Saayal

In the southern edge of Tamil Nadu stands Vaerimalai - a district spoken of rarely, remembered faintly.

Once, its name meant "land of roots."
Now, it feels rootless.

The soil is split and pale.
Wind moves dust across empty fields.
Nothing grows.

Wells are shallow.
Cattle are lean.
The young leave.

People say the land is cursed.
They have said it long enough to believe it.

Yet beneath the hardened surface lie layers untouched - minerals, fertile earth, strength waiting in silence. The land is not dead
It is unread.

Through Vaerimalai runs the Peruntharai River. It does not roar. It simply flows.

It feeds Aazhiyaeri - wide, steady, enduring.
In rain it rises. In summer it retreats. It never disappears.

Still, the fields remain dry.

No canals were carved.
No channels were drawn.
No hands guided the water to the soil.

The river exists.
The lake endures.

The land waits.

Water moves.
People suffer.

Vaerimalai is not without blessing.

It is without understanding.