Weeks later came the grand festival of Minjar Mela, when villagers gathered with music, dance, and offerings for the deities. The oracle (the gur, possessed by the village devta) entered a trance before the crowd. His voice, not his own, thundered:
"Among you lives the chosen one. The River Goddess has claimed her bride, and her name is… Meera."
The villagers gasped. Women glanced at Meera with pity; men muttered about omens. Her mother wept, clutching her daughter's hand. From that day, the people treated Meera with fearful respect — neither blessing nor curse, but destiny.