The elders of the old kingdoms used to say that every life begins twice: first when a child emerges from the womb, and second when the child begins to ask the questions that trouble the spirit. Between these two births lies the long night of innocence and a darkness sweet in its softness, and dangerous in its ignorance.
It was during such a night that Siju, son of no noble lineage and heir to no known fortune, first learned the weight of dawn. Dawn, as the sages say, is not simply the rising of the sun. Dawn is the moment you realize you are responsible for your life.
Siju had grown up in a small town where hope was a rumor and survival was a daily negotiation. His father repaired radios for men who often refused to pay, and his mother sold bean cakes that sometimes returned home unsold. The corrupt officials who governed the land were like spirits invisible when help was needed, suddenly present when money was to be collected.
In such a world, wisdom did not arrive wrapped in gold; it hid in suffering, waiting for the brave to uncover it.
The First Encounter With Wisdom
Siju's true life began at seventeen, on the morning he met the old wanderer known only as The Keeper of Dust. Nobody knew where the Keeper came from; some claimed he had walked from the north deserts, others said he had risen from the earth like an ancestral apparition. His hair was white like sea-foam, his eyes dark as storm clouds.
That morning, the Keeper sat by the roadside, staring into the distance as if watching time itself pass by. When Siju approached, the old man did not look up. Instead, he said:
"Your footsteps carry questions. Sit."
Siju sat, startled.
"How did you know I wanted to ask something?"
The Keeper smiled.
"Your spirit is heavy, boy. When the heart is overcrowded, even the earth can feel your weight."
And so Siju asked the first question that signaled the beginning of his second birth:
"Why is life so hard for some of us ¹those born with little or nothing?
Is destiny blind, or is the world simply wicked?"
The Keeper did not answer immediately. He took a pinch of dust from the ground and let it fall slowly between his fingers.
"Destiny is neither blind nor wicked," he said.
"It is simply impartial.
But fate… fate bends toward those who learn its language."
Siju frowned. "And what language is that?"
The Keeper looked up at him for the first time.
"Wisdom."
The Ancient Principle of the Two Roads
The Keeper explained that in every life, two roads appear:
1. The road of sleep, where a person moves through life reacting, surviving, and repeating inherited patterns.
2. The road of awakening, where one begins to question, to observe, to shape reality consciously.
"Most people," the Keeper said, "walk the road of sleep until their final breath. They labour yet never build. They pray yet never listen. They desire yet never transform."
Siju asked him, "And the awakened ones what makes them different?"
The Keeper tapped his forehead, his chest, and his stomach.
"They think differently.
They feel differently.
They act differently."
He explained that in ancient times, the sages believed a person's destiny could be read in three ways:
Through the mind, the natural inclinations and curiosities of a child
Through the heart, the emotional compass, what evokes passion or peace
Through the stomach, symbolic of courage, resilience, and appetite for risk
"When all three align," the Keeper said, "a person's path becomes clear. But when they conflict, confusion rules."
Siju felt a strange stirring in his chest. For he had always sensed he was meant for more than the life around him yet he had no map, no resources, no knowledge of how to rise from struggle.
The Land of Struggle.
The Keeper asked him what troubled him most.
Siju sighed.
"I am tired. I work. I try. I dream. I push. But it feels like the world is rigged against me. Others move forward; I remain stuck in the same place. I am not lazy, yet the ground under my feet does not shift."
The Keeper nodded gently.
"You suffer from the illusion of stagnation."
"What illusion?"
"That progress must look dramatic."
He leaned closer.
"A seed makes no sound when it breaks the earth.
But inside, it is undergoing a violent transformation."
He continued:
"In a corrupt land, progress is not measured by results alone but by resistance.
Every step you take in an unfair system is worth ten steps in a fair one.
Your struggle is not proof of failure; it is proof that you are climbing a steep mountain."
Siju swallowed, realizing the truth in those words.
The Esoteric Laws of Movement.
The Keeper began to teach him the first wisdom of life and a knowledge as old as the deserts and as modern as psychological science.
LAW ONE: Movement creates meaning.
LAW TWO: Stillness creates clarity.
LAW THREE: Intention creates destiny.
"People confuse movement with noise," he said.
"They jump from idea to idea, job to job, person to person. That is not movement; that is scattering."
He taught siju that true movement is focus, the ability to pour energy into one direction until reality bends under the pressure of persistence.
He also taught that stillness silence, introspection, inner grounding is the doorway to intuition.
"In stillness," he said, "you hear the whisper of your destiny.
In movement, you make that whisper manifest."
How to Read Fate in People
then asked, "How can I know who someone truly is? Their destiny? Their intentions?"
The Keeper chuckled softly.
"The truth of a person is not in their words anyone can speak.
It is not in their behavior behavior can be rehearsed.
It lies in their patterns."
He continued:
"A jealous heart leaks through jokes.
A greedy soul leaks through requests.
A loyal person leaks through small acts of consistency.
A visionary leaks through their eyes the way they focus on the unseen."
This, he explained, was the ancient psychological art of pattern-watching, used by the wise to discern allies from enemies.
"Never fear your enemies," the Keeper said.
"Fear the friends who clap with dry palms."
Siju felt a chill at those words.
On Money, Opportunity, and the Nations of Corruption
Siju's voice softened.
"Keeper… how do we make money in a place where the system is broken?"
The Keeper sighed.
"Money is not made in systems it is made in minds."
He explained:
In stable nations, wealth comes from following rules.
In corrupt nations, wealth comes from understanding people.
"Observe the pain of your society," the Keeper said.
"Whatever a nation lacks becomes a goldmine for the one who can supply it."
He also taught him the theory of Low-Knowledge Advantage:
"When the environment lacks information,
even small knowledge becomes a kingdom."
This is why the disadvantaged can rise:
Because knowledge, not background, determines power.
On Envy, Comparison, and the Silent Poison
Sijuwade confessed:
"It hurts me when others succeed and I remain where I am. I try not to envy, but the heart sometimes betrays me."
The Keeper placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Envy is not a moral failure; it is an emotional signal.
It tells you what you feel you are meant to have but do not yet possess."
"But what do I do with it?"
"Transmute it," he replied.
"In alchemy, base metals become gold through fire.
In soul work, envy becomes ambition through awareness."
He taught Siju a powerful Stoic principle:
"Do not measure your chapter one against another man's chapter twenty."
Instead, measure your life with one question:
"Am I a little wiser than yesterday?"
If yes progress is happening, even if invisible.
The Calling
"Keeper," Siju asked, "how do I know my true calling?"
The old man smiled, the wrinkles on his face deepening like carved symbols.
"Your calling is not what you are good at.
It is what gives you life."
He explained three clues:
1. Your calling is what you return to when no one is watching.
2. Your calling is what gives you effortless curiosity.
3. Your calling is what pain cannot erase even in struggle, you return to it.
"Calling is not chosen," he said.
"It is remembered."
The First Lesson
The sun was now high in the sky. People walked past them, some staring at the strange sight of a young man sitting at the feet of a dusty wanderer.
The Keeper finally rose.
"You have taken your first step," he said.
"But wisdom is not learned in a day it is carved into the soul over time."
Siju asked eagerly, "Will I see you again?"
The Keeper smiled again that mysterious, timeless smile.
"Wisdom meets those who seek it.
If you continue to ask the right questions, you will always find me."
Then he walked away, his footsteps silent, as if the earth had agreed to carry him gently.
Siju sat alone for a long time, but he was no longer the same.
The night of innocence had ended.
The second life had begun.
And dawn, heavy and bright, rose within him.