For children: In 18th-century Delhi, Meera and her friends set out to light lamps on the river
An excerpt from ‘Lights for the Jamuna’, by Mamta Nainy, illustrated by Bhavana D.
Black News 
When Meera reached home, the wheel was still turning.
Rows and rows of freshly shaped diyas sat drying along the wall. Amma sat beside them, trimming their edges with a blade. She worked fast but never in haste.
Every diya that made it to the kiln passed through her hands, as if it were her offering at a sacred shrine.
Meera set the water pot down.
“I met Ameena on the way,” she said, washing her feet. “She was talking about the Akash Diya. Have you heard of it, Baba?”
A smile played on Baba’s lips. “Heard of it?” he said, over the steady whirr of the wheel. “I’ve been hearing about it since I was your age or maybe even younger.”
“They say it burns like a sun,” Meera went on. “And its light can be seen from Chandni Chowk and beyond.”
Baba wet his hands in a pot beside him and returned to the clay.
“Royal light is never just light,” he wiped the sweat off his brow with his gamcha. “It’s not only meant to be seen but also remembered. It is to remind people who holds the flame.”
“Who holds the flame?” Meera furrowed her eyebrows.
“Badshah Salamat, who else?” Baba said.
Meera watched another diya rise from the spinning wheel, round...
