The sun had only just begun to rise over the pink skies of Udaipur when the Ranawat Haveli woke up, slowly and gently, as if it too understood that this morning was special. The Aravalli hills stood quietly in the distance, bathed in soft gold, while the ivory walls of the Haveli caught the first light of dawn, glowing with a warmth that came not just from the sun but from centuries of memories held within them.
Carved jharokhas reflected the morning light like silent witnesses, and bougainvillea vines climbing over the arches blushed deeper, their flowers swaying lazily as though they were stretching awake. It was Ruhi's birthday, and the Haveli seemed to know it, breathing differently, moving differently, preparing itself like a proud elder getting ready to celebrate one of its own.
From the inner sanctum, the temple bells rang softly, not sharp or hurried, but calm and steady, merging into the rhythm of the household. Somewhere deep inside the women's wing, the faint notes of a veena floated through the corridors, played by an old retainer whose fingers still remembered music better than words. The scent of marigolds being strung into garlands mixed with the earthy fragrance of freshly smeared cow dung at the entrance courtyard, a ritual the older maids followed every festival morning, their hands moving with devotion learned over a lifetime.
The Haveli was already alive.
Servants moved through the corridors with practiced ease, balancing trays of sweets and puja thalis, adjusting curtains, carrying bundles of fresh fabrics. From the kitchen wing came the clang of brass vessels and the steady hum of activity as cooks prepared delicacies that would fill the day with indulgence. Children ran barefoot through the verandahs, dodging elders and maids alike, their laughter echoing freely before being gently hushed by familiar voices.
Yet beneath all this grandeur and movement, the true soul of the Haveli lay not in its architecture or even its lineage, but in the people who had grown within its walls. The staff were not invisible shadows here. They were family. They were the ones who had witnessed births and funerals, celebrations and silences, and today they moved with a special tenderness because this was not just any celebration. This was Ruhi bitiya's day.
Near the main courtyard, Ramu Kaka stood on a wooden ladder, carefully adjusting the marigold toran above the entrance. His hands trembled slightly with age, but his eyes shone with quiet pride.
"Seedha karo, Ramu Kaka," a young helper called out from below.
"Seedha hi toh kar raha hoon," Ramu Kaka replied, pretending to scold, though his voice held nothing but affection. He paused for a moment, looked at the doorway, and murmured softly, "Hamari Ruhi bitiya aaj aur ek saal badi ho gayi."
In the kitchen, Shanta Bai stirred a massive kadhai of ghee with authority, the aroma of roasted besan filling the air and promising laddoos that would melt on the tongue.
"Chhotu, sambhaal ke," she instructed sharply. "Aaj Ruhi bitiya ke laddoo perfect hone chahiye. Bachpan se maangti aa rahi hai."
Another helper laughed. "Aur kal bhi maangegi, Shanta Bai. Ruhi bitiya laddoo ke bina reh hi nahi sakti."
Their laughter echoed warmly, the kind that comes from familiarity, from watching a child grow up before your eyes.
Outside, in the stable area, Bhola brushed down the horses, speaking to them as if they were old friends. "Aaj Ruhi bitiya ka janamdin hai," he said softly, patting Raja's neck. "Shaam ko chamakni chahiye tum bhi."
He smiled to himself, remembering a little girl sneaking into the stables years ago, laddoos hidden in her tiny hands, whispering secrets to the horses like they were her closest friends.
In the women's wing, Lakshmi Didi ironed a lehenga with careful hands, her lips moving silently in prayer. She had held Ruhi first after her birth, had watched her take her first steps, and even now her heart whispered only one wish. May this child always remain happy.
This bond between the Ranawats and their staff was what set the Haveli apart. Devyani Ranawat, the matriarch, ruled with discipline but loved fiercely. Kalyani ensured everyone ate before the food grew cold. Meera slipped gifts into servants' rooms without making it known. Even Shaurya, stern by nature, trusted his driver more than most outsiders. And Ruhi, from childhood, had blurred every boundary that existed.
She had stirred halwa in the kitchen, listened to bedtime stories in Ramu Kaka's quarters, and laughed freely without remembering she belonged to a lineage others bowed to. To everyone here, she was not untouchable. She was theirs.
The central courtyard bustled now with colour and sound. Women draped in vibrant bandhej dupattas moved swiftly yet gracefully, balancing trays of sweets dusted with silver varq. Brass plates filled with flower petals were carried toward the mandap, while children tried lighting sparklers meant for the evening, giggling before being scolded. The scent of ghee, cardamom, and incense filled every corner, making the Haveli feel less like a house and more like a living celebration.
At the center of it all stood Devyani Ranawat, inspecting every detail with sharp eyes. A silver thali lay before her, but her attention was fixed on the rangoli.
"Rangoli mein laal gulaal aur daalo," she instructed firmly. "Aaj kuch bhi adhoora nahi hona chahiye."
Her presence commanded respect without needing to raise her voice. Children slowed their steps near her. Servants straightened instinctively. Discipline followed her like a shadow.
Nearby, Kalyani Ranawat moved with calm grace, adjusting marigold strands on the mandap pillars. Her voice was soft, but her words carried weight born of kindness and wisdom.
Balance was her language, and the Haveli rested easy under it.
Harshvardhan Singh Ranawat watched from a distance, tall and dignified, leaning on his carved cane. When he spoke, his voice carried authority earned over decades. "Ranawat naam izzat se joda jaata hai," he reminded the men arranging chairs. "Aaj koi kami nahi honi chahiye."
Laughter drifted in from another corner where Meera Ranawat teased a young servant climbing a ladder too quickly, softening the strictness that held the household together.
Outside the gates, Shaurya supervised arrangements with focus, until his stern expression melted at the sight of Anika rushing toward him, flowers nearly spilling from her arms. His quiet praise made her blush, a moment of softness hidden in plain sight.
Mischief followed in the form of Ishaan, laddoos tucked into his kurta, and Ishani scolding him playfully, their banter drawing smiles from everyone watching.
And then came Reet, loud, dramatic, full of life, mimicking Ruhi with exaggerated grace, sending laughter rippling through the courtyard until even Devyani hid a smile behind her pallu.
Amidst all this warmth and chaos, a sudden question hung in the air.
"Ruhi kahan hai?" Devyani asked, scanning the courtyard.
Silence followed, brief but noticeable.
"She's not here," Meera said softly. "Subah se dikhi hi nahi."
Shaurya frowned slightly. "Kisi ne dekha use?"
Ishaan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "Ruhi ke bina sab adhoora lag raha hai."
Before worry could deepen, Reet's anklets chimed as she stepped forward, a knowing grin on her face. Along with Ishani and Anika, she announced together, voices ringing clearly.
"Apne Shivji ke paas."
Understanding washed over the Haveli like calm after a storm. Of course. Where else would Ruhi be on the morning of her birthday?
Meera's eyes softened. Kalyani smiled gently. Even Harshvardhan nodded in quiet approval.
And as the Haveli returned to its rhythm, the unspoken truth lingered in every heart.
Ruhi was not just loved here.
She was the soul of this home.