Prakash Iyer 1 The heat of the festival hung heavy in the air, thick with sandalwood smoke, jasmine petals, and the rhythmic thud of chenda drums echoing off ancient temple walls. Women moved through the temple grounds in waves of red and gold, their sarees shimmering under strings of hanging oil lamps. In the courtyard of the Thirumandhamkunnu Temple, amidst the pulse of ritual and devotion, a body lay sprawled near the banyan tree where devotees tied threads for wishes. The crowd had not noticed her at first, assuming she was just another woman overcome by the rush of the…