9 "Fragrance of Prayers"

Her mother sighed in the room, counting notes in a box, tallying every bit of their dwindling savings. Bani clenched her fists.

and went to bed.

The next day first rays of the sun crept through the curtains, painting the walls with a golden glow. Bani's mother was already awake. She moved through the house with quiet efficiency—sweeping the floor, wiping down surfaces, setting everything in its place. The rhythmic swish of the broom was the first sound of the day, followed by the gentle splashing of water as she washed away the remnants of yesterday.

After ensuring the house was fresh and welcoming, she took her morning bath, draping herself in the crisp scent of sandalwood and turmeric. The temple bell chimed softly as she stood before the household shrine, her hands folded in devotion. The scent of incense mixed with the earthy fragrance of marigolds as she lit the diya. A low murmur of prayers filled the air, wrapping the home in a serene warmth.

Meanwhile, Bani's father and brother stirred from their sleep. One by one, they freshened up, cleansing away the drowsiness of the night. Soon, they too stood before the deity, whispering their prayers, seeking blessings for the day ahead.

By the time they finished, the kitchen was alive with the sizzle of mustard seeds and the sharp, citrusy aroma of fresh lemon zest. Bani's mother moved with practiced grace, stirring, tasting, adjusting—a silent symphony of care. A plate of warm lemon rice awaited them at the table, the bright yellow grains glistening with a touch of ghee, the fragrance enticing and familiar.

As they settled down to eat, the morning unfolded like countless others before it—a comforting rhythm, a quiet assurance that no matter what changed in the world outside, the heart of their home remained the same."