When he stepped into the kitchen, he could hear the women speaking about that incident. He entered, calling out to his daughter, Seethamma. The other women rose respectfully and stepped out into the next room.

Seethamma came with a pot of buttermilk. He drank it, wiped his mouth, belched, and left for the irrigation tank. The summer rains had the tank brimming with water. The tall trees lent cool shade. He reached the peepul tree and sat under it, whispering, ‘Sri Rama …’ Every tree along the tank had been planted by a family of that village and had been reared with care for generations. Now they stood majestic as a dense forest. Mangaiathaar Ammal’s son-in-law Kottaiyya had planted the peepul tree. The fig tree next to it had been planted by Nunkonda Srivengaiah’s forefather. Konetti Raghavaiah had planted the one next to it. Maneri Chengayya had planted the banyan after that. Chakkini Bangarayya had planted the one next to it.

And so, one family or the other had each planted black plum, neem, tamarind and sirissa, and the trees were revered by the people of the village.

They had dug this tank when they moved to this region. Then there had been a huge ditch in its place, surrounded by a thicket of cacti. Govindappa Nayakkar still remembered the long tales that Mangaiathaar Ammal told about their struggle to till this land and rear a forest.

When Mangaiathaar Ammal and her ancestors arrived in this place, they decided to make it their home. The pit was full of clean water, on its bank an ageing neem tree. It was under that tree that they rested. To the north was a tall snake burrow. They put the sacred palm box next to it. Before that, they went around the burrow thrice. When the box was taken off the bearer’s head and placed on the ground, the women yodelled in chorus, then fell to the ground with devotion, pinching a bit of the soil, sprinkling some on their heads, smearing some on their foreheads, and placing the rest in their mouths. At once the grandmother was possessed. Uncle held her, so that she would not fall.

The grandmother sobbed in ecstasy. The rest bowed to her in respect and begged her to say what the goddess wanted.

The grandmother sang her words, in a long faint voice, ‘My dear people, we were born in a different land. Do not worry that you have had to move to a strange place. This too belongs to Mother Earth. You have just moved from one finger of hers to another. That’s all. You have nothing to fear. I am always with you.’

‘That’s all we want, dear Mother,’ they cried.

The grandmother pointed to the south, ‘Weed out that thicket of spurges and make it a grazing ground for the cattle you will soon have.’

Then she pointed to the east, ‘Erase that thicket of spurges and make it your fertile fields. Build a temple for me in this spot.’