Jeeva woke before anyone else. The night's heaviness had washed away, and the air through the open doorway was cool and clean. He stepped out onto the veranda and stopped, struck still by the morning.

The whole Warli village lay clear and shining. The sun was just lifting over the eastern hill, and everything seemed lit from inside — the dewy grass, the wet brown earth, the white Warli figures painted along the mud walls, even the horns of the calf under the mango tree. A koel called once, sweet and round, and Jeeva heard every part of the sound.

Aaji came out behind him, drawing her shawl close, and breathed the cool air.

"Look, Aaji," Jeeva whispered, as if speaking loudly might break it. "Look how clear everything is this morning. I can see so far. I can hear the koel, and the river, and your footsteps, all separate. The air smells like wet earth. And my head feels... light. Empty and clear. Like I could understand anything."

Aaji smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Do you feel how the light seems to come in through every part of you at once? Your eyes, your ears, your nose, even your thinking — all the little doors of your body are open and bright, and the morning is pouring in through every one."

"Yes!" said Jeeva. "Every door open at once."

"Krishna calls those the gates of the body," said Aaji. "And he says: when the light of clear knowing shines out from every gate together, like this — then you can be sure the bright quality, sattva, has grown strong inside you. This is the quiet, clear weather of the mind, little one. Drink it in. Mornings like this are good for understanding hard things, for kind thoughts, for seeing clearly."

Jeeva stood very still and let the morning pour in through all his open doors. The clear feeling was so gentle that he understood, without anyone telling him, why sages woke before dawn — to catch the bright weather before the busy clouds of the day came rolling in.