In a small village far from the bustle of the city, lived a young man named Raksa. His home was simple, made of bamboo with a roof that was already worn out, leaking at several points every time it rained. Despite this, Raksa lived life with enthusiasm and never complained. Since childhood, he had been accustomed to working hard to help his family.
Every morning, before the sun rose, Raksa would wake up and work in the fields with his aging father and tireless mother. He was the eldest of three siblings, and the burden of life often felt heavy. His father, who was starting to fall ill, could only watch from a distance, while Raksa's mother always offered support, even though they didn't have much to give.
"Raksa, be careful working, don't overdo it," his mother would say every time he left for the fields. Her voice full of concern, even though they could only eat what little they had.
Raksa never minded. Although their lives were full of hardships, he knew that they had to endure and keep working to earn their daily bread. He always thought that as long as they were together, life would go on, even if it was difficult.
However, behind his life of struggle, Raksa also felt a sense of restlessness in his heart. Every time he saw his friends living in luxury, his heart would ache. He sometimes wondered if there would ever be a change in his life. Still, he never expected too much. Life was a struggle, and Raksa had become accustomed to that reality.
One day, while Raksa was on his way home from the fields, he saw an old woman struggling to walk. She wore tattered clothes, her body hunched, and her face was full of wrinkles. Though she seemed very old and tired, there was something that made Raksa stop for a moment. Something unusual, perhaps because of her eyes, which were full of determination, as if they held many untold stories.
"Young man, may I ask for your help?" the woman's voice was weak, yet full of trust.
Without hesitation, Raksa approached and offered his help. "Of course, Granny. Where are you headed?"
The woman looked at him with an expression that couldn't be explained, as if she knew something more than just this encounter. "I only want to reach the end of the village, child. But I am too tired to walk further."
With a smile, Raksa offered his hand to help the woman walk. They took slow steps together, passing through a narrow path overgrown with wild plants. Even though he didn't know her, Raksa felt there was something strange tying them together during this brief journey. There were no significant conversations, only their footsteps in unison.
Upon reaching the edge of the village, the woman stopped under a large tree that seemed to be her favorite spot. She sat quietly and then took a small object out of her pocket.
"This is a token of my gratitude, child," said the woman as she handed him the object.
Raksa took the object, puzzled. It was a small piece of metal, engraved with strange symbols, like a charm or a precious item.
"What is this, Granny?" Raksa asked, feeling a little awkward.
"It's not for you to see now. One day, you will know what it means," the woman replied, smiling knowingly. "Your life will change soon, child."
Raksa didn't understand what the woman meant, but he felt there was something important in her words. He placed the object in his pocket, feeling strange yet moved. The woman then turned and walked slowly, leaving Raksa standing there, watching her leave with mixed emotions.
That night, Raksa reflected on the encounter. He couldn't explain the unsettling feeling in his heart. There was something different after meeting the old woman—like a sign that something would happen in his life. But he didn't know what it was, and he could only continue with life as usual, working hard for his family, unaware that a great destiny was waiting for him.