which way

Grandpa sat beneath the ancient banyan, Kannadasan's poems worn into his palms. He'd spent decades chasing recognition, climbing social ladders for fleeting praise. Then Swami Paramarthananda's teachings found him—dharma over applause, purpose over prestige. He taught his grandson the old verses, not for rewards, but because truth deserved passing forward. The boy's eyes brightened with understanding, victory measured not in likes but in inherited wisdom. Their voices wove through evening air, connecting generations like temple bells answering one another. In that moment, grandpa understood: the greatest reward was continuity, the sweetest victory was simply belonging to something timeless and true.