The monsoon air remained thick and heavy with the scent of wet mud, and the constant, rhythmic ringing of the temple bells signaled that the grand festival celebrations were in full swing at the Thakur’s estate. Inside Lila’s small house, the kitchen was filled with the sweet, rich aroma of roasted flour and clarified butter. Her aunt had been working since dawn, preparing brass trays of traditional handmade sweets to be sent to the Haveli as a mark of respect from their neighborhood.

"Lila, take this tray to the Haveli immediately," her aunt commanded, wiping her brow with her apron. "Keep your head down, hand it to the head cook at the back entrance, and come straight back. Do not wander around or look at anyone. The whole village is there today, and the Thakur's family honor is on full display."