Seven years after their divorce, Raj spotted his ex-wife working as a cleaner admiring a luxurious dress displayed in a glass case. He sneered, “You’ll never have the chance to even touch it, let alone wear it.” Little did he know, five minutes later he would be horrified by what he saw.
The main hall of the Royale Galeria shopping center in Mumbai, the city’s most luxurious landmark, was bathed in golden light. Raj stepped out of a gleaming Mercedes-Maybach, his arm around Priya, his young and beautiful mistress. Today, Raj wasn’t there to shop, but to attend a party for the launch of a strategic partner of the Royal House of Lakshmi group, with whom he was eager to secure a debt extension.

Passing by the haute couture fashion display, Raj suddenly stopped. In front of a glass case showcasing the latest collection of a famous designer, stood a woman. She wore a simple, ash-gray salwar kameez, looking no different from a cleaning staff uniform, her hand clutching a cleaning cloth as she intently peered inside.

Raj narrowed his eyes. That figure, that simple jooda bun… So familiar. — “Lakshmi?” The woman turned around. Her face was bare, without makeup, with a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but her gaze was as calm as a still lake. It was indeed Lakshmi—Raj’s ex-wife.

Seven years ago, Raj had cruelly divorced Lakshmi when his career was just beginning to flourish. His reason was that Lakshmi was “country bumpkin, out of touch with the times, unworthy of being the wife of a director.” He left her the small house in the chawl and left, abandoning her to fend for herself. Meeting her again after seven years in this state, Raj smirked. A scenario formed in his mind: She must be unemployed, having to apply for a job as a safai karamchari (a type of street food vendor).

Raj approached, deliberately stomping his expensive shoes loudly. Lakshmi saw Raj, her eyes showing a fleeting surprise, but quickly returning to their usual composure. She was intently gazing at the mannequin wearing a magnificent wine-red lehenga choli, adorned with rubies and gold embroidery – a unique design called “Agni-Pakshi.”

—“So? Isn’t it beautiful?” Raj said sarcastically, pointing at the lehenga. Lakshmi nodded slightly: —“Very beautiful. Exquisite and powerful.” Raj burst into laughter, the sound causing several people nearby to turn and look. He pulled out a few small bills from his wallet and tossed them onto the lid of the trash can next to Lakshmi: —“It’s only beautiful to look at. Someone like you, working as a cleaner your whole life, starving yourself for ten lifetimes, wouldn’t be able to afford even a single gold thread on it.”

Priya, standing beside him, pouted and chimed in, “Why bother talking to her? She’s cleaning the glass; you’ll get your pay cut if you disturb her.” Raj leaned closer to Lakshmi, whispering in the most contemptuous tone possible, “Look carefully before you clean it. You’ll never have the chance to touch it, let alone wear it. Don’t let your hands dirty the glass with the cleaning cloth. It was the best decision I ever made leaving you seven years ago.”

Lakshmi wasn’t angry. She looked at Raj, then at Priya, before bending down to pick up the bills Raj had thrown away, smoothing them out and placing them back in his hand. —“Mr. Raj, here’s some money you dropped. Keep it and use it. I heard your company owes its employees three months’ salary, right? And this lehenga…,” Lakshmi smiled mysteriously, “Sometimes, you don’t need to touch it; it still belongs to you.”

Having said that, Lakshmi turned her back and walked straight into the internal staff hallway. Raj stood frozen, stunned by the unexpected “counterattack,” his face flushed with anger. “You foul-mouthed woman! Poor and still acting like a jerk!” – He grumbled, dragging Priya upstairs to the party venue.

UPPER FLOOR – GRAND ROYALE BANQUET HALL

A formal atmosphere prevailed. Hundreds of uniformed staff stood in rows on either side of the walkway. Businessmen, young masters, and tycoons were all present. Raj secretly wiped the sweat from his forehead, hoping to meet “Maharani Sahiba” – the mysterious female chairman of the Royal House of Lakshmi – to ask for an extension on his debt.

The lights in the ballroom went out, leaving only a focused beam of light illuminating the grand staircase covered in red carpet. The MC’s voice boomed: – “And now, with all due respect, we welcome the Chairwoman of the Board of Directors of the Royal House of Lakshmi, CEO – Maharani Lakshmi Devi Singhania!”

The large upstairs door swung open. Raj, raising a glass of whisky, was startled by the name and title, nearly dropping his glass. A woman emerged. Not the simple, ash-gray salwar kameez she had worn earlier. Not the weary, submissive appearance. This Maharani was wearing a wine-red lehenga choli “Agni-Pakshi” adorned with sparkling rubies – the very same outfit Raj had mocked in the display case just five minutes prior.

Her hair was styled in an elaborate updo adorned with maang tikka, her face meticulously made up to accentuate her aura of supreme authority and grace. That was Lakshmi! She descended the steps, each step graceful and elegant, leaving the entire room breathless. As Lakshmi stepped into the main hall, all the staff bowed in unison in reverence, greeting her: — “Namaste, Maharani Sahiba!”

Raj was stunned. His legs trembled, and he had to cling to the edge of the table to keep from collapsing. Priya, standing beside him, was also speechless, her face drained of all color. His ex-wife, whom he had just insulted as a safai karamchari, turned out to be Maharani, the owner of this multi-billion dollar fashion and real estate empire? The one who held the lifeblood of his company in her hands?

Lakshmi held a glass of champagne and went around greeting the partners. Her gaze swept across the crowd and settled on Raj. She approached him. Everyone parted respectfully to make way.

Raj trembled, stammering incoherently: — “Lakshmi… beta… no… Maharani Sahiba…” Lakshmi looked at Raj, her smile as calm as it had been in the lobby, but now sharp: — “What’s wrong, Raj? What do you think of this outfit? Did I ‘dirty’ it as you said?”

— “I… I don’t know… I’m sorry… I saw Sahiba wiping it with a cloth earlier…”

— “Ah,” – Lakshmi took a sip of wine – “I’m a meticulous person. Before every major event, I personally inspect every single detail, even the dust on the display case. To me, every job is pavitra (sacred). Only those who are idle, dependent, and contemptuous of others are shameful.”

Then she turned to her close assistant standing beside her, speaking loudly enough for the entire VIP area to hear: — “I’ve reviewed the debt extension contract for Raj Infra. A director who can even scorn his long-time ex-wife, how can he possibly scorn a business partner? Cancel the contract. And ask this guest to leave; he’s polluting my party.”

The tall security guard immediately stepped forward: “Kripya bahar aaiye, Sahab.” Raj was led away in utter humiliation, the whispers of the upper class piercing his pride like a thousand needles. He turned back for one last look. Lakshmi stood in the spotlight, radiant like an Agni-Pakshi reborn from the ashes of her ruined marriage.

The door closed. Raj knew that the opportunity to touch that “lehenga,” and the success it offered, had been permanently lost to him seven years ago, when he cast aside a genuine gem in pursuit of fleeting glamour.