Radha sniffed. “I have done that my whole life.”
“And your knee has been complaining about it for ten years.” Meera did not soften it. “Listen to it.”
By the time they reached the silver threshold, Radha was smiling. She was being cared for… and pretending not to enjoy it.
Meera handed the basket over. Guided her into the line kept for the elderly. Waited until she settled.
Then she turned forward.
And for a moment, just a moment, she was not the estate manager’s daughter. Not the one everyone relied on. She was just a woman standing in the place she loved most in the world.
The temple glowed.
Lamps burned in rows before the black stone idol. Petals scattered across the floor with rose petals and marigolds.
Meera pressed her palms together. She asked for nothing. She never had. She stood there and let herself feel it.
A brass plate crashed somewhere behind.
The moment ended.
She moved at once.
A young father pushed through the crowd, two children clinging to him, all three close to panic.
She stepped in, guiding them forward. “This side. No pushing. Everyone will get darshan.”
Near the offering table, two women had begun arguing.
“Maa is not keeping count,” Meera cut in, calm, firm. “Fight in front of her and both of you go to the back.”
They fell silent immediately.
A small boy cried near her feet. His sweet had fallen and crushed.
She crouched, picked another from a nearby plate and placed it in his hand. “Hold it with both hands. Don’t let it fall again.”
He nodded, still teary, gripping it like it held the entire universe.
Across the hall, Pandit ji looked toward her, arti thali ready. Meera glanced at the line spilling out into the courtyard. “Five minutes. Let the older women come first.”
He agreed at once.
That was how it worked.
On paper, she stood as the estate manager’s daughter. Here, the space moved with her out of trust she had earned, piece by piece, by caring more than she needed to.
Light caught the edge of her dupatta as she moved through the crowd. Her hair slipped from one shoulder.
By the time the final prayers began, she stood to one side. One hand raised to slow the next wave of people. Her eyes moved constantly between the crowd… and the goddess.
Holding both.
The bells faded. The rush thinned. Her shoulders ached. She ignored it.
By the time she reached the eastern wing, the sunlight had settled into the courtyard.
Govind waited near the faded wall, sample boards spread across a low table, his fingertips already stained with pigment.
