It was the day of the village fair, and Ravi was learning something he hadn't expected. Crowds of people had come from all the nearby villages. Many of them stopped to admire Nani's paintings, and some even pointed at Ravi. "That's the painter's grandson," they said. "Clever boy, they say." A man Ravi had never met patted his head. A woman said his name as if she knew him.

But none of them really *knew* him. They knew *about* him.

Walking home in the evening, Ravi tried to explain the strange feeling. "So many people knew my name today," he said, "but it felt like... like none of them actually saw *me*."

Nani nodded slowly. "There's a difference," she said, "between people who know about you and people who truly see you. Tell me — who in your life really sees you?"

Ravi thought hard. He thought of Nani, who knew he was scared of thunder and never teased him for it. He thought of his mother, who could tell from across a room whether he'd had a good day or a bad one. He thought of his best friend, who knew the difference between his real laugh and his pretend one. And he thought of Moti, who didn't care whether Ravi was clever or famous, who simply loved him completely and ran to him every single time.

"The ones who love me," Ravi said. "*They* see me."

"Yes," said Nani. "Not the ones who studied you. Not the ones who heard about you. Not the ones who could list your prizes. The ones who *love* you wholly, those are the ones who really see who you are. Love is a kind of eye. It sees what nothing else can."

Ravi understood then what Krishna meant in the chariot. Krishna had just told Arjuna that all the Vedas and penances and gifts could not reveal His true form. "But by undivided love alone," Krishna said, "can I be truly known, truly seen, and entered into." Not studied. Not bought. Not earned. *Loved.* The one who loves with a whole, undivided heart is the one who finally sees God as God really is, and steps right into that light, finding it was the very light shining in his own heart all along.