Dhanyavādāh - heart poured out

Just as drops of water, however mixed with dirt, by the action of Sun's heat they get rarified, by the force of Wind they get carried, and by the arresting power of high peaks they get cooled and hardened into pure crystals; even so me, this little self, being cared, assisted, and guided is ever on march towards becoming pure.

Metaphorically, after all that they did, the Sun did not murmur for being ignored, the Wind did not clamour for being forgotten, and the peaks dont blame for getting burdened, in the making of the crystals of beauty. Even so are those many-many who came in my way have laboured out of love to elevate me at every stage of life, and have significantly contributed in the making of this me. To one and all, these little but not the final words of gratitude.