Balwant went over to the steel almirah at the corner and opening the door first and locker next, he searched for the ornaments he wanted the bride to wear. When he had finished making his choice, these were what lay on the center table beside the almirah. Matasari looked at them curiously.
An exquisite diamond studded naath (nose-ring)
A gold maang tikka (head ornament) fit for any royal family
A pair of golden earrings
Twelve pair of bangles.
A silver payal (anklets) with the chain designed in the shape of small bells that would dingle when there was any movement of the wearer’s feet.
A flat square box lay beside these ornaments, but Matasari didn’t know the contents and looked with curiosity at Balwant.
Most of the items belonged to Sonam’s mother-in-law excepting whatever lay hidden inside the box. Matasari opened the box and a few glances made it clear to the priestess what it was. But, as the ornament was not new, she looked at Balwant, wanting to know more about its past.
Balwant clarified that it was a few generations old, having been handed over to the eldest son of each generation who, in turn, would clamp it on his wife. But this was just an ornamental piece as he neither made his wife wear it when she was alive, nor had he heard of it being used a generation earlier. For, as far as he knew, neither did his father make his mother wear it. And, he himself, didn’t hand it over to Rajesh.
Sonam looked at it with a lot of curiosity, unable to fathom what or where this ornament was to be worn by a woman. She wanted to know about it too.
“Balwant, it’s wise that you have kept this special ornament for Sonam. It is necessary for her to wear it. Her beauty is such that her intimate womanhood should be secured! I have decided that I’ll lock this on the sweet bahu and then give the key to you, at least as a token gesture for protection.” Matasari said and then went on to say, “I am taking these to Sonam’s room to get her ready. Excepting the ‘mangalsutra’, which only you can put around your wife’s neck.”
“Very true Mataji. It would be a token piece of ornament, as a part of tonight’s bridal ornaments. She needn’t wear it after the wedding,” Balwant said.
Sonam kept on looking at the ornament but no one seemed to remove his ignorance.
“What is it?” She asked when she had lost patience.
“You’ll know when you wear it,” Matasari laughed.
She took all the items excepting the mangalsutra and went away to the adjoining room. Just at the door she stopped and turned.
“Balwant, I have to tell you that in this gandharva marriage, even the priest or priestess has to be just as naked at the time of marriage. So, you should not feel awkward when I come through this door with the bride.”
She left the room, but her words were exciting for Balwant.
It took about fifteen minutes for the young bride to be ready. She was naked excepting for the ornaments that she was now wearing. All but the chastity belt which turned out to be a beautiful ornament. It was very smooth underneath and touched the yoni (vagina) lips so that there was less than a few millimetres between the gold ornament and the naked skin and lips of Sonam’s yoni. The top of this piece was attached to the waistband, also made of gold, with a little lock connecting the waist band to the one that covered the yoni.
“You know what this is called Sonam?” asked Matasari.
“No, Mataji,” said Sonam apologetically.
“Hmmm. Well, this is called a ‘yoni-sutra’ and is just as important as the mangal sutra that a bride will wear on the wedding night. Come, let me take off the mangal sutra that Rajesh had given you.” She uttered a few mantras silently and then took off the ornament that had bound Sonam to Rajesh. So, while Sonam wore many wedding ornaments, she didn’t have a mangalsutra around her neck now.
“You are now free to wed whom you love so much, the real ‘mard’ in your life, your beloved babuji,” Matasari said. Then, she stood away and looked at Sonam in the eyes.
“Sonam dear, I told something to Balwant outside, which I’ll now tell you. But you must not feel bad about it. Can you promise that?” Matasari said.
“You can tell me without hesitation,” Sonam assured her.
“Your Mataji too has to become naked now to complete the entire process of your marriage,” the priestess said, “so don’t be shocked or feel uneasy. It is a part of the ritual.”
She quickly started taking off her dress, one after the other. Sonam stared in disbelief as Matasari stood stark naked in front of her. Sonam’s eyes ran over her body once before she looked away. But in that short look-over, she got a glimpse of thick bush of public hair. Her armpits too, unlike Sonam’s, was dense. Her breasts were certainly a 36D if she was not mistaken, and Mataji’s butt possibly 38. But there could be no doubt that there was absolutely no fat on her body whatsoever for she had a flat waist. She had a stunning, curvaceous, desirable body mainly because she was a working girl.
Matasari held Sonam’s soft hands and smiled. There was already a growing bond between her and Sonam, and both knew that they would become more than close to one another after the wedding. They walked up to the door, and pushing it aside, walked into Balwant’s bedroom where he stood beside the bed, like a groom. Only, this groom was stark naked, just as naked as the two women who entered holding each other’s hand.
The naked Balwant gaped. True he had heard Matasari telling him that the priestess would also have to be naked and so would the marrying couple, but Balwant was not fully prepared for what he saw just then.
Sonam and Matasari had both entered the room and both were bereft of any clothes. Excepting for Sonam, who wore the wedding ornaments.
Mentally, Balwant’s mind worked fast to find the differences between the two who stood before him.
He stared at the golden ‘choot-sutra’ that covered Sonam’s vagina, but she knew that it was bald. It didn’t escape his eyes, however, that Matasari had a thick, bushy one. So was the difference in their armpits, with Matasari retaining hers while Sonam’s was clean.
Balwant’s eyes continued with the comparisons.
Sonam had a very fair complexion while Matasari’s was dark and dusky. There was an element of looseness in Sonam’s body, possibly due to the childbirth a few months back. But Matasari had a tight and taut body with exaggerated curves that stood out. Her breasts were certainly bigger than Sonam’s, but they were tight, taut and pointed. The fairer woman’s areola was light brown where as Matasari’s was dark. The size in their nipples varied. Both, however, had very long hair but the texture was different. Matasari’s was coarse and curly while Sonam’s was smooth and silky.
Balwant’s eyes traversed back to Sonam as he looked at her intently. She looked stunning as she stood coyly, wearing just the ornaments that he had handed over to Matasari on her naked body. All, yes all, including the ‘chut-sutra’. But she was without that one ornament that would make her his wife. Balwant had kept the ‘mangalsutra’ aside and had decided that, at the right moment, he would put it around Sonam’s neck. But not now.
At this point, Matasari went to the corner of the room and, from a packet on a table, she took out two, thick, flower garlands.
“Gandharva Vivah does not require any utterances of rigid ‘mantras’ like in prayers. Its sanctity is in its consummation,” said Matasari solemnly, “but there will be some expressions of intention and some performances that will lead to that heavenly union.”
Matasari gave them the garlands and told them to put them around each other’s neck.
Both Balwant and Sonam, out of enormous joy and happiness, placed their garlands around the other.
Once this was done, at Matasari’s guidance, they uttered these lovely words to accept one another. It was surprisingly refreshing to hear, and they wondered how and where Matasari had learnt such vows. Their hearts were filled when they uttered these words.
Balwant: “O!, lovely lady, I seek you and only you, to love, to experience all the seasons and pleasures of life. O! my lovely lady, I take this step with you to experience every season of life. I shall plant my seeds in your womb so that you deliver the children that I desire. To raise a family of our own. Be my wife for ever.”
Sonam: “Feeling one with you, with your consent, I will be the means of your enjoyment of all the senses. Through life’s seasons, I will cherish you in my heart. I will worship you and seek to complete you. And I shall bear your children through your fertile seeds. Take me as your wife for ever.”
Uttering these words, they felt drawn to each other more than ever. Yet, Matasari still had some rituals in mind that she wanted to be completed.
“Balwant, abhi thori si sindoor Sonam ki maang me bhar do. Thori si tikka uthao aar wahan pe lagao, (Balwant, now take a little vermillion and spread it on the partition of her hair. Just lift her tikka and apply on the spot where it was placed.)” Matasari’s voice was now mellowed and soft.
Balwant did as was told but he applied quite a bit and Sonam looked every inch as a new and young bride.
“Now for the final part, before I declare you husband and wife,” Matasari said softly. There was a lot of passion in Matasari’s voice when she spoke again with a shaking voice.
“I know both of you are passionately in love with each other and you are very eager to be wedded. But these rituals must be completed, and in my presence. This is essential.” She said authoritatively.
“Milk, as you know, is used as an offering in many of our prayers. Sonam, don’t feel shy, but there is a small ritual that requires use of woman’s milk. You will have to bend and squeeze your breasts to apply your milk on Balwant’s lund. The significance is that you crave and long for his lund to give you babies, so that you can generate more milk for them,” Matasari said.
Beyond the knowledge of Balwant and Sonam, much of these rituals declared by Matasari were framed by herself. She longed to witness these acts between them in her perverted mind, for these were giving her some unique pleasure. She was bereft of sex for long, for months in fact, as her husband was back in their village and she hadn’t been able to take leave from this family for a visit. A perverted and kinky mind could frame as many of such eye-popping rituals that would satiate her senses.
Sonam’s face was flushed. But Balwant goaded her and she knew she had to comply, and that too in the presence of Matasari. Holding Balwant’s swaying organ, she bent her body and placing her nipples over the black cock, pressed them to pour milk on it by squeezing both the breasts together. Then, with her soft and delicate hands, she rubbed the lund, applying the milk all over the lengthy shaft. When that was done, she looked at Matasari in askance.
“The final ritual now …there is this ritual of the man’s lips on the woman’s yoni, of brushing his lips greedily and showing his craving for the yoni. He must show his desire, his want for his bride. Sonam would do the same with his lingam, her lips must be very wet with the man’s oozing juices. She too must show how hungry she is, how much she lusts for the lund.” Matasari described what was to be followed.
The couple looked at each other before Matasari went on with her description of the ritual.
“Then, when your lips are moist and glossy, you two will kiss and kiss passionately. The sticky kiss between you two make you pati(husband) and patni(wife) wedded in true marriage, but that has then to be consummated on this bed. And I, as your priestess, shall have to witness that before I can declare you two as wedded.” Matasari completed whatever she had to say in one breath.
Every act that Matasari wished to savour she could get so easily by asking them of the couple in her role as a priestess. In their eagerness to be united in secret wedlock, they were complying every ritual and direction to the hilt.
“And remember Balwant, you must put a mangalsutra around her neck before you are allowed to get up on bed for the consummation,” Matasari said seriously.
Both Balwant and Sonam knew what they had to do. They were now keen for the final act of their union, wanted to be tied together in the sacred bond of marriage.
It was first Balwant who initiated the last ritual. He got down on his knees before Sonam and, unlocked the choot-sutra (chastity belt) with the key that he had. He stretched his hands and handed the ornament to Matasari to put it away.
Without further delay, Balwant parted Sonam’s thighs so that her yoni was clearly visible to his eyes and he gaped at it. She was already in heat and the wetness was clearly visible. Balwant inhaled the sweet aroma of her juices before he placed his tongue hungrily on the vulva, parting the lips of the pussy with his thick fingers. He was now engrossed in a ferocious licking, the likes of which Sonam had never seen nor felt before. His lips, his mouth and even most of his cheeks were wet with the juices that escaped from Sonam’s sweet pussy. He stood up.
It was now Sonam’s turn to moisten her lips. Looking at Balwant, she slowly knelt before the man. She held the lund and smelt it deeply for a few moments, moaning for a while. Her tongue was out as she played with the tip of the cock, parting the foreskin to draw out the rawness inside. The sheer sensuality of the tongue swirling and teasing the lund made Balwant shake in pleasure and, even in Sonam’s grip, it throbbed insanely.
Sonam brought it out of her mouth and, holding it within her palm, ran her hand up and down rapidly, making it ooze unrestrained. In moments, the entire length was wet with its own sticky juices. The young girl rubbed her lips on the juice, sometimes holding it against her cheeks as if it was something very dear to her. She placed the tip on her lips again and again, applying the man’s precum till her rosy lips were drenched in the sticky juice of the manly lund. She could smell a bit of her own pee on the cock which had been bathed in it, but that only gave it more desirable. Then, in the end, she got up slowly and stood before her husband to be.
Balwant put his arms around her butt and almost lifted the sexy bride easily with sheer strength. He drew her into him while Sonam put her arms around his neck. Then they kissed lovingly and passionately, their lips not willing to separate.
“I love you Bahu, you are my wife … mine, only mine,” Balwant said.
“I love you also, my dearest, my husband. I am yours and only yours,” Sonam said in all sincerity.
At this stage Balwant stretched a hand and, from underneath the pillows on the bed, took out an ornamental box. He had kept this hidden when Matasari and Sonam were in the other bedroom.
Opening the box, the man took out an exquisite mangalsutra, too beautiful to describe, eager to put it around the bride’s neck.
Balwant looked at his bride once again, so shy in her demeanour, and yet doing each step of their wedding with grace and love. The sheer act of putting on the mangalsutra would mean a culmination of their wedding. Yet this was ‘gandhara vivah’ that mandated copulation of man and woman in front of a witness. A union of body, mind and soul that would bring the essence of wedlock, the urge to procreate and bring to life a new being. One they would love and cherish as their own.
“This mangalsutra belongs to the family and you, my wife, deserve this around your delicate, slender, beautiful neck. And let the pendant, a symbol of my love for you, lie on those shapely, warm, cosy breasts of my lovely wife,” Balwant’s voice had a mix of everything – love, care, sincerity, expectation and the desire for copulation.
Still holding his bahu in his arms with their naked bodies touching each other. The mangalsutra was now hanging deep into Sonam’s chest and down onto her cleavage and brushing her ample breasts. The pair jumped and swayed with every step that she took. Balwant’s dark lund that was hard in anticipation, often brushing her thighs or her bald womanhood leaving a streak of his pre-cum wherever it touched.
Matasari, as their wedding priestess, stood by their sides, naked as a buck. Her pendulous breasts, with dark nipples gracing them, were heaving as she breathed. She was an object of desire in her own right. Matasari had been witnessing, helping and even facilitating much of their rituals so far. Many of these rituals between Balwant and Sonam had aroused her equally. Clearly this was evident in the manner of her hastened breath and the deep flush on her cheeks. Her nipples, somewhat hard now, rose and fell with her breath. Her thighs and legs brushed against each other, a clear manifestation of her deep lustful desires.
Sonam, in the meantime, was filled with a great sense of belonging to this family when Balwant had placed the ornament around her neck. She looked at what lay on her bosom, nestled proudly just above her cleavage. Beautiful in its design and carrying touches of aristocracy, to her it was priceless. As a traditional ornament it must have passed down a few generations, Sonam’s joy knew no boundaries and she felt proud that the patriarch had personally placed it around her neck.
While it should have logically come to her through her marriage with Rajesh yet, for some reason, the patriarch hadn’t parted with it at the time of her marriage to Balwant’s son and heir, two years back. Possibly, this towering man must have had memories of his beloved wife of thirty years that prevented him from parting with it. And yet, at this moment, Babuji hadn’t hesitated to give it to her when he himself wedded this young bride even if it was not a social one but the very secretive style of marriage through sexual union.
To her, it was obvious that Babuji had truly accepted her as his own bride, as his own loving and dear wife instead of what she was when she came into the family as the wife of his son Rajesh. And the final moment of wedlock and union for life had arrived.
Sonam’s face was still smeared with the juices of her elderly husband, her face revealing a young girl in utmost ecstasy and joy at being wedded to a man whom she now loved so deeply, much more than anyone else in her life. She dared and looked at the naked man who stood beside her, her eyes stealing glances at the throbbing black ‘lund’ that jumped up and down.
A little below the shaft she saw and admired the big, spherical sacks that was filled with rich, fertile seeds. These seeds she knew, would fill her womb shortly and she was eager. Sonam was impatient. She wanted to be impregnated that night itself.
Overwhelmed in both love and desire she longed to have her womb filled with these seeds and let nature take its own course so that she could bear a baby, Babuji’s baby, one born out of their intense love for each another. And nature herself had selected this day and night when, she knew, she would be the most fertile, when the egg in her womb would seek and be showered by the rich sperms of this very virile man and now her real husband.
“Kya aap dono tayaar hain? (Are you two prepared)?” It was Matasari who broke their reverie. The couple was more than eager to proceed with completion of the marriage that they had been waiting so eagerly.
The couple looked into each other’s eyes and then back at Matasari as they nodded their head.