Memory, Pilgrimage, and the Meaning of Saka Dawa The Lamp Before Sunrise I remember the smell first. Butter. Warm, slightly sweet, mixed with juniper smoke drifting up from the offering bowl. My grandmother would be awake before any of us, kneeling in front of the small altar in our living room, lighting the butter lamps one by one. Her lips moved without sound. She did not need to read the words. She had been saying them for sixty years. It was