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Grandmother's trembling fingers moved across the veena strings one last time before the deadline. Her classical recital would be live-streamed, monetized through the social network that had finally discovered Srirangam's artistic treasures. She'd taught dance and music here for sixty years, never expecting payment beyond her students' gratitude. Now, at seventy-eight, the cash arrived. Not for vanity, but to fund the temple's youth academy. Her intelligent decision rippled through generations. Young dancers gathered in the courtyard, learning the mudras she'd perfected decades ago. That evening, as her voice echoed through ancient corridors, Srirangam remembered what truly mattered: knowledge flowing freely, community thriving, heritage alive.