This was —the hour of creation. Kavya rubbed the sleep from her eyes and followed the worn path to the puja room. The air was thick with camphor, sandalwood paste, and the memory of a thousand prayers. She lit the diya, the small clay lamp, its flame a single, focused eye in the darkness. Her mother was already there, drawing a crisp kolam – a geometric rangoli of rice flour – at the threshold of the kitchen. The kolam wasn't just decoration; it was an offering of welcome to the goddess of prosperity, and a tiny breakfast for the ants and sparrows. Feed one before you feed yourself , was the unwritten rule.

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