It was evening in Madhubani. The great fire of the day had cooled into a soft pink sky, and Nani had finished her painting — the cosmic one, the whole universe held in a single shining figure, faces and suns and worlds spiralling out in careful Madhubani lines. Ravi had watched her paint the terrible vision, and the gentle face restored. He had heard the whole story now, all the way to the end.

"Nani," he said quietly, "Arjuna saw *everything*. The whole universe. It was so big and so frightening. After seeing all that — what is a person even supposed to *do*?"

Nani set down her brush and wiped her hands. She drew Ravi to sit beside her on the courtyard step, Moti curling up at their feet. The temple bells were beginning, far off and sweet.

"That," she said, "is the most beautiful part. After showing Arjuna the entire blazing universe, do you know what Krishna asks of him at the very end? Nothing grand. Nothing impossible. Just three small things, small enough for a boy in Madhubani, or a warrior in a chariot, or anyone at all."

She held up one finger. "First — do your work for God. Whatever your work is — your sums, your chores, helping your mother, drawing your peacocks — do it as an offering, not for prizes. *Do your work for the Lord.*"

A second finger. "Second — love. Hold God highest in your heart, and love Him the way Moti loves you, with no holding back. Don't cling and grab at things and rewards — just love, openly, and let the rest go."

A third finger. "And third — this is the one I want you to carry your whole life. *Hate no one.* Not the boy who teased you. Not the man who pushed past you at the fair. Not anyone. Carry no enmity toward any living being — not people, not animals, not even the smallest creature. Look at every single thing that lives, and wish it well."

She folded Ravi's small hand inside her own.

"That is the whole secret, Ravi. Of all eleven chapters, of the entire vision, this is the heart. Do your work for God. Love with your whole heart. Hate no one. The person who lives like that," Nani said, and her voice was gentle, "comes home to God, to the One who was never truly other than their own deepest self. Not after great rituals. Just by working, and loving, and wishing every creature well."

The bells rang on. Moti sighed in his sleep. And Ravi sat with his Nani in the pink evening light, holding, in three small things, the whole of it.