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“I wish this had happened to me instead… hasn’t she been dealt enough pain already, in her life?” // “teri aankhon ka kajal na faile ab kabhi bhi, tuhje itna pyaar doon, haan.”
i had a dream i was INSIDE tumblr. like the site screen. and someone (i won't name names) was reblogging a bunch of ramdevi fanart/CGs (esp devi CGs) but it got weird because the latter ones didn't even exist. they had that AI 2d art style and i was like...did i miss multiple updates how much time has passed?
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Is it just me but ram would literally be the best girl dad ever. The usually aloof and disinterested Seer would be completely wound around her little finger, being all silly and sweet and kissing her tiny palms with such reverence that she'd squirm with joy. He'd play like a child just to see her squeal, indulge her every want cause how could he ever say no to the two big hopeful eyes looking up at him and love her a little more than devi (if that's even possible cause that man is whipped). He'd be willing to become a fool in front of the entire dozen just to see a giggle.
okay that's all, rant over but i just had to put this vision out there.
Attempt 2 of getting back to write, I just saw this reddit post discussing what would happen once vidya and the dozen found out about her secret relationship.
Devi could tell the shift in the silence immediately as Vidya Basu walked past her in the corridors of the Basu estate without even acknowledging her presence. The silence continued at the Dozen meeting as the older woman refused to say anything the entire evening.
But devi knew one thing, silence from the lioness was not acceptance. It was a warning.
*********
“Maharani Vidya requests your presence in the main court.”
Requests. As though the matriarch of the Basu house had ever requested anything in her life.
Devi made her way past the stone lions into the quiet court where the older woman sat—her posture perfect, her expression unreadable.
But Devi stopped short.
Saraswati was there too, leaning idly against a carved pillar, lavender silk spilling off one shoulder as her jewellery gleamed in the slanting rays of the sun. Radha sat opposite their mother, stiff just like the deep purple fabric wrapped around her and unsmiling, her face like water frozen mid-pour. She looked different, almost hollow, her saree pulled at her stomach.
Devi hesitated. All three Basu women together. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
Devi bowed, softly. “You asked for me."
“Sit.”
It was not an invitation.
Devi sat.
Vidya inhaled through her nose, long and sharp. “I have said nothing for days. Not when you smiled too sweetly. Not when you stayed behind in the temple hall. Not when you looked at Ram like you wanted to devour him like mango in high summer.”
Devi flushed, jaw tightening.
“And now,” Vidya continued, her voice rising just slightly, “I hear from not one but three housekeepers that you were missing for an entire hour last night, with Ram nowhere to be found either. Do you think the goddess is blind? Do you think I am ?
Devi winced slightly, she knew it had been too far fetched someone would surely notice but how could she explain the way risk melted into nothingness when his arms wrapped around her, held her, when he smiled so unreservedly at her and the way they had laughed into the night.
You wear your heart on your face,” Vidya continued. “Like a girl. Not a woman of the Dozen.”
Devi exhaled, steady. “ I refuse to treat love like a sin.”
“Love isn’t the sin,” Vidya said coldly. “Indulgence is.”
Now her eyes shifted — and pinned Devi in place. “And foolishness.”
Devi said nothing. Her fingers curled into the folds of her burgundy saree.
Saraswati tried to rescue her and began slowly, a whisper, under her breath. “Ma—”
“Quiet.” Vidya sternly cut her off with a glare that could set one on fire. “You’ll have your turn.”
Saraswatis expression soured, something gleaming in her eyes darkly. Radha said nothing. But she looked at Devi, and there was no judgment in her eyes, maybe a little hurt that she was finding out like this and a strange kind of pity.
Vidya stood now, pacing. “I used to think I had raised my daughters with sense and rational. With pride and status. With understanding of duty. And now—” she turned on her heel, pallu rustling— “all the girls have gone mad. Fawning over Doobay men no less."
She pointed, one by one.
“Radha, who fell in love with a man she could never have—”
“Don’t.” Radha’s voice was low, but firm. “Don’t say his name.”
“—and look where it got you,” Vidya said, turning to Saraswati. “And you, dreaming your life away in poems and pretending you’re immune to the rules the rest of us live by.”
Saraswati rolled her eyes. “And still the world turns.”
“And now you.” Vidya turned to Devi. “I held out some hope that at least you would protect what’s left of your family name. But no. You're moon-eyed over Ram Doobay like a palace maid sneaking sweets in the storehouse. And worse—he returns it.”
Devi stood her ground. “We love each other.”
Vidya's eyes burned. “So did Radha. Do you know what that bought her? Secrets. Scrutiny. And sacrifice.”
“You see the world in ideals,” Vidya said after a pause, quieter now. “I see it in consequences.”
“I see consequences too, just different ones, personal ones." Devi whispered almost inaudible. And Vidya chose to ignore it.
“I know you think I am cruel. And perhaps I am. But I have carried the weight of this house on my back longer than you’ve been alive. I buried my husband. I buried half my heart. I watched the council nearly tear us apart, and I stitched us back with blood and bone and silence.”
She turned to Devi, gaze sharp again. “If you marry Ram, do not think love will be enough. You will bear more than your own burden. Ram is the Seer. He cannot marry lightly.You will become the mother of his heirs. The keeper of the Dozen’s most sacred bloodline. You will be envied. You will be watched. And worst of all—you will lose your family name. The one you fought so hard for. You are not the path chosen for him.”
Devi’s hands trembled. But she lifted her chin forcing herself to look her in the eye.
“ I want him. When he’s tired. When he’s foolish. When he’s not the Seer, just a man who forgets where he put his shawl or fluters his eyelids when he’s serving her mother. That’s who I love.”
Vidya’s eyes narrowed. But there was no rebuke this time. Not approval. Not softness. But a flicker of memory. Of being young. Of loving a man who died for a cause, not knowing he’d leave her to clean up the wreckage.
She rose. For a long moment, Vidya looked at her daughters—one forged in fire, one in wildflower wind—and the third, not hers by birth, but perhaps by fate. Then she exhaled, long and slow.
“If you fail—”
“I won’t.”
“Then may the goddess grant you strength. You will need it.”
And with that, she swept from the away like the thundercloud she had always been—leaving behind three women, now joined in the quiet revolution of loving too hard in a world that punished softness.
