“This,” said the old man, “is the smallest seed in our kingdom. But the sage who passed through here forty years ago said that if you truly grow a mustard seed, not just the plant, but the seed itself—if you cultivate its deepest nature—it will show you the secret of all growth.”

In the small, sun-baked village of Karvali, there lived a boy named Aari. He was known not for his strength or his speed, but for his questions—questions that seemed too big for his small mouth. His grandfather, an old man with hands like cracked earth and eyes like rain clouds, was the only one who answered them.

Aari wrinkled his nose. “But a seed grows into a plant, then makes more seeds. That’s all.”

“You are the smallest seed. But you are not small. You are only waiting for someone to grow you the right way. And today, I will be that someone.”

Aari’s grandfather appeared then, walking slowly from the edge of the forest. He was older, yes, but his eyes were young. He knelt before Aari and placed a hand on his head.