In the lively town of Lalgudi, where boys dreamed as freely as the kites that flew over the river, young Krishnan had begun to imagine great things. One day he saw a picture of Olympic athletes in a magazine at the railway bookstall. Their strong bodies, the medals shining on their chests, and the cheering crowds filled his head with glamorous visions.
“I shall become a champion!” he declared that evening on the terrace. “I shall run faster than anyone in Lalgudi and win gold medals.”
Uncle Venkatesh looked up from his book with a gentle smile. “Go ahead and imagine it, Krishnan. There is no harm in a fine dream. But have you weighed the considerations?”
Krishnan tilted his head.
His uncle continued, drawing from the old teacher Epictetus: “To live the life of a true champion you must submit to strict rules and a careful diet. You must abstain from dainty foods and the sweets you love. You must exercise your body at unearthly hours—before sunrise or late at night—in the heat of summer and the chill of winter. You must drink nothing but water. You must practise until your face is pressed to the dusty ground, until you sprain an ankle or gulp the yellow sand. And even after all that sacrifice, you may still lose the victory by a mere whisker.”
Krishnan’s eyes grew wide.
“In a word,” Uncle Venkatesh said, “you must be ready to sacrifice. If after weighing everything your desire still holds firm, then try the wrestler’s life with your whole soul. But do not merely desire, like a child in a candy store who wants everything yet commits to nothing. Weigh the gain, count the cost, and make a thoughtful choice. Only then lay your hand to the work. If you do this with clear eyes, you may gain something even greater than medals—Freedom, Tranquility, and Serenity. These are the true prizes in the infinite game called Life.”
That night Krishnan sat quietly on his mat and did the weighing. He pictured the early morning runs while his friends still slept, the plain meals without laddus, the aching legs, the possibility of defeat. He also pictured the other side: a stronger body, a steadier mind, and the quiet pride of having given himself fully to something.
The next morning he rose early—not with the sudden fire of a candy-store wish, but with a calm decision. He ran along the river path while the mist still hung low. He drank water instead of the sweet tea he loved. He practised his running and exercises even when the sun was sharp and the ground was hard. Some days his ankles hurt. Some days he finished last in practice races with older boys. Yet he continued, because he had already counted the cost and chosen.
Weeks turned into months. Krishnan did not become an Olympic champion—Malgudi had no stadium for that. But something quieter and stronger grew inside him. He no longer chased every passing desire. When sweets tempted him, he remembered the choice he had made. When laziness whispered, he remembered the sand and the early hours. Slowly he discovered a new kind of freedom: the freedom of a mind that was no longer pulled in ten directions. Tranquility settled over him like the evening light on the Sarayu. Serenity became a familiar visitor.
One evening he sat again with Uncle Venkatesh as the sky turned deep blue.
“Uncle,” he said, “I weighed the cost and still chose the path. I have not won any gold medals. But I think I am learning the prizes that matter in the long game of life.”
Uncle Venkatesh nodded with quiet satisfaction. “That is the spirit Epictetus spoke of. Not the child who wants everything, but the young man who chooses with his whole soul and pays the price gladly. In that choice lies a championship finer than any Olympic crown.”
In the soft dusk of Lalgudi, while other boys still dreamed of glory without counting the cost, young Krishnan walked home with a steady step. He had begun to play the infinite game with clearer eyes—ready to sacrifice what must be sacrificed, and free, at last, from the restless wanting of the candy store. And in that daily commitment, Freedom, Tranquility, and Serenity had quietly become his true medals.