The smoke came first. By dawn, every lane of Vaidyanagari smelled of ash and jaggery, of fires newly born and sweets already frying. Bhogi had come — the day for burning out the old, for sweeping heaviness into flame so Sankranti could rise lighter.
Courtyards flickered like small suns. Bundles of cracked mats, broken pots, and threadbare shawls piled high in the centers of lanes. Children ran with armfuls of junk, laughing as sparks snapped at their heels. The whole street seemed to glow like a necklace of bonfires strung across the city.
Ajja planted himself in the middle of their lane, staff in hand, voice raised like a temple bell."Throw out your ghosts!" he shouted. "Cast your dead weight! Burn it all before it burns you!"
The neighbors looked on, amused. Dev, face already streaked with soot, seized a cracked pot and tossed it dramatically into the flames."Begone, you useless burden!" he declaimed.
The pot exploded with a sharp pop. Children cheered. Amma stormed forward, rolling up her sleeves."That was my water pot, you little demon!"
Dev squealed and ran, tripping over his own legs. Ajja coughed to cover a laugh."It was cracked, woman," he argued."It was useful cracked!" Amma snapped, wielding her ladle like a sword. The lane erupted with laughter as she chased Dev in circles.
Kalki smiled faintly, standing close to the fire. The warmth touched his skin, but something deeper pressed against his chest. The laughter rang too loud, Amma's anger felt too sharp, Ajja's pride too heavy. It was as though the flames pulled not only the useless things from houses but the emotions from the people around him, feeding them into his bones.
He shifted uneasily, hand brushing his pocket. The coin was cool against his thigh, as though no fire touched it. He pulled it out, fingers turning it over. For a second, it shimmered in the light of the flames.
Then he fumbled. The coin slipped from his grip and dropped straight into the Bhogi fire.
"Ah!" Kalki yelped, diving forward. Sparks bit at his skin as he scrambled through charred cloth and broken wood. His friends howled with laughter from the rooftops.
"Look! Kalki's worshipping the flames!""He's offering his coin to the gods!""Maybe the fire will give it back with interest!"
He found it, snatched it out. His fingers stung, but the coin was strangely cool, almost as if it had stolen the fire's heat instead of suffering it. For a heartbeat it glowed faintly, lotus lines breathing ember-red, then dulled back to its ordinary corroded grey.
Kalki stuffed it quickly into his pocket, scowling at the laughter."It's just… habit," he muttered.
"Habit of praying to money?" Dev yelled from a safe distance, ducking Amma's ladle as he circled back. "My amma says that's the fastest way to get rich!"
Ajja thumped his staff on the stones, puffing his chest."Enough! This is Bhogi, not a comedy club! Show respect to fire, children!"
Kalki smirked. "Says the man who shouted at ghosts five minutes ago."
Even Amma laughed at that. Ajja grumbled and turned dramatically back to the flames, muttering about disrespectful generations.
By midmorning, rooftops had turned into rehearsal stages for tomorrow's battle. Reels creaked as boys tested tension, scraps of coloured paper clung to tiles like fallen feathers, and rooster cages lined the edges.
Dev paraded his bird proudly, ignoring its furious squawks."This one has the spirit of a warrior," he declared. "See its eyes — full of fire!"
The rooster flapped and promptly escaped, wings thrashing as it darted across tiles. Dev lunged after it, arms out like a child imitating flight.
"Catch it before it joins Patel's gang!" someone shouted."It already looks smarter than Dev!" another chimed.
The rooster strutted back into its cage on its own. Dev lay flat on the tiles, gasping. The rooftop shook with laughter. Amma's voice shot up from below, sharp as a slap."Don't break your bones before the festival! And stop tormenting those poor birds!"
"It's Dev!" a boy yelled down helpfully."That's exactly why I said it!" Amma barked back. The rooftop collapsed into another round of laughter.
Across the lane, their rivals arrived, reels in hand, swaggering. Their leader grinned, eyes glinting."Better tie it tighter, philosopher. Tomorrow the wind won't wait for your thoughts."
Kalki's friends bristled, ready with insults. But Kalki only pressed his palms together solemnly and bowed like a sage giving blessings."May your kites rise high," he intoned gravely, "so they fall faster."
The rooftop erupted. Rivals flushed, muttered curses, and retreated under the laughter. Dev clasped Kalki's shoulders, tears in his eyes from mirth."Look at you! Our philosopher's finally found a tongue — and sharper than a glassed thread!"
Kalki only smiled faintly, reel steady in his lap. His silence afterward unsettled his friends more than his mockery.
Afternoon blurred into festival chaos. Amma scolded Dev for smearing the rangoli. Dev blamed Kalki. Ajja declared himself judge and banged his staff like a gavel:"By the power vested in me by absolutely no one, I declare both guilty of bad handwriting!"
The neighbors leaned over balconies, joining the argument. One woman shouted about smoke ruining her laundry. Amma fired back about her rooster stealing turmeric. Soon half the lane was yelling across rooftops, insults mixed with festival songs.
"Only in this family," Kalki muttered, "can Bhogi sound like a parliament debate."
That was when she appeared.
Leela, hair pulled back, hands dusted with rangoli powder, leaned on her reel as if it were a sceptre she carried without asking permission. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp."You've already lost two kites before even flying them," she said to Dev. "Maybe tie the rooster to your reel — it seems smarter."
The rooftop erupted again. Dev sputtered, failed to reply, ears red.
She didn't look at kalki, not directly. But when her eyebrow arched, teasing Dev, it felt for a heartbeat as though she had measured him too.
His friends noticed before he did."Look at Kalki," one whispered loud enough for all. "Our philosopher's lost in the clouds, and the kites aren't even up yet!"
The teasing circled him like wind around a string. Kalki forced a grin, tightened the reel, and looked away. But he couldn't quite shake the flicker of curiosity she left behind — as though she carried a rhythm he almost recognised, but not yet.
As the sun dipped, kites already dotted the sky, bright diamonds tugging at the wind. Kalki tied his last knot, gaze lingering on sparks still curling from the morning's fires.
He shook his head, unsettled. Maybe Bhogi fires burned more than wood this year.
Down below, the lane filled with the smell of sesame sweets and sugarcane. Laughter clung to the air like banners. The city was ready for battle in the skies.
Far away, Vikram Saran stood on the coast at Dwaraka. The sea rolled restless at his feet. Technicians adjusted sonar, checked seals, whispered about anomalies.
From where he stood, he could see faint glimmers of kites rising over distant towns. For a moment, their colours flickered in his corroded coin as he turned it in his hand.
Tomorrow, he thought, would be a day for plunging into the deep.
And in Vaidyanagari, Kalki thought tomorrow would be a day for flying high.
Both felt the wind shift.