The next morning, Raghav set off. The pot was heavy, and the path was steep. Soon, he met an old woman struggling with a bundle of firewood. Remembering Amma’s words, he said, “Come, apne mata ji. Rest and drink some water.” The old woman’s eyes softened. She sat down, drank, and said, “Bless you, apne beta.” For the first time, Raghav felt a strange warmth in his chest.
Finally, near the temple, he met an old man who had slipped on the wet stones. Raghav helped him up and said, “Hold my shoulder, apne pitaji (father).” The old man’s eyes glistened. “I lost my son last year,” he whispered. “No one has called me ‘pitaji’ since.” The next morning, Raghav set off
Amma smiled and pointed to the mountain path. “Tomorrow, carry this pot of water to the temple on the hill. Along the way, you’ll meet three people. Offer them water. But use the word ‘apne’ when you speak to them. Then come back and tell me if the word made a difference.” Remembering Amma’s words, he said, “Come, apne mata ji