Mukti

Ishara's pov:♥️

The moment I applied the kajal to my eyes, the world around me faded into a dense fog. Darkness wrapped itself around my vision like a velvet curtain. And when I opened my eyes again—I was not alone. I was in his arms.

Rivaanveer Singh Rathore—my husband, my curse... or perhaps my salvation.

His deep brown eyes stared into mine with a strange intensity, as if he were searching for a secret buried within my soul. They weren’t soft... no, they were guarded, as though unveiling a truth long chained within.

And what did I do?

“Maut se pehle aap itne roopwan honge, socha na tha, Yamraj ji...”

I whispered, half-lost, half-joking in that dizzying state.

He stiffened.

For a long breath, he just stared at me. Then without a word, he gently pulled his hand back from around my waist, got up, and walked out of the chamber — silent, regal, distant.

And in his absence, the door opened once again.

Nandini came in with my devar sa and an elderly woman I had never seen before. Her silver hair tied neatly, the long veil of authority around her presence. She walked in like she belonged to the walls of this palace but hadn’t spoken to them in years.

She looked straight at me and asked with a soft, trembling voice:

“Kaisi hain aap, bahurani?”

I quickly got up from the bed and bent to touch her feet. Before I could finish, devar sa stopped me and respectfully bent down instead to take blessings from me.

“Hum theek hain...” I answered gently, eyes lowered, unsure if I deserved this sudden respect.

Nandini stepped forward, her tone low yet sincere.

“Yeh maa sa hain… shaadi ke baad pehli baar wo is mahal ke is hisse mein aayi hain. Chaar saal baad.”

The queen mother looked at me, and there was something ancient in her eyes. Not just age—but history. Pain. Warnings.

“Jaise ki aap jaanti hain, bahurani... Rivaan ne chhe vivah kiye, lekin ek bhi dulhan kajalrasam ke baad zinda nahi rahi.”

She folded her hands before me with trembling fingers.

“Aap pr Devi Kali ka aashirwad hai... Aap hamare Rajkumar ke jeevan ki antim aasha hain. Unhe is shraap se mukt kar dijiye.”

Her lips quivered. The edge of her sari trembled in her clasped hands.

“Mukt?” I asked, surprised. “Kaise, maa sa?”

She simply turned to Nandini.

“Nandini aapko sab batayegi... Aapka dhyan rakhiye, Ishara.”

And then she walked away like a spirit—gone before I could stop her.

Now only three of us remained: Nandini, devar sa, and I.

Devar sa smiled gently and said,

“Bhabhi sa, aapne hamari zindagi badal di... Bhaisa ke liye aapko chunna, Devi maa ka prasad hai.”

“Aisa mat kahiye, devar sa. Yeh sab Devi maa ki daya hai,” I replied softly, barely holding back the emotion in my voice.

He gave a small nod to Nandini and quietly exited the chamber.

Nandini sat beside me on the divan, nervous fingers clutching the edge of her dupatta.

Then she spoke.

“Bhabhi sa... agar aap chahte hain ki bhaisa is shraap se mukt ho jayein, toh aapko unke saath...” she paused, cheeks flushing red, “sambhog karna hoga.”

I stared at her, stunned.

“Kya?” My breath caught. My heart pounded.

“Unke saath... woh sab?” I whispered, trembling.

“Unhe chumna hoga...” she added hesitantly, “aur... unhe apna doodh bhi pilana hoga.”

I stood up in shock, my legs shaking beneath me.

“Hey Devi maa... yeh kaisa imtihan hai? Jo purush mujhe aankh uthaa ke bhi nahi dekhta, uske saath yeh sab?”

My voice trembled, and my eyes filled with disbelief.

“Nahi... koi aur upay batayein, devrani sa...”

But she lowered her gaze, stood up quietly, and said—

“Koi aur upay nahi hai, bhabhi sa. Aur yeh rasam... aaj raat ke pehle hi poori karni hogi. Warna sab vyarth ho jaayega.”

With that, she walked out, leaving behind the heavy silence of destiny.

And I... stood there.

Shaking. Scared. Alone.

And married to a man who had never even said my name.

I stood on the balcony of my chamber, the breeze gently lifting the veil over my head. From here, I could see the winding roads that led out of the palace, guarded by proud soldiers atop their steeds. Devgarh was beautiful—brave, loyal, majestic.

But even as my eyes admired the view, my mind couldn’t forget Devrani Sa’s words.

Would I really have to do all that with him? That... intimacy? That act? My milk...?

I couldn’t bear the thought. My cheeks flushed just recalling it.

“Hey Devi Maa…” I whispered to myself, “yeh kaise vichaar aa rahe hain man mein…”

Just then, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

He entered.

Rivaanveer Singh Rathore.

Tall, intense, and still cloaked in silence. His eyes met mine.

"Vastra nahi badle aapne abhi tak?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

"Ji... woh... hamari aatechi... shaayad neeche reh gayi hai," I replied softly, eyes lowered. My voice felt like a whisper against the storm in my chest.

"Hum Abeer se keh kar mangwa dete hain," he said, already turning to leave.

But I found the courage to stop him.

"Su... suniye..." I said, barely above a whisper.

He paused. "Hmmm?"

"Umar kya hai aapki?" I asked directly, not knowing why I wanted to know—perhaps because I had no other anchor in that moment.

He looked at me, his gaze unreadable.

"Bayalees."(42)

And then, without another word, he left the room.

Hey Devi Maa… ek bayalees (42) varsh ke purush ke saath yeh bandhan?

Humne toh vivaah apni antim yatra ke liye kiya tha, sambhog ke liye nahi…

A little later, Abeer entered the room with a guard, carrying my luggage. Behind him came Shahib again, walking toward the asnaanghar.

I gathered my courage and called out.

"Wo... woh devrani sa keh rahi thi ki humein aapke saath..."

I couldn’t complete the sentence.

He interrupted, voice calm and assured.

"Woh sahi keh rahi thi."

He turned toward the bath again.

"Lekin... humein doodh nahi banta, Shahib..." I said, eyes shut tightly in shame.

This time, he turned fully to face me. His voice was deeper now, yet not unkind.

"Uski chinta aap mat kariye... ban jayega."

Then he smirked slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Waise Rani Sa... aap isliye humse umar pooch rahi thi kya?"

My heart skipped.

Before I could reply, he walked away—leaving behind a strange warmth in the cold royal chamber.

After he went into the royal bath chamber, I quietly opened my luggage, still trembling inside. My fingers brushed over a soft, simple blue lehenga with a golden dupatta and matching blouse. Clutching the fabric close to my chest, I made my way to the dressing corner of the chamber. But as I turned to the right, my eyes froze.

I gasped.

There he was — he, immersed waist-deep in water, bare-chested, his muscles gleaming under the lantern light. The royal bath was unlike anything I’d ever seen — an intricately carved marble tub sunk into the floor, filled with rose petals and scented steam. Gold-lined walls glowed under low, flickering lamps, casting shadows across his wet skin.

I couldn’t move. His strong arms glided through the water as he reached for a nearby towel. Droplets trickled down his sculpted chest, and I turned away, heat flooding my cheeks. Heart pounding, I rushed back toward the main chamber.

Knock Knock.

I opened the door quickly, only to find a daasi standing with a glass of milk in her hands.

“This is for you, Rani-sa,” she said with a bow.

“For me?” I asked, confused. “Why?”

Before she could reply, he stepped out from the bathing room — still dripping wet, his long hair slicked back, wearing only a fresh white dhoti that hung low on his waist. His chiseled torso glistened, and his deep-set eyes locked with mine.

“Maa-sa has sent it for you, to be given before night falls,” the daasi replied and placed the glass on the bedside table.

“I don’t wish to drink this… Take it back,” I said, shaking my head.

“It’s to help your body... produce milk,” he said simply, his voice low and laced with calm command — like a king used to being obeyed.

I froze.

He stepped closer, running his fingers through his hair with effortless grace. “For three nights in a row, this will be given to you. After that... your body will begin its magic, Rani-sa,” he added with a slow smirk.

After the milk was brought, I quietly excused myself. Before I could even think of drinking it, I decided to freshen up. I bathed quickly, wrapped myself in a soft dupatta, and made my way downstairs to the royal dining area.

Everyone was already seated.

I walked in silently and sat beside Shahib — my husband. His presence was powerful, yet oddly comforting. The meal was quiet, yet laced with unspoken emotions. A few polite conversations passed between us, mostly formal, but his gaze often lingered a second too long.

After dinner, we returned to our chamber together.

I walked ahead while he stayed behind, untying his angvastram. As I reached near the bed, I noticed his eyes motioning gently toward the glass of milk on the bedside table.

Just a silent glance — but it said enough.

I hesitated.

My fingers trembled as they hovered above the glass. My heart beat fast, and my cheeks burned with the weight of everything that was expected of me. But slowly, with hesitant grace, I picked it up.

I didn’t know what exactly was in it — but the moment it touched my tongue, I could taste something bitter... earthy.

Some herb, definitely.

Something ancient... something that wasn’t meant to be questioned.

And so, I drank.

Swallowing the mixture in silence, my eyes stealing a glance at him — the man who was now watching me with unreadable eyes.

Her pov end's 🙏

Ishara had just finished drinking the warm, herb-infused milk. She turned around, wiping her lips softly with the back of her hand — and froze.

He was standing right there.

Without his angvastram.

Just a simple white dhoti hugged his lower body, and his sculpted upper frame glistened under the oil lamp’s golden hue. Broad chest. Toned arms. Her eyes, unintentionally, paused at his dusky skin… and those soft, pinkish nipples

She immediately looked away, cheeks heating, before she could finish the thought.

But his voice—deep, calm, and commanding—broke the silence.

"Zara baithiye... humein aapse kuch baat karni hai."

She lowered her gaze and quietly walked to the bed, sitting with her back straight, nerves wrinkling under her skin.

She didn’t dare meet his eyes. With a subtle nod, she said softly,

"Boliye..."

He walked closer, slow, deliberate steps that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. And then, in a voice that carried more pain than anger, he asked:

"Kyun kar rahi hain yeh sab aap?"

His question hung in the air, like smoke in a still room.

She blinked.

"Kya?" she whispered, eyes darting away again.

"Humse vivaah kyun kiya aapne?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Woh aushadhiyukt doodh bhi kyun pee liya?"

He knelt in front of her now, eye-level. His voice trembled, softer this time.

"Kabhi socha hai in sabka anjaam kya hoga, Rani sa?

Hamari shadi isliye hui thi kyunki aap marna chahti thi… toh phir ab yeh sab kyu? Aap chahein toh humein chhod sakti hain."

She looked at him. And for the first time, her voice did not shake — it trembled with purpose.

"Aur chhod kar jaayenge kahaan hum, Shahib? Niravgarh?"

Her voice cracked, not from fear — but from memory.

"Jahan hamare saath janwaron jaisa vyavhaar hota tha? Aap chahein toh humein chhod sakte hain… lekin hum nahi chhodenge aapko, Shahib."

She inhaled deeply, pain flashing across her face.

His eyes softened.

Rivaan slowly sat beside her on the bed. His hand inched toward hers. He didn’t grab—it hovered—waiting for her permission. She nodded subtly.

He gently placed her left hand in his palm. The silence between them pulsed with meaning.

"Par hamare liye yeh sab kyun, Rani sa?" he asked.

She finally met his gaze. Her eyes shimmered—not with hesitation, but with emotion that had ripened in silence.

"Kyuki aap hamare aaradhya hain… pati hain hamare."

She sniffled, trying to hold herself together.

"Humne yeh shadi bhale hi marne ke liye ki ho… par ab hum jivit hain."

A deep pause.

"Aur jab tak hum jivit hain… aapko kuch nahi hone denge. Khaas kar jab aapki saans… hamare haathon mein hai."

He saw a woman who had chosen to fight for him. Even before he knew he needed to be fought for.

he spoke—his tone soft, almost like a vow:

"Aur ek baat Rani sa... jab tak aap nahi chaahengi, hum aapko haath lagana toh chhodiye, aapki taraf dekhenge bhi nahi."

She looked at him, eyes wide and a little shaken.

But then she lowered her gaze, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she whispered:

"Lekin Devrani sa ne toh kaha hai keval aaj raat ka hi samay hai... warna fir yeh saari cheezein vyarth chali jaayengi."

He frowned, confused.

"Kya keh rahi hain aap? Hum samjhe nahi..." he said, his brows knitting.

She got up from the bed slowly and walked toward the window. The moonlight fell on her trembling shoulders. He followed, standing quietly beside her. When their eyes met, he asked softly, one eyebrow raised:

"Aapko toh pata hai unhone kya kaha tha?"

She turned her face away, unable to meet his gaze.

"Hum kaise jaanenge, Ishara? Kaisi baatein karti hain aap…" he said, sincerely.

She glanced at him sharply.

"Toh uss waqt kyun kaha tha ki bilkul theek kaha Nandini ne?"

He blinked, chuckling lightly.

"Woh toh humne doodh ke liye kaha tha… ki pina hai aapko. Rasam hai na yeh humare rajya ki."

But she didn’t smile. Her voice dropped.

"Ras... rasam? Devrani sa ne toh kaha tha yeh sab shraap todne ke liye hai… aapko chumna… apna doodh pilaana… aur…"

Her voice trailed off. She covered her mouth with her hand, cheeks flushed.

He gently reached out and moved her hand away, voice teasing but soft:

"Aur kya, Rani sa?"

There was a playful glint in his eyes.

She looked down, crimson flooding her cheeks.

"Aur... aapke saath sambhog karna…"

Her voice was barely a whisper.

He burst out laughing. His laughter was deep, rich, and so genuine that she couldn’t help but stare.

“Sambhog? Are you serious?” he asked between laughs, falling back on the bed.

Ishara looked at him, her lips parting slightly. Kaise koi itna pyaara lag sakta hai hasta hua...

"Humse kya pooch rahe hain… unhone kaha, toh humne maan liya…" she said, slightly annoyed, slightly flustered.

He sat up again, grinning.

"Acha acha… muh toh matt phulaye Rani sa. Aaiye, baithiye. Hum sab kuch samjhaate hain."

He patted the bed beside him.

She walked back to the bed but turned her back to him as she sat.

"Chehra toh dikhaiye, warna hum baat kis se karein… aapki peeth se?" he joked.

"Humein nahi pata… aap hastae hain humare upar. Hum aapko nahi dekhenge," she said sulking.

He got up from the bed and walked to her, kneeling down in front of her gently. He bowed his head.

"Maaf kar dijiye, Rani sa. Hamara maksad aapko dukh dena nahi tha."

Startled, she immediately stood and held both his arms, helping him up.

"Nahi, Shahib… aap aise maafi maangte acche nahi lagte. Aap toh Maharaj hain… or humse bade bhi."

She gently cupped his cheek.

"Vivaah kiya hai humne aapse… aap hamare ardhang hai. Aapko khush rakhna humari zimmedaari hai."

They both sat down on the sofa nearby.

Then, with a serious tone, Rivaan explained everything:

Nandini had exaggerated things just to tease her. Until her body accepted the sacred herbs and transformed the milk into its full effect, nothing could happen—not until the third night. Once that happened, they would visit the Kuldevi temple, where a seeress, Mata Janki, knew about the curse and would bless them. After that, Ishara would have to kiss the wound on Rivaan’s chest—the same one he received from her dagger.

Only then, the curse would break. And only then, she would give him her milk as per the final ritual.

Hearing this, Ishara sighed in relief. The thought of not being forced into anything—physically—soothed her more than she expected.

Rivaan smiled warmly and said:

"Chaliye, so jaate hain. Kaafi raat ho gayi hai."

She wanted to ask more about the curse… but couldn’t summon the courage.

Not tonight.

Good morning guy's 🌞

Enjoy the chapter ♥️

Vote Krna mat bhulna babies 🎀

Baa..bye..take care 😚

Nd yes how was the chapter sweetie's? ♥️😚