26

At twenty-six, Arjun returned to Srirangam after years chasing digital fortune. The ancient temple's bells reminded him why he'd started—to honor his grandmother's dreams. He'd discovered cryptocurrency trading, earning steadily, watching numbers climb like devotional steps. But Kannadasan's poetry, inherited on worn pages, spoke differently. Wealth meant nothing without roots. Standing beneath thousand-year-old towers, Arjun understood finally: true abundance came from belonging, from knowing exactly where you're from, who came before, and why it mattered. The coins could wait. Heritage couldn't.