“The Song of the Neythiri Tree”
In a small village nestled between the emerald backwaters and lush coconut groves of Kerala, lived Ammu, a spirited twelve-year-old who was known for asking questions that had no answers. She danced to the rhythm of temple chenda drums, scribbled poems about monsoons, and believed that the ancient neythiri tree outside her home could understand her secrets.
Her grandmother, Ammachi, told tales passed through generations—stories of Kathakali warriors who leapt across moonlit stages, of Theyyam spirits who spoke in flames, and of the legendary boat races that thundered like heartbeats on Onam days.
One morning, as the village prepared for the annual harvest festival, Ammu noticed that the neythiri tree was losing its leaves, despite the rains. Worried, she asked the village elders. “It’s old,” they said. “Let it rest.”
But Ammu refused to accept that. She offered the tree coconut water, sang lullabies in Malayalam, and tied jasmine garlands around its trunk. That night, under stars mirrored in the water, the temple drums began. Ammu heard a rustle, not of wind, but of response.
By the time Onam arrived, the neythiri tree had bloomed anew. Elders shook their heads in wonder; Ammachi just smiled knowingly. “When culture flows through your blood like the backwaters,” she said, “even trees listen.”
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