresha fired. “Always Hindi!”

“Actually, I am not getting his name in my mehendi,” Avantika cut her off before she went on a rant.

“Get him to have your name on his hand! You go girl!” Tulika raised her glass.

“Why not, Raje?” Ananya looked like her favourite love story had ended at interval.

“It’s too eww,” Avantika squeezed her nose.

“But it’s tradition in Gwalior. Isn’t it tradition in Nawanagar?”

“Are we ready?” Her mother and Rajmata joined them, looking happy and friends again, having resolved whatever differences they had.

“Ready,” Avantika pouted her lips for a final coat that the makeup artist added to lock in the colour. And like an exercise from her previous life, the way opened for her and everybody fell in step behind her. Brahmi excluded. She led the way.

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The application of her mehendi took a good five hours. It was still ongoing as the sun was setting. Dances and finger foods and local singing later, the event was finally opening from an all-girls evening to an all-nighter with the men.

Gujarati ‘lagna geet' sung by the ladies of Nawanagar without any mics suddenly trailed into the beats of Punjabi music. Avantika looked up from her perch on the white throne set up for her, her arms out and immovable thanks to the damp mehendi up to her elbows.

Her old favourites of Surinder Kaur were thumping as the sun was burnishing the sky orange over their heads. The mood of the event changed instantly as her girls, and some younger locals jumped to their feet and began grooving. It was a vibe. Her vibe.

“This is awesome. Whose idea was it?” She asked, sitting up.

Kresha made a face and that right there was her answer.

“Savdhan!” The palace holler resounded over the loud music. “Rawal padhare chhe.”

The dancing girls cleaved away and there was Samarth, walking towards her in his olive green raw silk kurta-koti-pyjama set.

It was monochromatic all over. She had seen it on him during trials.

But now? With the sun polishing him in its final rays, the memory of another wedding, another outdoor party weaving its haze, the Punjabi beats of her youth thumping to his footsteps — Avantika lost her brain power.

All the men around him blurred. Sharan stepped in front of him to playfully wave with his right hand.

She found her hand lifting and waving back but her gaze was fixated on the man behind him.

“He is good-looking but not as good as you are making him to be, Bhabhi,” Sharan reached her first. She zapped her eyes at him and found his face split into a grin.

Left arm splinted in a cover, his wavy mane of hair pushed back tidily for a change, glasses not sliding to his nose and clothes matching his brother’s except in a softer shade, as if his shadow, he made an appealing figure.

“Is it? I was half-blind with the sun in my eyes.”

Sharan guffawed, splaying on the space beside her that was reserved for Samarth. His eyes went to her palm — “Don’t tell Bhai where you’ve hidden his name. Tell me you had them made a tiny little thing somewhere and coloured all over it!” He grinned evilly.

“I haven’t had his name written,” she snorted. His hand raised to give her a high-five but she held her still wet palm back.

“Sorry,” he snickered sheepishly. “You are the best. Wait now.”

“Get up.”

They both glanced up, along with the two other pairs of eyes that were focused on designing her mehendi.

“They have set up a grander seating for you there, Bhai.”

“I said, get up, Kunwar.”

“On one condition,” Sharan got even more comfortable beside her, pulling out of his mojris and crossing his legs.

“Are you getting up or should I do it my way?”

“Find your name on Bhabhi’s palm and the seat is yours.”

“She hasn’t written it.”

Avantika’s mouth dropped open, as did everybody else’s around her. Sharan gaped at her with betrayal — “Dhokebaaz!”

“You told him?” Tulika left her dancing to skip to her, smelling drama.

“No,” Avantika laughed, incredulous, glancing up at the man who was not smiling, not laughing, not even scowling. He was just patiently waiting for his seat. The king, with his hands behind his back — standing to get his seat beside her. Her heart skipped a beat.