Kabir stiffened. "I'm not avoiding anything. I'm taking action. I'm fixing myself." "You are tightening the string," Shukla Master said. "What?" "Do you know the story of Sona?" Shukla Master asked. "He was a disciple of the Buddha. Before he became a monk, he was a musician. A sitar player. He approached his spiritual practice like you—with intense force. He walked until his feet bled. He meditated until he collapsed. He wanted enlightenment now." Kabir stopped chewing. The description felt uncomfortably familiar. This was Toxic Productivity disguised as piety. "The Buddha went to him," Shukla Master continued. "He asked Sona: 'Tell me, musician. If the string of your sitar is wound too tight, will it produce music?'" "No," Kabir whispered. "It will snap." "'And if it is too loose?'" "It will be mute. No sound." "'Exactly,' said the Buddha. 'The music happens in the middle. Not too tight, not too loose. Tune your effort to the middle path.'" Shukla Master pointed a gnarled finger at Kabir's chest. "You are wound too tight, Kabir. You are trying to force forgiveness. You are trying to achieve grief. But grief is not a project. It is not a Series B funding round. You cannot 'scale' it."