The translation problem was scale and bustle: a free kitchen is crowded and busy, but shrine-cloth grammar wants order, so the goddess holds the top of the field and the meal is laid out as a calm horizontal register beneath her — cooks stirring great pots with steam drawn as rising lines, ladlers serving a seated row of diners on the floor, every figure flat madder on cream. Composed this way the annakshetra reads as worship, not reportage, the act of feeding placed directly under the deity. The Vaghri (Devipujak) community of Ahmedabad, long kept from temple sanctums, painted the Mother onto cloth to carry their shrine with them; the annakshetra serves the Mother by feeding every devotee who comes. Brick-red, iron-rust black, undyed cream: nothing else, because the limited natural-dye triad is the entire discipline.