The brief was the patient, hopeful rhythm of darshan — a family queuing for a glimpse of the deity — composed as a procession-frieze on Mewar's flat red ground, the way a Mewar painter set a temple or durbar approach. It works because the grammar is already there: figures moving in a line toward a single architectural focus, the saturated ground holding everything together. We kept the cast to one family with their trays of offerings, a priest at the bell-hung doorway and a flower-seller with her baskets, and let the hill of white shrines, the lake and the lone peacock fill the rest. The everyday devotion — coconuts, sweets, marigold garlands — is the modern note, drawn flat and folk-stylised so the queue reads as a courtly procession first.