One evening, a young woman rushed into the temple. Her silk saree was wet with rain, and her eyes were wild. "Ayya! My father is dying," she wept. "He wants to hear the 'Punyajanam Mantra' before he goes. But no one in the hospital knows it. Please come."

Karthik stood awkwardly by the bed. He felt like a fraud. But he closed his eyes and began, hesitantly at first:

The daughter fell to her knees. "Thank you. He was so afraid to die. But your mantra… he looked like he was smiling."

Karthik walked back to the river temple in a daze. He found his grandfather lighting the evening lamp.

"The mantra is not a tune," the old priest said softly. "It is a realization. Go."

Karthik nodded, tears mixing with the ash on his brow. For the first time in a decade, he slept without nightmares. And the next morning, his voice joined the old priest’s, echoing across the Vaigai: