The crowd was still buzzing when Raghu lowered his hand, palm still glittering with silver dust. It clung to his skin like a trophy, sharp as stars in sunlight.
"See?" he shouted, strutting before the holoscreens. "Not fading. Not dull. Stronger than all your turmeric and beetroot powders put together!"
A few clapped. Children pointed, eyes wide. Even the elders, usually quick with quips, were silent—watching too closely to joke.
One of Raghu's lackeys scurried forward with a brass jug of water, bowing low. "Show them, anna. Wash, and prove it's safe."
Raghu's grin sharpened. "Yes. Let's silence every doubt."
The boy poured water across his hand. Droplets glittered as they slid down, magnified on the holoscreens for every balcony to see. Raghu tilted his chin, smirk ready to crown his moment.
"You see? No stain, no harm—"
He stopped.
His fingers twitched once, then again. He tried to laugh it off. "Just cold water, nothing—"
But the drones zoomed in mercilessly. The skin was already flushing pink, faint at first, then spreading, blotches darkening like fire under his skin.
A hush fell.
Raghu cleared his throat, louder this time. "Brighter than—than your cheap powders—" His grin faltered as his nails dragged across his wrist. The blotches swelled into angry rashes, climbing toward his elbow.
Whispers darted through the lane."His hand—""It's burning—"
A child squealed, delighted. "He's scratching!"
The spell broke. Laughter burst like crackers in a row. Kids clapped their hands, chanting in rhythm:
"Scratch! Scratch! Scratchle Raghu!"
The chant rolled across balconies, echoed in holoscreens replaying every desperate scratch in humiliating loops. Raghu's lackeys flailed, trying to block the drones, but the machines buzzed higher, zooming in.
Ajja slapped his thigh, roaring into his mic. "His art is rash—literally rash! Ten points for drama, minus a thousand for scratching!"
The holoscreens flared bright red: –1000.
The lane howled.
Dev nearly collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Scratchle Raghu! Scratchle Raghu!" he shrieked, staggering against Ananya. Even calm Meera cracked into a smile. Leela pounded the ground laughing, smudging her own rangoli with her fists.
Raghu stumbled back, clutching his hand as angry welts crept up his arm. His gang swarmed him with excuses—"bad water," "wrong mixing"—but the crowd drowned them out with jeers.
Finally, the elders rose in their fiber-alloy recliners.
"Enough!" Raghav Uncle barked, his drone mic booming. "Unsafe powders. Confiscate them at once."
"Glitter is poison," Valli Aunty declared firmly. "We warned about these chemicals—these artificial powders. Now everyone sees."
Authority buzzed down in steel wings. CSA drones descended, compartments unfolding into sealed bins. Neighbors tipped the remaining trays inside, powders glowing faintly as the lids clamped shut. Labels pulsed across the bins:
HAZARD CLASS 3 — NON-COMPLIANT PARTICULATE MATTER.
The crowd muttered."Machines label it in a blink.""Machines know faster than men.""Machines don't feel burns."
The debate cracked open instantly.
"These powders should be banned!""Nonsense, one bad batch doesn't mean all are dangerous.""Natural is safe. Always has been.""Safe? Or just dull? At least these shone!"
The lane shifted into a parliament, voices clashing louder than the holoscreens.
Amma muttered from the doorway, ladle still in hand. "First Dev's footprints, now Raghu's rashes. This family has offered enough drama for one day."
But softer whispers wove through the noise, carried from neighbor to neighbor."The boy warned him.""Kalki said it first.""He saw it coming. Strange… but clever."
Ananya's gaze slid sideways. Kalki stood apart, coin hidden in his palm, face calm but too calm. Only his eyes betrayed the weight pressing in.
Inside, his thoughts ran jagged. They think I warned him. But what if it wasn't chance at all? Why am I even seeing these things? Why do the visions come to me?
In the far corner of the crowd, a figure watched. Older, sharper, half-hidden beneath a scarf. His lips barely moved as he muttered, "The fool ruined the plan. But the boy… he interfered. He'll learn the price." Then he slipped away, vanishing before anyone noticed.
The contest wound toward its end. Elders whispered among themselves, then announced the result.
"Square Nine. The lotus."
Gasps rippled. Everyone turned.
The winner was not Leela, not Meera, not even Ananya. It was a small girl at the far end of the lane. Her rangoli was simple: uneven petals traced in rice flour, filled with turmeric, bordered in pink. No glitter, no tricks—just steady, small hands.
The lane applauded. The girl shrank behind her mother's sari until Ajja thundered: "Come forward, champion! Show them what true color is."
Kalki's lips curved faintly. A lotus again. His fingers brushed the coin in his pocket, tracing its engraved flower. The symbol seemed to stalk him now—witness stone fissure, marigold lotus, and here again, in powder.
Raghu had already slunk away, nursing his swollen hand, pride in tatters.
Drums boomed across the lane, loud and urgent, scattering the crowd. Drones tilted, shifting their feeds from courtyards to rooftops. Holoscreens dissolved powders into new images—reels, kites, strings flashing like swords.
Ajja bellowed: "Enough powders! Now to the rooftops! Let us see whose kite rules the sky!"
Children whooped, charging upstairs, powders trailing like smoke. Rangolis blurred into dust beneath their feet.
Kalki lingered. The coin weighed heavy in his pocket. The cow. The garland. The fissure. Raghu's rash. Every time—I saw it before it happened. His chest tightened. Why me? Why now?
Above, the first kites snapped upward, cloth tugging at the brightening sky.
Kalki gripped his reel in one hand, the coin in the other.
The powders had shown their colors.Now the sky's turn.
And as the first kite sliced higher, the coin pulsed cold against his palm.