Veena Mehta One The ancient ghat on the banks of the Narmada shimmered under the golden light of Kartik Purnima. Clay lamps floated silently on the water like drifting prayers, their flames barely flickering in the still air. Pilgrims descended the wide, weathered stone steps in silence or chant, some with folded palms, some with copper pots brimming with sacred water. The Deshmukh family, visiting from Pune, stood together at the edge of the ghat. Vinay adjusted his spectacles while Malini held tightly onto their youngest daughter Ahalya’s wrist. The girl, all of eight years old, was already tugging away—drawn…