In the green village of Siddhapur, where temple bells rang and fields swayed about, newly-wed Meera and Arjun were in a state of constant stress. Even though their marriage was arranged with blessings and rituals, it was a battleground, not a home.
"You forgot our anniversary," Meera snapped one evening, her voice as hard as ice.
Arjun, weary from work, barely looked up. "I was busy, Meera. Stop making everything about how you feel."
She slammed the kitchen door. "You don't care about me at all! I might as well be invisible."
He followed her, angry now. "And you think about nobody but yourself! Do you even know how much I work for us?"
Their quarrels echoed in the house — ever so loud, ever so unresolved.
One stormy evening, following a cruel bitterly fight, Meera ran away to the Durga temple, her eyes overflowing, her heart heavier than the clouds. She sat upon the stone steps, her body trembling.
Sitting near the altar was Vaidehi Amma, the village elder, stringing marigold flowers for morning puja. Renowned for her wisdom and serenity, she looked at Meera in silence.
She waited a moment, then asked, "What troubles you, child?"
Meera wept. "He does not love me. We quarrel, we hurt each other. I do not know if this marriage will survive."
Vaidehi nodded. "Most young couples start off the same way — boisterous hearts, shallow roots. You both yearn for love, but are too afraid to be seen."
"I want him to change," Meera spat.
Vaidehi smiled softly. "Change begins in understanding, not insisting."
She laid a garland gently in Meera's lap and said,
"THE THUMB RULE OF MARRIAGE Is This — DO NOT ENTER IT TO BE COMPLETED. BE WHOLE FIRST. LOVE IS NOT A POSSESSION TO HOLD, BUT A PRESENCE TO SHARE. LET GO OF CONTROL, AND LOVE WILL GROW."
Meera's eyes flew wide as the words sank in like summer rain on dry ground.
Meera returned home that night and found Arjun in the verandah. She silently placed a cup of chai in front of him and sat down without a word.
A minute or two thereafter, she said, "I don't want to fight anymore. I want us to attempt — not to win but to comprehend."
Arjun stared at her — really stared — for the first time in days. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know how to love without losing myself."
"I think we both forgot," Meera said, "that we're on the same side."
Little adjustments settled in from that night. Less screaming. More listening. Meera talked patiently. Arjun began to open up. They didn't become flawless — just honest, and here.
Years passed and they were sitting outside their house under the old banyan tree, watching the sun set as another newlywed couple strolled in, obviously upset. Again as Arjun and Meera settle for a chai at the their house entrance, they both them as their younger version.
the couple were get in an argument, "We quarrel too much," the girl said. "We love, but it seems hard."
Arjun grinned and looked at Meera. She nodded and addressed the couple.
"REMEMBER THIS," she said to them. "THE STRONGEST LOVE ISN'T WITHOUT FIGHTS. IT'S BUILT BY TWO WHO CHOOSE TO GROW TOGETHER, EVEN THROUGH STORMS. BE WHOLE ON YOUR OWN — THEN LOVE CAN TRULY BLOOM."
The two nodded and for one instant, all four of them remained frozen, as the banyan tree trembling above — its roots deep underground, but rooted in strong enough to weather any storm.
