01-06-2026, 08:35 PM
The Crimson Vow
---------------------
Anu's life was a meticulously curated performance, a delicate high-wire act she walked with the grace of a seasoned acrobat, each step calculated, each smile timed to the millisecond, each word weighed and measured before it left her lips. Beneath the silk and the sindoor, beneath the dutiful wife's lowered gaze, she concealed a self that dared not breathe, a woman who felt too much, wanted too much, dreamed of skies wider than the courtyard walls that contained her. Every morning she donned the costume, painted her face with propriety, and stepped onto the stage of her own existence, acutely aware that a single stumble, one misaligned pleat, one glance held too long, and the entire fortress would crumble, revealing the chaos she fought so hard to keep hidden from the world.The balancing act was a constant, exhausting dance.
To the world, Anu was perfection, an epitome of grace, the ideal wife, managing the household with an efficiency that left everyone in awe. And she played all her roles with a skill that was both her greatest strength and her most dangerous vulnerability. In the glass-walled office, she was successful executive, a woman whose calm demeanor her voice clear and confident, her mind sharp. In meetings, she sat at the head of the mahogany table, her voice measured and calm, her silk sarees never creased, her bindi always centered, her opinions delivered with such confidence that disagreements simply dissolved in her wake. No one saw her thumb trace restless patterns on her phone beneath the table. No one noticed how her eyes would occasionally drift to the window, searching the horizon for something she could not name. They saw only the performance..the grace, the poise, the unshakeable composure of a woman who had everything, and wanted for nothing.
"Aap apna dhyaan rakhiye.." Anu would say. (You take care of yourself..) "Main ghar ka khyaal rakhungi.." (I'll take care of the house..) As soon as the call ended, Gopal would walk into the room with her tea. He would place the cup on the table, his fingers brushing against hers.
But even here, Anu’s mind was never fully present. She would be chopping vegetables, her hands moving with practiced ease, while Anu's eyes would flick towards the door, waiting for Gopal to come in to mop the floor. Their eyes would meet for a fleeting second, a silent acknowledgment of the world they shared, a world that existed in the stolen glances and the brush of a hand.
"Aap ka kaam ho gaya?" she would ask, her voice now cool, detached. (Is your work done?). Gopal would just smirk, a silent promise in his eyes, and leave.
The house was a sprawling, silent kingdom, and Anu was its solitary queen. Her husband had left for another conference, his parting words a distracted, "Tum ho toh sab theek hai.." (With you here, everything is fine..) She had nodded, her smile a practiced curve of her lips, but her mind was already elsewhere, already with Gopal. This silence was Anu's sanctuary, a canvas for the triple life she painted with such meticulous care.
By day, Anu would sit in her glass-walled office, her voice calm and authoritative as she mediated disputes or outlined company policy. Her colleagues saw her as efficient, empathetic, and utterly professional. It was during one of her husband's long trips that the carefully constructed walls of her double life began to crumble. A severe fever, a merciless, bone-deep heat, left her weak and delirious. The sprawling house, usually her kingdom, became a cold, empty fortress. Anu was alone, truly alone, curled in a ball on her silk sheets, her body wracked with chills and pain. The world had shrunk to the four walls of her bedroom, a prison of her own vulnerability.
The fever came with the setting sun, a malevolent heat that bloomed in Anu's bones and stole her breath. It was a sudden, vicious thing, leaving her weak and trembling on the silk sheets of her marriage bed. Her husband was away, as he so often was, attending a conference in another city, a ghost in a hotel room hundreds of miles away, completely unaware that his wife was burning. She was alone, truly and terrifyingly alone, the grand, ornate room feeling like a gilded cage designed to watch her perish.
The world swam in a hazy, fevered blur, the ornate patterns on the ceiling twisting into mocking faces. Anu closed her eyes, sinking into a delirium where past and present merged, where Gopal's face and her husband's face swirled together in a confusing, terrifying dance.
The door creaked open. Through the haze, she saw a silhouette. Not a uniformed servant, but a man whose very presence commanded the shadows. Gopal.. He had come to deliver her evening tea, a simple task, but his eyes, sharp and perceptive, had taken in the scene instantly: the untouched tray, the sheen of sweat on her brow, the way she was curled in on herself like a wounded animal.
Gopal didn't hesitate. He didn't call for others. He strode to her side, the teacup forgotten on a table. The cool, calloused back of his hand pressed against her burning forehead, and the contrast was so profound it jolted her back to a sliver of consciousness.
"Anu!" His voice was sharp with alarm, but it was the alarm of a man who cared, not a servant performing his duty. "Yeh sab kya hai? Aapko bahut bukhar hai.." (What is all this? You have a very high fever..)
Gopal became her anchor in the storm of her delirium. While another's might have fetched the doctor and retreated, Gopal became her sanctuary. He sat by her bed, his presence a solid, unwavering force against the waves of sickness. He dampened a cloth in cool water and gently wiped her face, his touch infinitely tender. Gopal forced sips of water between her cracked lips, murmuring encouragement when she tried to turn away.
Anu's mind drifted, and she began to mutter, lost in the fever. "Pati..Mera pati..Aaye the...Shaadi ki raat.." (Husband..My husband..He had come..The wedding night..)
Gopal's hand stilled on her forehead. Gopal knew she was talking about the man whose name was on the marriage certificate, the man who was supposed to be here, caring for her. A dark, possessive fire flickered in his eyes, but his voice remained a gentle balm, cutting through the fog in her mind.
"Koi baat nahi, Anu. Main hoon na." (It's okay, Anu. I'm here.) He said it again and again, a litany of reassurance that was more potent than any medicine. "Woh nahi hai, toh kya hua? Main aapko chhod ke nahi jaunga.." (He isn't here, so what? I will not leave you..)
Gopal stayed with her through the long, terrifying night. He adjusted the blankets when she shivered, then removed them when the heat surged again. He spoke to her in low, soothing tones, telling her stories of his childhood, of the village he came from, anything to keep her grounded to the sound of his voice. In the depths of her delirium, she reached out a trembling hand, searching for him. He caught it in his, lacing their fingers together, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a soft, fervent kiss to her knuckles.
"Main hoon na..” he whispered against her skin. "Hamesha.." (I'm here..Always..)
Gopal had made her khichdi, not the bland, tasteless porridge one makes for the sick, but a simple, comforting dish, fragrant with ghee and cumin. He fed her small spoonfuls, his touch infinitely gentle, his eyes filled with a concern that was so raw, so genuine, it shattered something deep within her. Gopal stayed up all night, not out of duty, but out of a fierce, protective instinct. He checked on her, changed her cool compress, and wiped her brow with a damp cloth, his movements sure and tender.
In the hazy hours before dawn, as Anu drifted in and out of consciousness, she saw it. It wasn't just the thrill of the forbidden, not just the hunger of their stolen moments. It was care. It was a selfless, unwavering devotion. It was love. And in that moment of absolute vulnerability, Anu realized she loved him too.
As the first grey light of dawn seeped into the room, the fever finally began to break. Anu's breathing evened out, her skin cooling under his touch. She opened her eyes, and they were clear for the first time in hours. Anu saw him, slumped in the chair beside her, his head resting on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand. He had not slept. He had not left her side for a single moment.
Anu gently squeezed his hand. Gopal’s eyes flew open, immediately alert.
"Gopal," she whispered, her voice hoarse but full of a dawning, breathtaking realization. "Aap..Aap Yahi The.." (You..You Were Here..)
"Jahan aap ho, wahan main hoon, Anu.." (Wherever you are, there I am, Anu..) He leaned forward, his eyes scanning her face with a fierce, protective tenderness. "Ab theek ho?" (Are you okay now?)
Anu nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her temple. It wasn't a tear of sickness, but of profound, soul-shattering clarity. Her husband was a name on a document, a presence that was absent when she needed him most. The man who was supposed to be her duty was her neglect. But this man, her servant.. he was her reality. Gopal was her sanctuary.
This realization was a seismic shift, a tectonic plate moving deep within her soul. The stolen moments, the frantic couplings in the shadows, were no longer enough. They were like scraps from a feast, and she now craved the entire banquet. She wanted more. She wanted all of him. The idea of a secret marriage, once a wild, audacious thought, now became a necessity, an obsession. It was the only way to bridge the chasm between their two worlds, the only way to make their forbidden love legitimate, at least in their own hearts.
One evening, a few days after she had recovered, he was leaving her room after a quiet, tender encounter. The air was still thick with the unspoken words of her illness. She stopped him, her hand on his arm. "Gopal," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, not with fear, but with the weight of her decision.
"Gopal, Kal ek kaam karna.." (Gopal, do something for me tomorrow.) He turned to face her, his eyes questioning. "Kya?" (What?) Anu took a deep breath, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Ek mangalsutra le aana..aur sindoor.." (Bring a mangalsutra... and vermillion..) Gopal looked at her, his eyes searching hers, and he understood. He saw the resolve in her gaze, the desperate plea for a permanence that only he could give her. Gopal didn't speak, he simply nodded, a silent, sacred promise passing between them.
The house was a cavern of silence, each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway a hammer blow against Anu's ribs. Anu’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm, a trapped bird desperate for escape. Was she insane? Was she about to shatter the very foundation of her dharma? The diamond mangalsutra around her neck felt like a leaden accusation, a brand of a life she was about to betray. Yet, beneath the terror, a fierce, unyielding determination flowed. This was not a choice; it was a necessity.
Before Gopal came, there was one last ritual she had to perform alone. She stood before the large, ornate mirror in her bedroom, her reflection a stranger she was about to shed.
Anu’s mind was a battlefield. 'Yeh galat hai..Yeh paap hai..' (This is wrong..This is a sin..) A voice, the voice of her upbringing, her conscience, screamed at her. It spoke of her pati parmeshwar, her duty, the sanctity of the vows she had taken in front of the Agni.
But another voice, a newer, more insistent one, rose in defiance. 'Kya woh mera pati..hai jo mujhe bhoolta hai? Jo mujhe ek showpiece ki tarah rakhta hai?' (Is he my husband..who forgets me? Who keeps me like a showpiece?)
This voice spoke of Gopal's care, of the feverish night he had held her hand, of the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. The rigid lineage of Anu's life, the inherited code of honour and propriety, crumbled into dust. The absolute commandments she had lived by..the sacred vows of a wife, the unyielding rules of her station..blurred into a meaningless haze. The only thing that remained sharp, the only beacon in the suffocating darkness, was the searing, undeniable truth of her love for Gopal. And in this internal war, love didn't just win..it was the only army that had ever truly existed. It had to.
With a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers went to the clasp of the diamond mangalsutra. With a final, decisive click, Anu unhooked it. The moment it left her skin, a wave of something akin to grief washed over her, a mourning for the woman she was supposed to be. But it was quickly replaced by a dizzying sense of liberation. Anu placed the glittering, expensive thing in its velvet box, the lid closing with a soft, final click. It was the closing of a chapter. She then walked to her wardrobe, her steps purposeful.
Anu pushed past the elegant, pastel coloured sarees her husband preferred, her fingers searching for the one she had hidden. Anu pulled out a deep crimson silk, the colour of sindoor, of a new beginning. As she draped it around herself, the cool fabric a whisper against her skin, she felt a transformation taking place. Anu wasn't just changing clothes..she was shedding a skin, preparing herself not just for a night of passion, but for a marriage, a rebirth.
Gopal came to Anu's room..in his hand was a small, discreet bag. It was their future, their sin, their salvation. Gopal looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "Kya tum sure ho?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. (Are you sure?) Anu didn't answer with words. She simply took his hand, her own clammy and trembling, and placed it over her heart, letting him feel the wild, desperate rhythm of it..a drumbeat of rebellion against a life she had never chosen.
"Haan, Gopal..Kabhi nahi jitni aaj.." (Yes, Gopal..Never as much as today..) Anu’s voice was a fragile thread, but it held the unbreakable steel of her conviction. It was the answer to a question he hadn't even needed to ask.
Anu led him, not to bedroom, but to the puja room, the very soul of the house, the sanctum where her duty had always been performed. Tonight, it would witness her liberation. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sandalwood and stale devotion. The flickering oil lamps cast a warm, intimate glow on his face, illuminating the fierce, vulnerable hope in his eyes. Gopal stopped before the idols of gods she had long since stopped believing in and turned to her, his voice thick with an emotion that bordered on pain.
"Meri patni banogi?" (You will become my wife?) The question hung in the sacred air, a blasphemy and a prayer all at once.
"Haan, Gopal..Sirf tumhari.." (Yes, Gopal..Only yours..) The words were not just a vow..they were a declaration of war against the world, and a surrender to the only heaven she had ever known.
From a small, worn cloth bag, he took a simple, black-beaded mangalsutra. It was not the expensive, diamond-studded one her husband had tied around her neck. This was real. "Meri Anu.." (My Anu..) Gopal whispered, his voice cracking as he reached around her neck. His fingers, usually so sure, fumbled with the clasp. The black beads felt cool and heavy against her burning skin, a tangible anchor in the storm of her emotions, a weight of truth she was more than willing to bear.
Then, Gopal took a small container of red sindoor. He looked at her, his eyes asking for one final permission. Anu met his gaze without flinching, her head held high. "Meri patni." (My wife.) he whispered, the words a sacred chant as he gently filled the parting in her hair with the vermillion powder. It was not a gentle application; it was a branding, a mark of ownership that she welcomed with every fiber of her being. A searing heat bloomed at her scalp, a physical manifestation of the fire that had been burning between them for months.
As the red powder settled, a profound, emotional shift occurred within Anu. The world didn't just tilt; it shattered and reformed around this single, monumental act. The voices of her mother, the judgmental eyes of society, the hollow echo of her first marriage, the suffocating rules of her lineage..they all dissolved into an insignificant hum, like distant static. In their place was a deafening, sacred silence, a space where only one truth existed: she was his. A wave of emotion, so powerful it stole the air from her lungs and buckled her knees, washed over her. It was a mixture of earth-shattering relief, bone-deep reverence, and an overwhelming, all consuming love that felt more real than her own heartbeat.
Gopal caught her, pulling her against him, his arms the only pillars holding her up in this new, terrifying, beautiful world. Anu buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent, the scent of her home, her future. This was Anu's wedding..was her true 'phere'. The grand ceremony with her husband, the hundreds of guests, the sacred fire..it all felt like a distant, hollow play she had been forced to watch. This, here, in the quiet, conspiratorial glow of the puja room, with this man who didn't just want her body but coveted her soul, was the only reality that had ever mattered. She was no longer a possession or a duty. Anu was his.
Without a second thought, she did what every bride is taught to do, what every fiber of her new being demanded. Anu sank to her knees, the crimson silk of her saree pooling around her on the cool marble floor. She bent forward, her forehead touching the ground, hands outstretched in a gesture of complete surrender. Anu touched Gopal's feet..tears flowed freely now, not of sorrow, but of gratitude. They were tears of purification, washing away the last remnants of her old life.
Gopal froze, then bent quickly to lift her, his voice thick. "Utho, Anu..Yeh kya kar rahi ho?" (Get up, Anu..What are you doing?). Gopal guided her back, cradling her against his chest. She turned her face into his throat.
"Mujhe darr tha..ki main toot jaungi.." (I was afraid..that I would break..) she whispered. "Par tumne mujhe poora liya..bina tode..bina chhode.." (But you took me completely..without breaking me..without leaving me..)
Goapl's arm tightened around her. "Tumne mujhe sab kuch diya.." (You gave me everything..) he murmured against her hair. Anu smiled, "Yeh tha mera asli sindoor.." (This was my real vermilion..) she breathed. "
Jo mere pati ne diya..woh bas daag tha..par tumne mujhe asli roop mein liya.." (What my husband gave..that was just a mark..but you took me in my true form..) She pressed closer. "Ab main sirf tumhari hoon..poori tarah se.." (Now I am only yours..completely..)
"Aap meri patni ho..Pairo mein nahi, dil mein rehti ho." (You are my wife..You don't live at my feet, you live in my heart.) Gopal wiped her tears with his thumbs, his touch infinitely tender. He then did something that sealed their bond forever.
Gopal broke a small piece of the misri he had brought, a symbol of their new beginnings, and put it in her mouth. "Mithas ho jaaye hamari zindagi ki." (May our life be sweet.) Anu chewed the sweet crystal, her eyes locked with his, the simple act more intimate than any kiss they had ever shared.
"Yeh ansoo... kya khushi ke hain, ya darr ke?" Gopal asked, his voice soft. (These tears... are they of happiness, or of fear?)
"Dono," (Both) Anu whispered honestly. "Main khush hoon ki main aapki hoon..Aur dar rahi hoon ki hum kho na jaaye.." (I am happy that I am yours..And I am afraid that we might lose this..)
Gopal leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers, his breath warm on her face. "Khoenge nahi..Main tumhe kuchh bhi hone nahi dunga. Yeh mangalsutra... yeh sindoor...Yeh meri kasam hai.." (We won't lose it..I won't let anything happen to you. This mangalsutra... this sindoor..This is my vow..)
Anu's hand flew to her neck, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar, simple beads of the mangalsutra. It felt heavier, more real than the diamonds she had discarded. Gopal saw the gesture, and a low, possessive hum rumbled in his chest. He closed the small distance between them, his fingers brushing against her wrist.
"Dar rahi ho?" Gopal whispered, his voice a rough caress in the hushed corridor. (Are you afraid?) Anu stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide, luminous in the dim light. "Nahi," she breathed, the lie trembling on her lips. "Bas..yeh sab sach hai na? Sapna nahi hai?" (No..it's just..all this is real, isn't it? It's not a dream?)
Gopal's gaze was intense, burning with a fierce conviction that scorched her soul. He gently took her hand, his thumb stroking the pulse point at her wrist, a frantic, frantic beat. "Sach hai, Anu. Meri Anu," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Main hoon na. Yeh dekho." Gopal pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart. "Yeh... yeh sirf tumhare liye dhadakta hai.." (It's real, Anu..My Anu..I'm here. Look. This..this beats only for you..)
The steady, strong thrum of his heartbeat against her palm was an anchor in the storm of her emotions. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, Gopal's hand was there, his thumb gently catching it. They stood there for a long moment, suspended in time, the vast, empty house a silent witness to their sacred pact. The distance to her bedroom had never seemed so long, so fraught with peril. Every shadow held a pair of judging eyes, every creak of the old house sounded like an alarm.
"Chaliye.." (Let's go..) Anu said softly, her voice regaining a sliver of its strength. "Ab humara ghar intezaar kar raha hoga." (Our home is waiting now.). The word "Hamara" (Our..) hung in the air between them, a declaration, a new reality. Gopal nodded, his hand moving from her wrist to the small of her back, a touch that was both proprietary and protective. It was a gesture of a husband guiding his wife.
The hallway was quiet..Their footsteps barely registered on the thick carpet..hers quick and light, his heavier, deliberate. Anu walked ahead, her spine straight, her skin still sensitive from earlier, acutely aware that Gopal was no longer following at a servant's distance but right behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the shift of his breathing. It should have felt wrong, this proximity in the open corridor where anyone might see, but instead she felt oddly shielded, as if his presence alone had drawn a line around her that others could not cross.
But when Anu turned automatically toward her bedroom door, his hand settled gently on her elbow, redirecting her. "Nahin," (Not there,) he said softly, guiding her past the door to the large bay window at the corridor's end. The glass was cool against her palm as she stopped there, looking out at the moonlit garden below..the manicured lawn silvered by light, the tall tree casting long shadows across the grass.
"Wahan kyun?" Anu whispered, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. The bedroom was the destination, the expected culmination of this sacred, forbidden night. (Why there?) Gopal stopped her in the center of the moonlight, turning her to face him. He didn't answer immediately. He simply looked at her, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. Gopal raised a hand, his fingers hesitating for a second before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles brushed against her cheek, and she shivered, not from cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming intimacy of the gesture.
"Us kamre mein... woh hain," he said, his voice low and rough. "Uski yaadein hain. Uski cheezon ki mehak hai." (In that room... he is there. His memories are there. The scent of his things.) Gopal looked around the vast, silent hallway, a space he had only ever seen as a servant. "Aaj raat, hum naye shuruwat ki mehak se apne aap ko mahsoos karna chaahiye.." (Tonight, we should feel ourselves with the scent of a new beginning..)
Anu's heart clenched, a painful, beautiful ache. Gopal wasn't just taking her body; he was honouring her soul. He understood the ghosts that still lingered in the corners of her life, and he was giving her the space to exorcise them. Anu looked at the man standing before her, the man who had mopped these floors, who had served her tea, who was now her husband. The reality was staggering, a beautiful, impossible truth.
"Yeh ghar humara nahin hai, Anu.." (This house is not ours, Anu..) he said quietly, his thumb tracing her knuckle. "Kal subah tum wapas us duniya mein jaogi..main wapas apni jagah pe khada rahunga.." (Tomorrow morning you'll go back to that world..I'll stand back in my place..)
Gopal turned her gently to face him, the moonlight catching his eyes. "Lekin yeh raat..yeh chandni..yeh khushi..yeh vada..yeh sirf hamara hai. Koi isse cheen nahin sakta.." (But this night..this moonlight..this happiness..this promise..this is only ours. No one can take it..)
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his face into soft focus. They were not tears of fear or sorrow, but of something simpler..gratitude for a man who asked for nothing she could not give, who understood the boundaries of their stolen hours without her having to draw them. Anu had been a queen in a gilded cage, and he had just shown her that even prisoners could claim the sky.
Anu reached up, her hand trembling, and touched the sindoor in her hair. "Aapne... aapne yeh rakha hai," she whispered, her voice choked. "Yeh nishaan... yeh meri duniya hai." (You..you put this here..This mark..this is my world.)
"Meri duniya tum ho," Gopal corrected her gently, his voice a sacred vow. Anu took her hand, the one that had touched the sindoor, and brought it to his lips. Gopal didn't kiss her palm or her fingers. He pressed his lips firmly against the simple, black-beaded mangalsutra around her neck, a benediction, a seal on their covenant. The warmth of his kiss seared through the beads and into her skin, a brand more potent than any fire.
A sob escaped Anu's lips, a raw, broken sound of release. The carefully constructed walls of her composure crumbled, and she collapsed against him, burying her face in his chest. Gopal held her, his arms wrapping around her, not with passion, but with a fierce, unwavering strength. He was her anchor in the tempest of her own emotions. Gopal let her cry, his hand stroking her hair, murmuring her name over and over again, a litany of possession and comfort.
"Shhh..Main hoon na..Ro mat..Aaj raat sirf khushi ki hai.." (Shhh..I'm here..Don't cry..Tonight is only for happiness..) When her sobs subsided into quiet hiccups, she pulled back, her face streaked with tears but her eyes clear, shining with a new, fierce light. "Gopal," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread of steel. "Mujhe..mujhe apne pati ki tarah dekho.." (Gopal..look at me..as your wife..)
Gopal cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the last of her tears. "Main toh sirf tumhe apni patni ki tarah hi dekh sakta hoon, Anu. Aaj se aur hamesha ke liye." (I can only see you as my wife, Anu..From today and for always..)
Gopal leaned down, and for the first time, he kissed her. It was not a kiss of a servant and his mistress, or of a secret lover in a stolen moment. It was the kiss of a husband. It was slow, deep, and reverent, a sealing of a vow made not in front of a fire, but under the silent, watchful eyes of the moon. It was a promise of a tomorrow, a tomorrow that belonged only to them.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breathing each other's breath. Anu's fingers curled into his collar, gripping the cheap cotton like a lifeline, her knuckles white with the force of holding on. Anu trembled against him, not from cold, but from the devastating recognition that she had crossed a line from which there was no returning. She was another man's wife by law, bound by vows spoken before a sacred fire she could no longer remember, but here, with Gopal's heartbeat thundering steady beneath her palm, his hands framing her face like she were something precious, something holy. Anu had finally, irrevocably, been claimed. The moonlight carved silver edges around them, two shadows fused into one, and in that silence, Anu understood with terrible clarity that she would never again be whole without Gopal.
---------------------
Anu's life was a meticulously curated performance, a delicate high-wire act she walked with the grace of a seasoned acrobat, each step calculated, each smile timed to the millisecond, each word weighed and measured before it left her lips. Beneath the silk and the sindoor, beneath the dutiful wife's lowered gaze, she concealed a self that dared not breathe, a woman who felt too much, wanted too much, dreamed of skies wider than the courtyard walls that contained her. Every morning she donned the costume, painted her face with propriety, and stepped onto the stage of her own existence, acutely aware that a single stumble, one misaligned pleat, one glance held too long, and the entire fortress would crumble, revealing the chaos she fought so hard to keep hidden from the world.The balancing act was a constant, exhausting dance.
To the world, Anu was perfection, an epitome of grace, the ideal wife, managing the household with an efficiency that left everyone in awe. And she played all her roles with a skill that was both her greatest strength and her most dangerous vulnerability. In the glass-walled office, she was successful executive, a woman whose calm demeanor her voice clear and confident, her mind sharp. In meetings, she sat at the head of the mahogany table, her voice measured and calm, her silk sarees never creased, her bindi always centered, her opinions delivered with such confidence that disagreements simply dissolved in her wake. No one saw her thumb trace restless patterns on her phone beneath the table. No one noticed how her eyes would occasionally drift to the window, searching the horizon for something she could not name. They saw only the performance..the grace, the poise, the unshakeable composure of a woman who had everything, and wanted for nothing.
"Aap apna dhyaan rakhiye.." Anu would say. (You take care of yourself..) "Main ghar ka khyaal rakhungi.." (I'll take care of the house..) As soon as the call ended, Gopal would walk into the room with her tea. He would place the cup on the table, his fingers brushing against hers.
But even here, Anu’s mind was never fully present. She would be chopping vegetables, her hands moving with practiced ease, while Anu's eyes would flick towards the door, waiting for Gopal to come in to mop the floor. Their eyes would meet for a fleeting second, a silent acknowledgment of the world they shared, a world that existed in the stolen glances and the brush of a hand.
"Aap ka kaam ho gaya?" she would ask, her voice now cool, detached. (Is your work done?). Gopal would just smirk, a silent promise in his eyes, and leave.
The house was a sprawling, silent kingdom, and Anu was its solitary queen. Her husband had left for another conference, his parting words a distracted, "Tum ho toh sab theek hai.." (With you here, everything is fine..) She had nodded, her smile a practiced curve of her lips, but her mind was already elsewhere, already with Gopal. This silence was Anu's sanctuary, a canvas for the triple life she painted with such meticulous care.
By day, Anu would sit in her glass-walled office, her voice calm and authoritative as she mediated disputes or outlined company policy. Her colleagues saw her as efficient, empathetic, and utterly professional. It was during one of her husband's long trips that the carefully constructed walls of her double life began to crumble. A severe fever, a merciless, bone-deep heat, left her weak and delirious. The sprawling house, usually her kingdom, became a cold, empty fortress. Anu was alone, truly alone, curled in a ball on her silk sheets, her body wracked with chills and pain. The world had shrunk to the four walls of her bedroom, a prison of her own vulnerability.
The fever came with the setting sun, a malevolent heat that bloomed in Anu's bones and stole her breath. It was a sudden, vicious thing, leaving her weak and trembling on the silk sheets of her marriage bed. Her husband was away, as he so often was, attending a conference in another city, a ghost in a hotel room hundreds of miles away, completely unaware that his wife was burning. She was alone, truly and terrifyingly alone, the grand, ornate room feeling like a gilded cage designed to watch her perish.
The world swam in a hazy, fevered blur, the ornate patterns on the ceiling twisting into mocking faces. Anu closed her eyes, sinking into a delirium where past and present merged, where Gopal's face and her husband's face swirled together in a confusing, terrifying dance.
The door creaked open. Through the haze, she saw a silhouette. Not a uniformed servant, but a man whose very presence commanded the shadows. Gopal.. He had come to deliver her evening tea, a simple task, but his eyes, sharp and perceptive, had taken in the scene instantly: the untouched tray, the sheen of sweat on her brow, the way she was curled in on herself like a wounded animal.
Gopal didn't hesitate. He didn't call for others. He strode to her side, the teacup forgotten on a table. The cool, calloused back of his hand pressed against her burning forehead, and the contrast was so profound it jolted her back to a sliver of consciousness.
"Anu!" His voice was sharp with alarm, but it was the alarm of a man who cared, not a servant performing his duty. "Yeh sab kya hai? Aapko bahut bukhar hai.." (What is all this? You have a very high fever..)
Gopal became her anchor in the storm of her delirium. While another's might have fetched the doctor and retreated, Gopal became her sanctuary. He sat by her bed, his presence a solid, unwavering force against the waves of sickness. He dampened a cloth in cool water and gently wiped her face, his touch infinitely tender. Gopal forced sips of water between her cracked lips, murmuring encouragement when she tried to turn away.
Anu's mind drifted, and she began to mutter, lost in the fever. "Pati..Mera pati..Aaye the...Shaadi ki raat.." (Husband..My husband..He had come..The wedding night..)
Gopal's hand stilled on her forehead. Gopal knew she was talking about the man whose name was on the marriage certificate, the man who was supposed to be here, caring for her. A dark, possessive fire flickered in his eyes, but his voice remained a gentle balm, cutting through the fog in her mind.
"Koi baat nahi, Anu. Main hoon na." (It's okay, Anu. I'm here.) He said it again and again, a litany of reassurance that was more potent than any medicine. "Woh nahi hai, toh kya hua? Main aapko chhod ke nahi jaunga.." (He isn't here, so what? I will not leave you..)
Gopal stayed with her through the long, terrifying night. He adjusted the blankets when she shivered, then removed them when the heat surged again. He spoke to her in low, soothing tones, telling her stories of his childhood, of the village he came from, anything to keep her grounded to the sound of his voice. In the depths of her delirium, she reached out a trembling hand, searching for him. He caught it in his, lacing their fingers together, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a soft, fervent kiss to her knuckles.
"Main hoon na..” he whispered against her skin. "Hamesha.." (I'm here..Always..)
Gopal had made her khichdi, not the bland, tasteless porridge one makes for the sick, but a simple, comforting dish, fragrant with ghee and cumin. He fed her small spoonfuls, his touch infinitely gentle, his eyes filled with a concern that was so raw, so genuine, it shattered something deep within her. Gopal stayed up all night, not out of duty, but out of a fierce, protective instinct. He checked on her, changed her cool compress, and wiped her brow with a damp cloth, his movements sure and tender.
In the hazy hours before dawn, as Anu drifted in and out of consciousness, she saw it. It wasn't just the thrill of the forbidden, not just the hunger of their stolen moments. It was care. It was a selfless, unwavering devotion. It was love. And in that moment of absolute vulnerability, Anu realized she loved him too.
As the first grey light of dawn seeped into the room, the fever finally began to break. Anu's breathing evened out, her skin cooling under his touch. She opened her eyes, and they were clear for the first time in hours. Anu saw him, slumped in the chair beside her, his head resting on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand. He had not slept. He had not left her side for a single moment.
Anu gently squeezed his hand. Gopal’s eyes flew open, immediately alert.
"Gopal," she whispered, her voice hoarse but full of a dawning, breathtaking realization. "Aap..Aap Yahi The.." (You..You Were Here..)
"Jahan aap ho, wahan main hoon, Anu.." (Wherever you are, there I am, Anu..) He leaned forward, his eyes scanning her face with a fierce, protective tenderness. "Ab theek ho?" (Are you okay now?)
Anu nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her temple. It wasn't a tear of sickness, but of profound, soul-shattering clarity. Her husband was a name on a document, a presence that was absent when she needed him most. The man who was supposed to be her duty was her neglect. But this man, her servant.. he was her reality. Gopal was her sanctuary.
This realization was a seismic shift, a tectonic plate moving deep within her soul. The stolen moments, the frantic couplings in the shadows, were no longer enough. They were like scraps from a feast, and she now craved the entire banquet. She wanted more. She wanted all of him. The idea of a secret marriage, once a wild, audacious thought, now became a necessity, an obsession. It was the only way to bridge the chasm between their two worlds, the only way to make their forbidden love legitimate, at least in their own hearts.
One evening, a few days after she had recovered, he was leaving her room after a quiet, tender encounter. The air was still thick with the unspoken words of her illness. She stopped him, her hand on his arm. "Gopal," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, not with fear, but with the weight of her decision.
"Gopal, Kal ek kaam karna.." (Gopal, do something for me tomorrow.) He turned to face her, his eyes questioning. "Kya?" (What?) Anu took a deep breath, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Ek mangalsutra le aana..aur sindoor.." (Bring a mangalsutra... and vermillion..) Gopal looked at her, his eyes searching hers, and he understood. He saw the resolve in her gaze, the desperate plea for a permanence that only he could give her. Gopal didn't speak, he simply nodded, a silent, sacred promise passing between them.
The house was a cavern of silence, each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway a hammer blow against Anu's ribs. Anu’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm, a trapped bird desperate for escape. Was she insane? Was she about to shatter the very foundation of her dharma? The diamond mangalsutra around her neck felt like a leaden accusation, a brand of a life she was about to betray. Yet, beneath the terror, a fierce, unyielding determination flowed. This was not a choice; it was a necessity.
Before Gopal came, there was one last ritual she had to perform alone. She stood before the large, ornate mirror in her bedroom, her reflection a stranger she was about to shed.
Anu’s mind was a battlefield. 'Yeh galat hai..Yeh paap hai..' (This is wrong..This is a sin..) A voice, the voice of her upbringing, her conscience, screamed at her. It spoke of her pati parmeshwar, her duty, the sanctity of the vows she had taken in front of the Agni.
But another voice, a newer, more insistent one, rose in defiance. 'Kya woh mera pati..hai jo mujhe bhoolta hai? Jo mujhe ek showpiece ki tarah rakhta hai?' (Is he my husband..who forgets me? Who keeps me like a showpiece?)
This voice spoke of Gopal's care, of the feverish night he had held her hand, of the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. The rigid lineage of Anu's life, the inherited code of honour and propriety, crumbled into dust. The absolute commandments she had lived by..the sacred vows of a wife, the unyielding rules of her station..blurred into a meaningless haze. The only thing that remained sharp, the only beacon in the suffocating darkness, was the searing, undeniable truth of her love for Gopal. And in this internal war, love didn't just win..it was the only army that had ever truly existed. It had to.
With a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers went to the clasp of the diamond mangalsutra. With a final, decisive click, Anu unhooked it. The moment it left her skin, a wave of something akin to grief washed over her, a mourning for the woman she was supposed to be. But it was quickly replaced by a dizzying sense of liberation. Anu placed the glittering, expensive thing in its velvet box, the lid closing with a soft, final click. It was the closing of a chapter. She then walked to her wardrobe, her steps purposeful.
Anu pushed past the elegant, pastel coloured sarees her husband preferred, her fingers searching for the one she had hidden. Anu pulled out a deep crimson silk, the colour of sindoor, of a new beginning. As she draped it around herself, the cool fabric a whisper against her skin, she felt a transformation taking place. Anu wasn't just changing clothes..she was shedding a skin, preparing herself not just for a night of passion, but for a marriage, a rebirth.
Gopal came to Anu's room..in his hand was a small, discreet bag. It was their future, their sin, their salvation. Gopal looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "Kya tum sure ho?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. (Are you sure?) Anu didn't answer with words. She simply took his hand, her own clammy and trembling, and placed it over her heart, letting him feel the wild, desperate rhythm of it..a drumbeat of rebellion against a life she had never chosen.
"Haan, Gopal..Kabhi nahi jitni aaj.." (Yes, Gopal..Never as much as today..) Anu’s voice was a fragile thread, but it held the unbreakable steel of her conviction. It was the answer to a question he hadn't even needed to ask.
Anu led him, not to bedroom, but to the puja room, the very soul of the house, the sanctum where her duty had always been performed. Tonight, it would witness her liberation. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sandalwood and stale devotion. The flickering oil lamps cast a warm, intimate glow on his face, illuminating the fierce, vulnerable hope in his eyes. Gopal stopped before the idols of gods she had long since stopped believing in and turned to her, his voice thick with an emotion that bordered on pain.
"Meri patni banogi?" (You will become my wife?) The question hung in the sacred air, a blasphemy and a prayer all at once.
"Haan, Gopal..Sirf tumhari.." (Yes, Gopal..Only yours..) The words were not just a vow..they were a declaration of war against the world, and a surrender to the only heaven she had ever known.
From a small, worn cloth bag, he took a simple, black-beaded mangalsutra. It was not the expensive, diamond-studded one her husband had tied around her neck. This was real. "Meri Anu.." (My Anu..) Gopal whispered, his voice cracking as he reached around her neck. His fingers, usually so sure, fumbled with the clasp. The black beads felt cool and heavy against her burning skin, a tangible anchor in the storm of her emotions, a weight of truth she was more than willing to bear.
Then, Gopal took a small container of red sindoor. He looked at her, his eyes asking for one final permission. Anu met his gaze without flinching, her head held high. "Meri patni." (My wife.) he whispered, the words a sacred chant as he gently filled the parting in her hair with the vermillion powder. It was not a gentle application; it was a branding, a mark of ownership that she welcomed with every fiber of her being. A searing heat bloomed at her scalp, a physical manifestation of the fire that had been burning between them for months.
As the red powder settled, a profound, emotional shift occurred within Anu. The world didn't just tilt; it shattered and reformed around this single, monumental act. The voices of her mother, the judgmental eyes of society, the hollow echo of her first marriage, the suffocating rules of her lineage..they all dissolved into an insignificant hum, like distant static. In their place was a deafening, sacred silence, a space where only one truth existed: she was his. A wave of emotion, so powerful it stole the air from her lungs and buckled her knees, washed over her. It was a mixture of earth-shattering relief, bone-deep reverence, and an overwhelming, all consuming love that felt more real than her own heartbeat.
Gopal caught her, pulling her against him, his arms the only pillars holding her up in this new, terrifying, beautiful world. Anu buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent, the scent of her home, her future. This was Anu's wedding..was her true 'phere'. The grand ceremony with her husband, the hundreds of guests, the sacred fire..it all felt like a distant, hollow play she had been forced to watch. This, here, in the quiet, conspiratorial glow of the puja room, with this man who didn't just want her body but coveted her soul, was the only reality that had ever mattered. She was no longer a possession or a duty. Anu was his.
Without a second thought, she did what every bride is taught to do, what every fiber of her new being demanded. Anu sank to her knees, the crimson silk of her saree pooling around her on the cool marble floor. She bent forward, her forehead touching the ground, hands outstretched in a gesture of complete surrender. Anu touched Gopal's feet..tears flowed freely now, not of sorrow, but of gratitude. They were tears of purification, washing away the last remnants of her old life.
Gopal froze, then bent quickly to lift her, his voice thick. "Utho, Anu..Yeh kya kar rahi ho?" (Get up, Anu..What are you doing?). Gopal guided her back, cradling her against his chest. She turned her face into his throat.
"Mujhe darr tha..ki main toot jaungi.." (I was afraid..that I would break..) she whispered. "Par tumne mujhe poora liya..bina tode..bina chhode.." (But you took me completely..without breaking me..without leaving me..)
Goapl's arm tightened around her. "Tumne mujhe sab kuch diya.." (You gave me everything..) he murmured against her hair. Anu smiled, "Yeh tha mera asli sindoor.." (This was my real vermilion..) she breathed. "
Jo mere pati ne diya..woh bas daag tha..par tumne mujhe asli roop mein liya.." (What my husband gave..that was just a mark..but you took me in my true form..) She pressed closer. "Ab main sirf tumhari hoon..poori tarah se.." (Now I am only yours..completely..)
"Aap meri patni ho..Pairo mein nahi, dil mein rehti ho." (You are my wife..You don't live at my feet, you live in my heart.) Gopal wiped her tears with his thumbs, his touch infinitely tender. He then did something that sealed their bond forever.
Gopal broke a small piece of the misri he had brought, a symbol of their new beginnings, and put it in her mouth. "Mithas ho jaaye hamari zindagi ki." (May our life be sweet.) Anu chewed the sweet crystal, her eyes locked with his, the simple act more intimate than any kiss they had ever shared.
"Yeh ansoo... kya khushi ke hain, ya darr ke?" Gopal asked, his voice soft. (These tears... are they of happiness, or of fear?)
"Dono," (Both) Anu whispered honestly. "Main khush hoon ki main aapki hoon..Aur dar rahi hoon ki hum kho na jaaye.." (I am happy that I am yours..And I am afraid that we might lose this..)
Gopal leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers, his breath warm on her face. "Khoenge nahi..Main tumhe kuchh bhi hone nahi dunga. Yeh mangalsutra... yeh sindoor...Yeh meri kasam hai.." (We won't lose it..I won't let anything happen to you. This mangalsutra... this sindoor..This is my vow..)
Anu's hand flew to her neck, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar, simple beads of the mangalsutra. It felt heavier, more real than the diamonds she had discarded. Gopal saw the gesture, and a low, possessive hum rumbled in his chest. He closed the small distance between them, his fingers brushing against her wrist.
"Dar rahi ho?" Gopal whispered, his voice a rough caress in the hushed corridor. (Are you afraid?) Anu stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide, luminous in the dim light. "Nahi," she breathed, the lie trembling on her lips. "Bas..yeh sab sach hai na? Sapna nahi hai?" (No..it's just..all this is real, isn't it? It's not a dream?)
Gopal's gaze was intense, burning with a fierce conviction that scorched her soul. He gently took her hand, his thumb stroking the pulse point at her wrist, a frantic, frantic beat. "Sach hai, Anu. Meri Anu," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Main hoon na. Yeh dekho." Gopal pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart. "Yeh... yeh sirf tumhare liye dhadakta hai.." (It's real, Anu..My Anu..I'm here. Look. This..this beats only for you..)
The steady, strong thrum of his heartbeat against her palm was an anchor in the storm of her emotions. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, Gopal's hand was there, his thumb gently catching it. They stood there for a long moment, suspended in time, the vast, empty house a silent witness to their sacred pact. The distance to her bedroom had never seemed so long, so fraught with peril. Every shadow held a pair of judging eyes, every creak of the old house sounded like an alarm.
"Chaliye.." (Let's go..) Anu said softly, her voice regaining a sliver of its strength. "Ab humara ghar intezaar kar raha hoga." (Our home is waiting now.). The word "Hamara" (Our..) hung in the air between them, a declaration, a new reality. Gopal nodded, his hand moving from her wrist to the small of her back, a touch that was both proprietary and protective. It was a gesture of a husband guiding his wife.
The hallway was quiet..Their footsteps barely registered on the thick carpet..hers quick and light, his heavier, deliberate. Anu walked ahead, her spine straight, her skin still sensitive from earlier, acutely aware that Gopal was no longer following at a servant's distance but right behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the shift of his breathing. It should have felt wrong, this proximity in the open corridor where anyone might see, but instead she felt oddly shielded, as if his presence alone had drawn a line around her that others could not cross.
But when Anu turned automatically toward her bedroom door, his hand settled gently on her elbow, redirecting her. "Nahin," (Not there,) he said softly, guiding her past the door to the large bay window at the corridor's end. The glass was cool against her palm as she stopped there, looking out at the moonlit garden below..the manicured lawn silvered by light, the tall tree casting long shadows across the grass.
"Wahan kyun?" Anu whispered, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. The bedroom was the destination, the expected culmination of this sacred, forbidden night. (Why there?) Gopal stopped her in the center of the moonlight, turning her to face him. He didn't answer immediately. He simply looked at her, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. Gopal raised a hand, his fingers hesitating for a second before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles brushed against her cheek, and she shivered, not from cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming intimacy of the gesture.
"Us kamre mein... woh hain," he said, his voice low and rough. "Uski yaadein hain. Uski cheezon ki mehak hai." (In that room... he is there. His memories are there. The scent of his things.) Gopal looked around the vast, silent hallway, a space he had only ever seen as a servant. "Aaj raat, hum naye shuruwat ki mehak se apne aap ko mahsoos karna chaahiye.." (Tonight, we should feel ourselves with the scent of a new beginning..)
Anu's heart clenched, a painful, beautiful ache. Gopal wasn't just taking her body; he was honouring her soul. He understood the ghosts that still lingered in the corners of her life, and he was giving her the space to exorcise them. Anu looked at the man standing before her, the man who had mopped these floors, who had served her tea, who was now her husband. The reality was staggering, a beautiful, impossible truth.
"Yeh ghar humara nahin hai, Anu.." (This house is not ours, Anu..) he said quietly, his thumb tracing her knuckle. "Kal subah tum wapas us duniya mein jaogi..main wapas apni jagah pe khada rahunga.." (Tomorrow morning you'll go back to that world..I'll stand back in my place..)
Gopal turned her gently to face him, the moonlight catching his eyes. "Lekin yeh raat..yeh chandni..yeh khushi..yeh vada..yeh sirf hamara hai. Koi isse cheen nahin sakta.." (But this night..this moonlight..this happiness..this promise..this is only ours. No one can take it..)
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his face into soft focus. They were not tears of fear or sorrow, but of something simpler..gratitude for a man who asked for nothing she could not give, who understood the boundaries of their stolen hours without her having to draw them. Anu had been a queen in a gilded cage, and he had just shown her that even prisoners could claim the sky.
Anu reached up, her hand trembling, and touched the sindoor in her hair. "Aapne... aapne yeh rakha hai," she whispered, her voice choked. "Yeh nishaan... yeh meri duniya hai." (You..you put this here..This mark..this is my world.)
"Meri duniya tum ho," Gopal corrected her gently, his voice a sacred vow. Anu took her hand, the one that had touched the sindoor, and brought it to his lips. Gopal didn't kiss her palm or her fingers. He pressed his lips firmly against the simple, black-beaded mangalsutra around her neck, a benediction, a seal on their covenant. The warmth of his kiss seared through the beads and into her skin, a brand more potent than any fire.
A sob escaped Anu's lips, a raw, broken sound of release. The carefully constructed walls of her composure crumbled, and she collapsed against him, burying her face in his chest. Gopal held her, his arms wrapping around her, not with passion, but with a fierce, unwavering strength. He was her anchor in the tempest of her own emotions. Gopal let her cry, his hand stroking her hair, murmuring her name over and over again, a litany of possession and comfort.
"Shhh..Main hoon na..Ro mat..Aaj raat sirf khushi ki hai.." (Shhh..I'm here..Don't cry..Tonight is only for happiness..) When her sobs subsided into quiet hiccups, she pulled back, her face streaked with tears but her eyes clear, shining with a new, fierce light. "Gopal," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread of steel. "Mujhe..mujhe apne pati ki tarah dekho.." (Gopal..look at me..as your wife..)
Gopal cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the last of her tears. "Main toh sirf tumhe apni patni ki tarah hi dekh sakta hoon, Anu. Aaj se aur hamesha ke liye." (I can only see you as my wife, Anu..From today and for always..)
Gopal leaned down, and for the first time, he kissed her. It was not a kiss of a servant and his mistress, or of a secret lover in a stolen moment. It was the kiss of a husband. It was slow, deep, and reverent, a sealing of a vow made not in front of a fire, but under the silent, watchful eyes of the moon. It was a promise of a tomorrow, a tomorrow that belonged only to them.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breathing each other's breath. Anu's fingers curled into his collar, gripping the cheap cotton like a lifeline, her knuckles white with the force of holding on. Anu trembled against him, not from cold, but from the devastating recognition that she had crossed a line from which there was no returning. She was another man's wife by law, bound by vows spoken before a sacred fire she could no longer remember, but here, with Gopal's heartbeat thundering steady beneath her palm, his hands framing her face like she were something precious, something holy. Anu had finally, irrevocably, been claimed. The moonlight carved silver edges around them, two shadows fused into one, and in that silence, Anu understood with terrible clarity that she would never again be whole without Gopal.
D:) Emotion In Motion, A Dirty Mind 
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)