Grandpa's Diya Story

The courtyard was alive with little flames. Lamps lined the steps, the windows, and even the old neem tree. In the middle of it all, Grandpa lit one last diya. Its flame danced, small but steady.

- Siddharth R.

Radha, Kabir, Aadya, Abha, Saanvi and Sara crouched close, their faces glowing orange in the light.

“Grandpa,” Kabir whispered, “why so many lamps? Isn't one enough?”

Grandpa chuckled, his voice soft as the crackle of the wick. “One lamp can do much, but many lamps together make magic. And this little diya is no ordinary thing. It is the whole universe sitting in your courtyard.”

The children’s mouths fell open.

“The universe?” they gasped.

“Yes,” Grandpa said, his eyes twinkling. “See for yourself. The clay bowl, the cotton wick, the oil, all of that is Earth. The flame that shines is Fire. The breath that keeps it alive is Air. The tiny drops of water born in the smoke are Water. And the space where it all happens is the wide Sky.”