Tera Mera Saath Rahe ~ Gosham, Mithila FF ~ Chapter 14 pg 6 - Page 6

Originally posted by: coderlady

chapter 11

Was this what Mithila would have wanted? To sacrifice herself? Maybe because it is the right thing to do? But is it?

@bold - Mithila wants Gopika to follow dharma but Gopika is getting emotionally manipulated by Ashi and Ramila and is thinking that her dharma is to protect her cousin sister Ashi's happiness.

So in reality, sacrificing herself is not actually what Mithila wanted her to do.

Chapter 14 (Whispers of Truth)

The Morning After

The sun rose over the Modi mansion, but for Gopika, everything felt dim.

She moved through the house like a ghost, her hand brushing her belly absentmindedly. The truth was sealed inside her like a secret too sacred and too dangerous to speak.

Saksham, meanwhile, woke with a dull ache in his chest that no amount of logic could explain. He should have felt triumphant—he was engaged, the wedding preparations were in full swing, and his mother was finally happy.

And yet, his thoughts kept circling back to the moment during the engagement—The trembling of his hand. The way the chunri had flown to Gopika. The way her face had turned pale just moments later.

And that flicker in her eyes—fear? Guilt? Something deeper?

He caught sight of her that morning across the corridor. She avoided his gaze.

His brow furrowed. "Something's wrong," he muttered to himself. And for the first time in weeks, his heart beat faster—not for Ashi, but for Gopika.

Pre-Wedding Ritual 1: Mandap Mahurat

The Modis gathered to perform the Mandap Mahurat, the auspicious beginning of the wedding rituals. A priest chanted mantras, the family gathered around a sacred fire. Ashi sat beside Saksham, glowing in a lemon yellow lehenga, her smile wide for the cameras.

But it was Gopika, standing behind the crowd, whom Saksham's eyes kept seeking.

As Minal poured the ghee into the havan, the flames leapt high—too high.

The priest paused, startled.
He looked at Saksham and said gently,

"It seems Vishnu himself is giving his blessings. But the flame recognizes the truth. The couple who shares destiny is not always the one seated before the fire."

The words struck a nerve. Saksham looked at Gopika. Their eyes met—fleeting, loaded with meaning. She quickly looked down.

And then—she saw her.

Mithila.

Standing a few feet away, calm amidst chaos, dressed in white with a serene expression. No one else seemed to notice her.

Gopika's lips parted in disbelief.

Mithila smiled, her voice echoing softly within Gopika's mind.

Mithila (gently):
"Even fire cannot lie, Gopika. It rises toward truth, even when truth hides in silence. Let your heart hear what your mind cannot yet say."

And just as quietly, Mithila stepped back into the crowd—unseen, untouched, gone.

Pre-Wedding Ritual 2: Pithi Ceremony

The courtyard of the Modi house had transformed into a vibrant canvas of marigolds and mango leaves. Laughter echoed under the yellow and white canopy as women sang traditional songs, clapping in rhythm. At the center of it all sat Ashi, dressed in a shimmering yellow silk saree, adorned with floral jewelry, her cheeks glowing with excitement.

She giggled playfully, dodging the elders as they tried to smear haldi on her cheeks. "No, not on my nose!" she squealed, laughing as someone succeeded anyway.

Bowls of turmeric paste were passed around in silver thalis. Gopika stood quietly on the sidelines, managing the arrangements—handing towels, refilling bowls, smoothing creased dupattas. Her presence was like a silent thread holding the celebration together.

Ramila hovered nearby, keeping a close watch on Gopika. Meanwhile, Minal picked up a bowl of haldi to apply to Ashi, but just as she stepped forward, her hand slipped.

The bowl tilted. A splash of golden haldi flew through the air—and landed squarely on Gopika's dupatta.

Gasps rippled through the gathering.

Ashi's laughter halted. Ramila stiffened. Minal froze in horror.

The yellow stain bloomed on Gopika's pale pink dupatta like a flower unfolding—bright, jarring, impossible to ignore.

And again—Mithila appeared.

Standing beside Gopika, her expression calm.

Mithila (whispering):
"Fate has a way of marking whom it chooses. Even haldi cannot miss its path. What is written cannot be washed away, Gopika."

Gopika's eyes widened, but she said nothing. She simply looked down and clutched the edge of the fabric.

Saksham, standing at a distance, caught the scene. His gaze was fixed—not on Ashi, not on the rituals—but on Gopika. His jaw clenched, his expression unreadable.

Ramila chuckled nervously, breaking the silence. "Arre, these slippery bowls! Happens in every ceremony," she said, rushing to wipe the mess with a towel.

But even as the laughter resumed, the air remained heavy.

Gopika walked quietly to the other end of the room to fetch fresh haldi. As she passed by Saksham, the silver bowl in her hands trembled slightly. A smear of turmeric paste slipped over the edge—and landed gently on the tip of his polished shoe.

There was a collective pause again. It was almost ridiculous now—like fate was misbehaving.

Before anyone could speak, a small bird fluttered in through the open window and perched atop the wooden archway, chirping continuously but refusing to leave.

The family priest leaned toward Chirag and whispered softly,
"When turmeric touches the groom first... it is believed that the marriage's fate shifts toward the one it came from."

Ramila immediately laughed it off.
"Bas bas, don't listen to these superstitions!" she said, bending down to clean Saksham's shoe.
"Gopika is just clumsy today."

But Saksham didn't laugh. He didn't move. His eyes were still on Gopika.

And in that fleeting moment before she turned away, he thought he saw it—an unmistakable shimmer in her eyes.

Tears.

She blinked quickly, straightened her back, and carried the bowl toward Ashi again—her movements steady, but her hands slightly trembling.

As she turned, she caught a glimpse of Mithila's reflection in a nearby brass plate—smiling.

Something had shifted.

And only Gopika and Saksham could feel it.

Pre-Wedding Ritual 3: Mehendi Ceremony

The courtyard of the Modi Mansion bloomed in color and music as the Mehendi function began. Laughter floated in the air, the scent of jasmine mingled with henna, and women in bright lehengas clapped to dhol beats.

The mehendi artist sat cross-legged before Ashi, carefully tracing intricate bridal patterns on her hands. Ashi, dressed like royalty in a lime-green lehenga, smiled widely for selfies, basking in the attention.

The artist teased, "Whose name should I hide in the design, Ashi?"

"Obviously Saksham's!" Ashi giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Not far away, Gopika sat quietly on a low stool, helping organize trays of bangles and sweets. Her hands were already stained from mixing the henna paste earlier, her dupatta tucked at her waist. She hadn't planned to apply mehendi herself—this wasn't her celebration. She kept her head low, avoiding Saksham's gaze.

But he noticed her.

From under the wedding canopy, Saksham's eyes kept drifting toward her—unconsciously, unwillingly, yet inevitably.

Just then, little Meenu darted through the guests and tugged on Gopika's sleeve. "Gopika didi! You didn't put any mehendi! Come on, draw something—just a little flower!"

Gopika hesitated. But Meenu's mischievous smile was hard to refuse.

She picked up the cone and began tracing slowly—habit guiding her hand more than intention. A vine bloomed. A lotus unfurled. A peacock curved its neck gracefully.

And then...

S
A
K
S
H
A
M

She froze.

"What?" she whispered, her voice dry.

Meenu gasped. "Didi! You wrote Saksham!"

Gopika stared at her palm in horror. The name stood out, clear and unmistakable, nestled among vines and paisleys. Her heart thundered. She hadn't meant to. She didn't even remember thinking of him while drawing.

Across the courtyard, as if drawn by fate, Saksham's gaze locked with hers.

He had seen.

For a moment—just a moment—his carefully masked expression cracked. Confusion flickered across his face. Then came a flicker of recognition. Then pain. He looked away quickly, but his silence grew heavier.

A soft voice stirred behind Gopika. She turned.

Mithila.
Her presence as calm as ever.

Mithila (smiling):
"The hand writes what the heart knows. Names written in love don't fade, Gopika. They deepen, like mehendi on a destined bride's palm."

To break the tension, Chirag clapped his hand on Saksham's shoulder and laughed. "Bhai, come on! Let's see your mehendi too!"

Before Saksham could protest, Chirag grabbed a bit of leftover paste and playfully smeared it across Saksham's palm.

"Let's see whose name appears on your fate line!"

Everyone laughed.

But as the paste dried and the reddish tint appeared, a single letter surfaced—clear and bright.

G.

Pre-Wedding Ritual 4: Sangeet Night

The house shimmered with lights and gold. Music floated through the air, playful and intoxicating. Guests swayed and spun, laughter rising like incense.

Ashi prepared a grand performance, flanked by backup dancers and full of practiced grace.

Gopika stood quietly with a few women near the back, clapping along. Her dupatta slipped, and she adjusted it, already feeling a dull pull low in her abdomen.

Baa spotted her and beamed, nudging her forward.
"Come on, dikri! Just a few steps of garba—what's a sangeet without our shy bride-to-be's sister dancing?"

Gopika hesitated.
Then, with a gentle smile, she stepped into the circle.

The music swelled.

She twirled once, twice—her anklets chiming. But on the third spin, her breath caught. A flutter of dizziness. Her hand instinctively brushed her lower belly. She slowed, faltered.

Just then, the spotlight—meant for Ashi—tilted, landing squarely on Gopika.

A guest chuckled, "Even the lights know who the real star is."

Laughter rippled through the courtyard.

Ashi froze mid-step, her smile strained. Saksham's gaze found Gopika through the crowd.
He watched, brows furrowed—noticing her sway, her effort to steady herself.
She looked up at him. Their eyes locked.

And suddenly—Mithila was there.

She stood near the threshold, haloed by string lights and moonlight, seen only by Gopika.

Mithila (softly):
"The world may clap for noise, but truth dances in silence. Even a single step taken from the heart carries the weight of destiny."

Gopika exhaled.

Instead of spinning, she folded her hands gracefully and began a slow, grounded movement—less performance, more prayer. Her gestures delicate, glowing with emotion rather than energy.

The music softened, sensing the shift.

Saksham clapped—not for Ashi's choreography. Not for spectacle.

But for Gopika—whose quiet grace had said more than a thousand beats ever could.

Saksham's Growing Turmoil

Later That Night – The Modi Mansion

The celebrations had died down. The house was still, blanketed in the hush that follows loud music and louder laughter. Most of the family had gone to bed. But for some, sleep was a distant thought.

Saksham's Room

Saksham sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the framed photo from the engagement. Ashi beamed, her face lit up with glee. His own smile looked... hollow.

He shifted his gaze to the corner of the picture—unintended, unnoticed—Gopika stood in the background. Caught mid-blink. One hand brushing her stomach. She looked lost. Fragile. Not sick... but not whole either.

His hand reached for his drawer, half-unaware of what he was doing. Out came the torn corner of a sketch of a jewelry design—the one that had caught his eye weeks ago, the one with strokes so delicate, so full of heart. Back then, he hadn't known the artist. Now he did.

His fingers brushed the paper. Something inside him clicked. A sharp sting of truth, still unformed, pricked at the edges of his heart.

"Why do I feel like I'm betraying someone?" he muttered, breath catching.

In the next moment, he was on his feet, slipping out of the room with a quiet urgency.

The Terrace

The wind carried a gentle chill as it whispered through the plants lining the terrace. The fairy lights from below barely reached up here, but the moonlight was kind.

Gopika stood alone, arms wrapped around herself, her dupatta fluttering in the breeze. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her—not until—

"Gopika."

She turned, startled. "Saksham ji..."

"You danced beautifully," he said gently.

She looked away, eyes still glossy from moments earlier.

"I didn't dance much."

"Sometimes," he replied, watching her closely, "not doing much says the most."

They stood in silence, the space between them heavy with unspoken thoughts and lingering breaths.

"You seemed... tired tonight."

She nodded faintly. "It was a long day."

"Take care of yourself," he said softly. "Whether anyone's watching or not."

She looked at him then—really looked—and gave the faintest smile.

One that trembled at the edges.

One that didn't need words.

"I will."

He turned to leave... then stopped a few feet away, breath uneven, words tumbling inside him like a wave gathering force. "I need to ask you something. And I want the truth."

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Only her eyes—wide, uncertain—spoke volumes.

He stepped closer, his voice low.

"Are you okay?" Then again, softer, more seriously—"That day of the engagement... you looked like you were going to faint."

"I'm fine," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"You're not," he said, firmer now. "And ever since then—these rituals, this week... Gopika, something's not right. I feel it. I see it. You—something's happened."

She looked away, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered near her stomach.

"I can't tell you," she whispered.

He froze. "Why not?"

"Because it would change everything," she murmured. "And I don't want to ruin your happiness."

His brows furrowed. "Then don't lie to protect me," he said, almost desperate. "I can handle the truth."

She blinked back the moisture rising in her eyes. Her silence said more than any confession.

Behind her—where she couldn't see, but where the moonlight carved soft edges—a familiar silhouette emerged.

Mithila.

Watching. Waiting. Knowing.

And somewhere between the unsaid and the almost-said, the wind picked up again—like a divine whisper echoing the truth neither of them dared speak aloud.

Saksham exhaled.

He could see she wasn't ready. Not yet. And maybe... he wasn't either.

Without asking for an answer, he turned and walked away.

Leaving her standing under the sky, her hand still resting gently over the life she wasn't ready to name.

And behind her, Mithila's presence faded once more into the shadows—calm, quiet, waiting for destiny to catch up.

-------

To be continued.

Mithila's message has not completely made its mark on Gopika. She is reminding her that she is the one. Gopika needs to watch the signs and take charge.

Mithila is really trying. She keeps appearing to convince Gopika. But Gopika is still in sacrifice mode.

I hope destiny does catch up. Gopiks is not budging from her position. Something will have to push her hard.