The Palmyra Tree

Ammalu Amma, / ancestress of mine, / prone to writing verse, / cut into long strips / the stiff leaves of / the palmyra tree and / engraved the stanzas / with a stylus. / The grooves were stained / with the juice of a leaf / the name of which / I do not now remember. / The manuscripts tied / with cords and stored / in her slanted desk / of rosewood did not fade / with time. What made / the new rich buyer of / my land cut down that / ancient tree? What pittance / could he have earned / from its carcass? / It was said, long ago, / that a Yakshi, a celestial / ogress, lived on the tree, / who descended at dusk, / disguised as a maiden / to lure an unwary male / into her abode, and then / after a tumultuous mating / devoured his flesh and / flung down his bones. / Padmavati, the sweeper, / swore that she had many / a time swept away with / her broom the Yakshi’s / leavings: bits of bones. / Some nights when strong / gales rose from the / Arabian sea, lying beside / my sleeping grandmother / I heard the loud flapping of / the palmyra leaves and / the sound of bones cracking.