"Why the thumb?" Kabir asked, his skepticism leaking out. The priest didn't look up from his mantras. "The thumb represents Agni, fire. But in this mudra, it represents the connection to the Pitru. You are not just pouring water, Bhai Sahab. You are offering Rinamochana—release from debt." The Debt. The word snagged in Kabir's chest. In Indian philosophy, every child is born with Pitra Rin—a debt to the ancestors who gave them life, biology, and lineage. But for Kabir, the debt felt heavier. It wasn't just biological; it was emotional. It was the debt of missed calls. The debt of the cut fruit left uneaten. The debt of silence. "He died thirsty," Kabir blurted out. The priest stopped chanting. "What?" "The night he died," Kabir whispered, staring at the water swirling around his legs. "He brought me papaya. He wanted to talk. I didn't look at him. I... I starved him of attention. He died spiritually thirsty."