The rains had subsided into a persistent drizzle, veiling Kharwa in a misty shroud that softened the harsh edges of the village landscape. Muddy paths squelched underfoot, and the air hung heavy with the earthy petrichor, mingled with the faint bloom of jasmine from overgrown vines clinging to the haveli's walls. Inside, life pulsed with its own rhythms—Aarohi, now several months into her pregnancy, moved with a deliberate grace, her belly a gentle curve that drew whispers from the servants and approving nods from Durga Devi. The old woman had softened slightly toward her daughter-in-law since the news of the heir, offering unsolicited advice on herbal teas and auspicious foods. "Eat more ghee, bahu. It makes the child strong like his father," she would say, her voice a gravelly mix of command and care.
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