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Anand scrolled through endless notifications, his follower count climbing like monsoon waters. His verses about ancient Keeladi excavations had gone viral. Comments poured in—thousands cashing in on his newfound fame with sponsorship offers. Yet nothing compared to yesterday's encounter. An elderly woman recognized him at the market, reciting his poem about pottery shards and forgotten voices. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched his arm. "You've given them back their names," she whispered. In that moment, Anand understood. The coins and comments meant nothing. Real wealth lived in connecting souls to their roots, in weaving present voices with ancestral echoes through shared stories and inherited pride.