It was the kind of morning Jeeva loved best. The sun came up clean and gold over the Warli hills, the air smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke, and the whole village seemed to wake up smiling. Jeeva felt clear and happy and strong, the way you do when you have slept well and nothing is wrong anywhere.

He found Aaji at the courtyard wall, painting a row of tiny white dancers in a circle. He sat beside her and watched, and everything she did made perfect sense to him — why the dancers held hands, why the circle never ended.

"Aaji," he said, "I feel wonderful today. My head is so clear. I understand everything. I wish every single day could be exactly like this one."

Aaji dipped her bamboo stick in the white paste and smiled. "That feeling," she said, "is sattva — the bright thread. The cleanest, kindest of the three. When sattva is strong in you, you feel calm and well, and your mind shines so you can see things clearly. It is a good morning indeed."

"Then sattva is the best one!" said Jeeva. "I want to be full of it always."

Aaji painted another little dancer before she answered. "It is the loveliest of the three," she agreed. "But listen, little one. Did you hear what you just said? *I wish every day could be exactly like this. I want this feeling always.*"

Jeeva nodded.

"There," said Aaji gently. "That is how even the bright thread ties you. Not with anything rough or cruel. It ties you because you want to hold on to feeling good, and you want to hold on to understanding everything. You start to cling — to the happiness, and to the cleverness. And then, when a duller morning comes, as it always will, you fight it and you grieve."

Jeeva looked at his clear, happy hands. He had not thought a good feeling could be a kind of rope.

"A thread of light is still a thread," said Aaji. "A soft, golden rope can hold you just as surely as a heavy one. Enjoy your bright morning, Jeeva. Drink it in. But hold it the way you hold sunshine in your open hand — not the way you grip a coin in your fist."

Jeeva opened both his hands and let the morning light rest on his palms, warm and gold, without trying to keep it. And somehow, doing that, he felt even freer than before.