Rani Suchitra looked at the people, hundreds of faces turned upward.
When she spoke, her voice carried without effort.
“People of Jogra,” she said. “For generations, the House of Jogra has remained tied to these mountains and the people who call them home.”
Her gaze moved across the gathering.
“Today, our family stands before you united to share an important event.”
The crowd waited in anticipation.
“In the sanctity of our ancient Jogra temple, before the sacred fire and priestly witness, my son Maharaja Bharat Singh Jogra was married.”
Yamini’s breath caught.
“I present to you Maharani Yamini Singh Jogra,” Rani Suchitra announced, turning slightly to look at Yamini. “Wife of the maharaja. And the daughter of this valley now.”
Yamini’s heart thudded as she stood and bowed to the crowd with palms pressed together, seeking their blessings.
The sound of drums began. All at once, full and enormous, and over them a sound from the crowd.
As the cheers rose around her, Yamini realized there was no stepping backward anymore.
???
The ceremonial welcome began.
Women dressed in traditional Jogra attire stepped forward in a semicircle. Their pherans shimmered with delicate embroidery, silver jewelry catching the sunlight.
One elderly village matriarch approached Yamini.
She carried a small brass thali filled with rice mixed with saffron threads.
The matriarch lifted a pinch and gently touched it to Yamini’s forehead.
“Welcome, Maharani,” she murmured.
Another woman draped a luxurious pashmina shawl over Yamini’s shoulders.
Its warmth was immediate.
Yamini felt her throat tighten as she smiled at them. “Thank you,” she said.
Nobody here knew about the contract. They also didn’t know she had once run from their maharaja.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the warmth of the people.
Soon, the crowd moved back to give space for the performances.
The first one was the Rouf dance, which was popular in the valley.
The women formed two graceful lines, facing each other, hands clasped lightly. Their feet moved in rhythmic precision, shoulders swaying, soft clapping echoing against drumbeats.
Their voices rose in celebratory song. Even though Yamini didn’t understand the Jogra dialect, she knew that the verses invoked prosperity, protection, and abundance.
Yamini watched the performance as her own feet began tapping slightly under her pheran.
The Rouf dance concluded with loud applause.
