The plume rising from the stretcher is the smallest element on this table and the one that takes the longest to settle, because its height is a judgement rather than a measurement.
It is carved with the grain running vertically and mortised into the stretcher, so the fibres run continuously up through the leaves and there is no short-grained neck to fail. That part is straightforward joinery. What is not straightforward is deciding where it stops.
Our master Indian artisans work to a rule that applies to any ornament pointing into empty space: it must either clearly reach the thing above it, or clearly stop well short of it. What it must never do is almost touch. A plume whose tip finishes a finger's width below the apron looks like a mistake - the eye reads the gap as an error rather than as a decision, and it keeps returning to it. Give it a generous, obvious gap and the plume reads as rising freely; carry it all the way up and it reads as a support.
So the carver works the plume slightly over height, stands the table up, looks at it from across the room, and takes it down until the gap is unmistakable.