Wal | Katha 9

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Wal Katha 9: The Queen of the Silent Grove (Keliya Goyam – The Paddy of Shadows) In the heart of the Uva Province, beyond the seven kanduras (mountain passes) and hidden by a veil of perpetual mist, there lies a patch of jungle that no woodcutter dares to name aloud. They call it the Nihanda Keliya —The Silent Grove. It is said that birds do not sing there, and the wind makes no sound passing through the leaves. Only the drip of water from the kumbuk trees marks the passage of time. This is the ninth story of the Wal Katha. The Man Who Lost His Shadow Long ago, during the time of King Vimaladharmasuriya, there lived a poor farmer named Podiappu . He was a good man, but a desperate one. A terrible drought had withered his paddy field for three seasons. His wife was ill, and his youngest daughter had not smiled in a year. One evening, a traveling Yakadura (demon priest) came to Podiappu’s hut. The Yakadura had hollow eyes and teeth blackened by betel. “I can end your suffering,” the priest whispered. “But not for gold. For something you have two of. Your shadow.” Podiappu laughed. “What use is a shadow? Take it.” The Yakadura knelt, drew a karalla (conch shell) line in the ash, and chanted the Maha Sohona Mantra . Podiappu felt a cold tug at his heels. He looked down. His shadow was gone—ripped away like a leech pulled from skin. In its place, a small, black punchi rottaya (piece of cloth) lay on the floor. “Take this,” said the priest. “Sow it in the driest corner of your field at midnight. Water it with your tears. By dawn, you will have paddy that never ends.” The Grove of Golden Stalks Podiappu did as he was told. At midnight, he buried the black cloth. Instead of water, he wept—for his wife, for his daughter, for his own foolishness. The ground split open. From the crack emerged a single stalk of paddy, but it was not green. It was the colour of a dying lamp—golden-orange and glowing with a feverish light. By sunrise, the entire field was filled with these eerie stalks. They swayed without wind. They whispered without voices. When Podiappu harvested them, the grains multiplied in his hands. He became rich overnight. But the rice came with a price. Every night, his daughter woke screaming. She spoke of a tall woman in a white redda who stood at the foot of the bed, combing hair that dripped water. The woman had no face—only a smooth, pale oval where her features should be. “She is counting my breaths,” the child wept. “She says you borrowed her paddy. And now she wants your soul.” The Queen Revealed Podiappu returned to the Silent Grove to confront the spirit. He walked for three hours until the air turned cold and his own footsteps made no echo. There, in a clearing, stood a gansabha (council) of seven Rala trees. Beneath them sat the Queen. She was beautiful. Her skin was the colour of monsoon mud. Her eyes were two drops of kithul toddy—golden and terrible. And behind her, nailed to the largest Rala tree, were hundreds of shadows—writhing, stretching, moaning. “Welcome, Podiappu,” she said. Her voice was the sound of a dry leaf scraping stone. “You are my ninth farmer. The others are… here.” She gestured to the shadows. They were not mere shapes. They were entire lives—men, women, children reduced to silhouettes of hunger. “The Yakadura is my servant,” she explained. “He brings me shadows. Shadows give me power. And the paddy I lend? It is grown from the bones of the greedy. You did not ask where the golden grain came from. You only asked for more.” The Bargain of Teeth and Nails Podiappu fell to his knees. “Take my field. Take my wealth. But spare my daughter.” The Queen tilted her head. “I do not want your field. I want a trade.” She reached into her mouth and pulled out a single, rotten mora (shark) tooth. It was black and jagged. “Take this tooth,” she said. “Plant it in your wife’s sleeping mouth tonight. By dawn, she will forget you ever existed. She will become one of my mohini (spirit maidens). In exchange, I will return your shadow and release your daughter’s dreams.” Podiappu refused. He would not sacrifice his wife. The Queen laughed—a sound like breaking pottery. “Then you know the third way. The Haththana Karanna —The Reckoning.” The Reckoning The Reckoning is simple. The mortal must find the source of the Queen’s power before the third cockcrow. That source is not a jewel or a weapon. It is her name. The Queen of the Silent Grove has a secret name, written in bee’s blood on a ola leaf (palm manuscript) hidden inside the hollow of the seventh Rala tree. If a mortal speaks that name three times before dawn, she will dissolve into morning mist. Podiappu ran. The grove twisted around him. Trees moved. Roots became hands. But he remembered an old Jathaka story his grandmother told him: “The demon’s name is always the thing it hates most.” What does a spirit of silence hate? Noise. Life. Laughter. As the second cockcrow sounded, Podiappu tore a branch from a nuga tree (sacred fig) and struck a stone, creating a spark. He lit a bundle of dry pilin grass. Fire—crackling, spitting, alive. The Queen screamed. The shadows on the trees writhed in agony. And in that moment, Podiappu saw the ola leaf. It was not hidden in a tree. It was floating in the Queen’s own tear—a single droplet sliding down her faceless form. He grabbed it. He read the name. “Kiri-Ammatha – The Mother of Milk and Rot.” He spoke it once. The Queen’s arm dissolved. Twice. Her crown of bone fell. Three times, just as the third cock crowed. She became a pool of black water. And then nothing. The Silence Breaks Podiappu’s shadow returned, crawling back to his feet like a loyal dog. The golden paddy turned to ash. But his real paddy—the dry, cracked field—began to fill with rainwater from a sudden dawn storm. His daughter woke with a smile. His wife’s fever broke. And in the Silent Grove, for the first time in a thousand years, a koha (cuckoo) sang. The Moral of Wal Katha 9 Do not trade what you cannot see for what you cannot keep. A shadow is not nothing—it is the proof that you stand in the light. And the light, however dim, is always more valuable than the darkest gold.

End of Wal Katha 9 Next: Wal Katha 10 – The Seven Brides of the Mahaweli Ganga