The Guarded Flame of Kochuthamburati

The Guarded Flame of a Kochuthamburati

_ For the one who waits with grace, even when no one sees

By: Somi Philip Chempothara

They think she’s delicate

all silk folds, temple-gold,

anklets that never echo

the weight of what she holds.

But beneath jasmine and sandalwood,

a flame learns to guard itself.

Not out of fear,

but out of reverence

for what it burns for.

She does not burn for many.

Only one.

And even then

not blindly.

There was a time she danced

barefoot in hope,

her laughter spilling like

temple bells at dusk.

Now she walks softer.

Not because her fire is weak

but because it is sacred.

And sacred things are never loud.

You may see her

at the window of her waiting,

cup of prayer in hand,

eyes skyward and smiling,

but make no mistake:

This is not passivity.

This is poise.

The poise of one

who could scorch the world

but chooses stillness.

Because she remembers

what the women before her said:

Let no one enter the sanctum

who does not kneel in awe.

And so she guards the flame.

Not with walls,

but with worth.

She is the Kochuthamburati.

Not a title.

A lineage.

A vow.