Chapter 3 — Devi Darshanam: The Transformation Before the Goddess
By eight o'clock, the village had become a river of color. Women in silk sarees carried flower baskets toward the temple. Children ran between decorated stalls. Drums echoed through the streets, and the scent of sandalwood, camphor, and incense drifted through the morning air.
Inside their house, the three sisters were getting dressed. Lakshmi selected a deep maroon saree with a gold border. Madhavi chose a green silk saree, and Sravani wore a bright pink half-saree decorated with tiny gold flowers.
Chinna stood near the doorway, watching them arrange their jewellery.
“Are you going to stare at us all morning?” Madhavi teased.
“I'm waiting for you to finish.”
“Then you should sit down,” Sravani replied. “Because today, you're getting ready with us.”
Chinna immediately became suspicious. “What does that mean?”
Lakshmi brought out a neatly folded bundle of clothing from an old wooden trunk. When she unfolded it, Chinna saw a sky-blue traditional outfit, a matching blouse, and a length of soft fabric chosen for a graceful festive look.
He stared at it. “No.”
“Just listen,” Lakshmi said patiently. “The mehendi has become part of our festival joke. We thought it would be fun to help you experience a traditional feminine look for the occasion. But only if you want to.”
Madhavi added, “We can stop whenever you like. Nobody outside this house needs to know anything.”
Chinna looked from one sister to another. He had imagined what it might be like to wear their clothes many times, though he had never admitted it aloud. He was curious about the jewelry, the hairstyles, and the way their clothes flowed when they walked. Yet the idea of actually wearing them frightened him.
“What if I look ridiculous?”
Sravani laughed gently. “Then we'll help you until you feel comfortable.”
After a long pause, Chinna nodded. “All right. But if you laugh at me, I'm leaving.”
“Agreed,” all three sisters said together.
Chinna faced the full-length mirror. A young person with long, jasmine-adorned hair, a small bindi, delicate earrings, bangles, and a sky-blue saree looked back at him.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak. He had expected embarrassment. Instead, he felt a mixture of nervousness, wonder, and unexpected happiness.
“Is that really me?” he whispered.
Madhavi stood beside him. “Yes. It's still you.”
Sravani took his hand. “And you look beautiful.”
Chinna's eyes became moist. He couldn't explain why those words affected him so deeply. He wasn't certain what the experience meant. He only knew that he wanted a little more time to understand the person he was seeing in the mirror.
Lakshmi gently adjusted the jasmine flowers. “What would you like us to call you while you're dressed like this?”
Chinna looked at the mirror again. Before he could answer, Sravani spoke. “Chinni.”
Everyone turned toward her. “Chinni?” Madhavi repeated.
“It sounds affectionate. He's always been our little brother, but today he feels like our little sister too. We could call him Chinni for the festival.”
Chinna considered the name. “Chinni,” he repeated quietly. For some reason, it felt warm and familiar.
“All right,” he said. “Just for today.” The sisters cheered.
But their celebration was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. An elderly woman stood outside, dressed in a dark red saree, carrying a brass plate filled with flowers. She looked directly at Chinna. Then she dropped the flowers.
“The prophecy was true,” she whispered.
Chinna gripped the edge of his saree. “What prophecy?”
The old woman looked at the mehendi on his hands, then at the eight-petalled symbol near his wrist. “Child, you must come to the temple before the main procession begins. The priest needs to see that mark.”
And with those words, she turned and hurried away. The sisters stared at one another. Their playful festival morning had suddenly become something else. Something ancient. Something none of them understood.
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