Perumal purappadu had already started from the temple, and these useless police hadn't even cleared the street yet.
Vatsala stood there with her bucket of water, glaring at a row of impatient vehicles that refused to move.
How was she supposed to put kolam like this? She needed to wash the road before starting. Did these people think kolam just magically appeared?
Finally — finally — the police stopped the traffic.
"They don't move only, unless someone pokes them from behind. Tt" she muttered under her breath.
She immediately began splashing water across the stretch of road in front of their house. Not too much. Just enough to settle the dust. She bent down, grabbed the broom, and swept the wet patch into a smooth, dark canvas.
She looked around.
"Priya?"
Nothing.
Of course. Her younger sister was probably still upstairs fixing her hair.
Fine. She would start.
Vatsala crouched down and began the kolam. The first curve flowed easily from her fingers. Muscle memory. Years of Margazhi mornings. Years of practice.
Two rounds into the freehand design, Priya finally arrived, slightly breathless.
"So, what should I put?"
Vatsala didn't even look up. "Do a nice design. Whatever you think will look good."
"Come on, akka. Just tell me what you want me to put…"
"Priya, seriously. I'm halfway through a complicated design here. Just do whatever you think will look good, okay?"
"Okay, okay. Is it fine if I put a lotus design here?"
Vatsala quickly glanced at the space Priya was pointing to, calculated symmetry in half a second, and nodded. "Yeah. Awesome. Do it."
Back to her lines.
The kolam was coming along beautifully. Symmetrical. Balanced. Elegant.
Of course, she could see every tiny mistake she had made. The curve that dipped a millimetre too much. The loop that wasn't perfectly centred. But from afar? It would look flawless
"Akka! Maadu! Maadu varuthu!"
She looked up.
Four cows were walking down the street like they owned it — tall, majestic horns catching the evening light. Behind them walked the milkman, half-heartedly trying to guide them home before they blocked the purappadu route.
Vatsala immediately stood up and stepped aside, pulling Priya with her.
She waited patiently as the cows passed over the edge of the wet road.
Honestly, they deserved the space.
These streets were their home long before vehicles claimed them.
Vehicles, on the other hand…
Some fellow had actually asked her, "Why are you putting kolam on the road? It's for vehicles."
As if she didn't know that.
As if the road was his father's private property.
Tch.
Not all of them had been rude. Most were just ignorant. That was fine.
But arrogance? That she could not tolerate.
The distant sound of chanting grew louder.
The Prabandha Ghoshti was nearing.
"Final round?" she asked Priya.
Priya looked at her like she had suggested jumping off a cliff.
But life was no fun without a little risk.
Vatsala bent down and began the last layer.
Nothing overly detailed — just one elegant suzhi to complete the design.
She finished just as the Ghoshti reached the entrance of their home.
Thank God this was one of the designs both sisters knew like the back of their hands.
She rushed inside, washed her hands quickly, wiped them on her dupatta, adjusted her hair, and came back out just in time to do namaskara as the Ghoshti passed.
Then came the Vaadhya Ghoshti.
They were playing "Bantu Reethi Kolu."
Hamsanadam.
Her lips curved into a smile automatically. That raga had a brightness she adored.
Honestly, she said that about all ragas.
But all ragas deserved that kind of love.
Then it was time for the Srisadagopam.
She stepped forward, bowed down, and the Srisadagopam — bhagawan's thiruvadi — rested briefly on her head.
A second.
And yet it felt grounding.
Bhagawan moved forward, carried by the Sripaadamthaangis, shoulders steady under the weight. People offered plates with camphor, fruits, flowers. Each offering received its own aarti.
After Bhagawan passed came the Veda Ghoshti.
The chanting filled the street.
It was always beautiful to watch Perumal move through the roads like this. Not confined to the temple. Visiting homes. Blessing streets. Making the entire neighbourhood feel like a festival ground.
A mini celebration for one evening.
When it was all done and the street began returning to normal, Vatsala stood for a moment, looking at her kolam.
It was faded, and only the basic outline could be seen.
Good. Kolams are put so that the rice flour can be eaten by insects. It's not supposed tobe permanent.
Then she exhaled.
Back to work.
Two mandala paintings to finish. Both needed to be shipped by the end of the week.
Perumal had had his procession.
Now she had deadlines.