The Secret Beneath Yakshakona

Long ago, before the world was measured by clocks and maps, there lay a small, hidden village called Yakshakona.

 

Yakshakona was tucked between red hills that glowed in the sunrise and forests so thick that sunlight only danced in tiny patches on the ground. The wind carried whispers—some said they were secrets of the trees, some said the voices of the Yaksha guardians, invisible spirits who watched over the land.

 

Most villagers went about their daily chores, carrying water, tending fields, and feeding goats. They rarely looked closely at the forest or the earth beneath their feet. But one little girl did.

 

Her name was Thulasi.

 

Thulasi was eight years old, small and nimble, with eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever she noticed something hidden or forgotten. While other children ran and shouted, she would stop and listen—to the rustling leaves, the chatter of ants, or the distant call of a koel bird.

 

“Thulasi! Come, help fetch the water!” her mother called one morning.

 

“Yes, Amma!” she answered. But on her way, Thulasi noticed a line of tiny footprints in the mud, leading from the well into the forest. She paused. They weren’t ordinary footprints—they looked too small for any child, and too light for an adult.

 

“Hmm…” she whispered. “Who could this be?”

 

Sometimes, the villagers would speak of the Yakshas, the invisible guardians of Yakshakona.

They were said to guard the forests, the rivers, and even the hidden heart of the village itself. But most people laughed at these stories. Only the children, and sometimes the very old, remembered them.

 

Thulasi liked to imagine the Yakshas as gentle creatures with shining eyes and soft whispers, moving unseen among the trees. She believed that if she listened carefully enough, she might even hear them speak.

 

And sometimes, when the wind stirred the leaves just right, she thought she did.

 

That evening, Thulasi sat beneath the oldest tree in the village,  a giant banyan whose roots twisted like ancient snakes. She pressed her hand to the cool soil and closed her eyes.

 

“I am listening,” she whispered.

 

Little did she know, the earth beneath Yakshakona had been waiting for someone just like her. Someone who could notice what others ignored. Someone who could hear the heartbeat of the land itself.

 

And the adventure had only just begun.

 

The First Heartbeat

Thulasi could not sleep that night.

 

The sun had set behind the red hills, and the village was quiet. Crickets chirped, and the wind rustled the leaves.

 

But Thulasi felt something strange under her feet—a tiny thump… thump…

 

She knelt under the big banyan tree with thick, twisting roots. She put her hand on the soft soil.

 

Thump… thump… thump…

 

It was not her heart beating. It was the earth itself!

 

“The ground… it’s alive!” she whispered.

 

The leaves above seemed to move closer, and the air felt still and special. Thulasi pressed her ear to the soil, listening carefully. Every thump seemed to tell her something.

 

Excited, she ran to the village to tell someone.

 

“Thulasi, it’s just your imagination,” her mother said.

“Trees don’t have hearts,” the baker laughed.

 

Thulasi felt a little sad, but she knew the truth. She could hear the earth calling.

 

That night, she returned to the banyan tree. She knelt on the soft ground, closed her eyes, and listened.

 

Thump… thump… thump…

 

The earth was waiting.

Waiting for someone who could listen carefully.

 

Thulasi smiled. She did not know why the earth was calling or what it wanted.

But she knew one thing—this was only the beginning of an adventure.

 

The heartbeat beneath the banyan tree was a secret.

And Thulasi was ready to listen.

 

The Teachings of Dharmabikshu

In the heart of Yakshakona, near the temple with the tall stone steps, lived the oldest man in the village Dharmabikshu.

 

He had long white hair and kind eyes that seemed to see everything. His voice was soft but deep, and when he spoke, even the wind seemed to pause to listen.

 

Thulasi loved to sit by him. She would listen for hours while he told stories of the old days, the stories no one else remembered.

 

One day, a long time ago, Dharmabikshu began to tell Thulasi a story. People of Yakshakona had built a huge platform called the Mahapeetha. They did not build it for kings. They built it together, hand in hand. Some brought red soil, some yellow, some white. Each person’s work was important, and together, they made something wonderful.

 

Thulasi’s eyes grew wide. She could imagine the villagers carrying baskets of soil, step by step, laughing and talking as they worked together.

 

Dharmabikshu traced lines in the dirt with his finger. “Look here, Thulasi. See where the sun rises on certain days? Our ancestors watched the sun and learned when to plant seeds, when to gather food, and when to celebrate. The sun’s path tells us the rhythm of life.” Thulasi nodded, trying to remember every line he drew.

 

The Mahapeetha was not just soil, Dharmabikshu said. “Each color told a story. Red for courage, yellow for joy, white for peace. When they covered it all, it became a secret gift for the earth.” Thulasi could see the colors in her mind—like a giant rainbow hidden in the ground.

 

Dharmabikshu’s voice became quiet. There is one story I do not tell often, he said. Long ago, when people forgot to care for the land, the Yaksha guardians fell silent. The rivers would slow. The trees would stop growing. The soil would stop listening. Only those who remember the land… who listen and care… can awaken the guardians again.

 

Thulasi listened carefully. She felt her heart beat faster. She understood that the stories were more than just tales. They were lessons and knowledge to protect Yakshakona.

 

That night, Thulasi lay on her mat, thinking about the stories. She understood that every person’s work mattered, that nature had a rhythm to guide them, and that the guardians of the land were real and needed people who cared.

 

Thulasi whispered to herself, I will remember. I will listen. I will never forget. And in the quiet of the night, the heartbeat beneath the banyan tree seemed to grow stronger, as if it had heard her promise.

 

The Sickness of Shadows

One morning, Yakshakona woke to a strange silence. The cows would not give milk, and the goats huddled quietly in the pens. Even the wells tasted bitter, and the water seemed colder than usual.

 

The villagers grew weak and worried. Mothers whispered prayers, fathers frowned, and the children huddled close to their elders. No one could understand what was happening.

 

Thulasi noticed it first. The heartbeat beneath the banyan tree was different, slow, uneven, and weak. It was as if the earth itself was in pain. She pressed her hand to the soil, closing her eyes, and felt the shivering rhythm of the land.

 

This is not right, she whispered to herself. Something is troubling Yakshakona.

 

She ran to Dharmabikshu, but the old priest only nodded solemnly. The land speaks, Thulasi. You must listen carefully. It will guide us.

 

Thulasi tried to tell the villagers, but they shook their heads. It’s just a bad season, one farmer said. The soil and animals will recover.

 

But Thulasi knew better. The uneven heartbeat beneath the banyan tree told her the problem was much deeper than a season. Something had disturbed the balance of Yakshakona, and the earth itself was calling for help.

 

That night, as the shadows stretched long across the red hills, Thulasi sat under the banyan tree. She pressed her palm to the ground and whispered, I will help you. I will listen, and I will try to make it right.

 

For the first time, she understood that the stories Dharmabikshu had told her were not just lessons, they were instructions. The land had chosen her to pay attention, to care, and to protect.

 

And somewhere beneath the roots, the heartbeat thumped again faint, but steady waiting for her next step.

 

The Ash Riders

One morning, smoke rose from the northern hills, and dark shadows moved toward Yakshakona.

 

Men with sharp eyes and cruel faces rode on horses and carried long sticks and nets. They were called the Ash Riders, and they came to take the villagers and their animals for their own greed.

 

The village was small and defenseless. The farmers tried to protect the cattle, but there were too few of them, and the Ash Riders were too many.

 

Thulasi hid behind a tree. Her heart pounded with fear. She could see the villagers trembling and the goats and cows running in panic.

 

She remembered the stories Dharmabikshu had told her about the Mahapeetha, about the guardians and the rhythm of the earth. The lessons about listening carefully and working together came alive in her mind.

 

Thulasi ran quietly to the banyan tree. She pressed her hand to the ground and felt the heartbeat beneath the soil. It was uneven and worried, but it was still there.

 

She whispered to herself, "I must be brave. I must help my village."

 

Thulasi thought of the colors of the soil: the red for courage, the yellow for joy, the white for peace. She imagined all the villagers together, helping the land and the land helping them.

 

And in that moment, she felt a spark of hope. Even in the face of danger, there was a way to protect Yakshakona if they listened to the earth and worked together.

 

The Ash Riders continued to move through the village, but Thulasi was no longer only afraid. She had a plan. She had the heartbeat of the land and the stories of Dharmabikshu to guide her.

 

The Awakening of the Mahapeetha

Thulasi ran into the forest following the heartbeat beneath her feet It pulsed softly at first then stronger and louder as she went deeper into the trees

 

The forest was dark but alive Every leaf seemed to shimmer in the moonlight and every root twisted like it wanted to show her the way

 

At last she came to a clearing and gasped before her eyes lay the great Mahapeetha The huge platform stretched wider and longer than she could imagine The ramps and steps were half hidden under moss and leaves but they seemed to glow faintly as if waking from a long sleep

 

Suddenly the air around her stirred and the Yaksha guardian rose from the shadows It was taller than any man with eyes like molten gold and skin that shimmered like the earth itself Its presence was calm and powerful and Thulasi felt both awe and comfort

 

The Mahapeetha began to awaken too The soil shifted gently and colors appeared in patterns red yellow and white forming lines and shapes that Thulasi remembered from Dharmabikshu’s stories Sacred spaces appeared like hidden rooms carved by nature and the earth itself

 

As the Mahapeetha came alive the sickness in the village began to fade The wells flowed clear again the cattle gave milk and the villagers felt strength returning

 

But danger had not left The Ash Riders were still near watching and waiting Thulasi knew she had to be clever She pressed her hand to the platform and felt the heartbeat of the earth guiding her

 

She remembered every story Dharmabikshu had told her Every color every line every lesson The Mahapeetha and the Yaksha guardian were not just ancient things They were alive and ready to help the village if Thulasi could listen and act

 

Thulasi took a deep breath She was small but brave She was ready to protect Yakshakona and its secrets.

 

The Day the Earth Defended Its Children

The sun rose over Yakshakona, and Thulasi ran through the village shouting, "Come to the Mahapeetha!" She ran as fast as she could, calling to everyone.

 

The villagers were afraid at first, but they trusted Thulasi. They grabbed simple tools and ran with her toward the big platform. They could feel the heartbeat of the earth under their feet and knew something special was happening.

 

The Ash Riders came again. Dark shadows moved across the hills. They shouted and laughed, but the villagers stood together, holding hands and following Thulasi.

 

Suddenly, the ground began to move. Slowly at first, then stronger. The soil rose like waves, lifting ramps and steps. The roots of the banyan tree twisted and stretched, forming walls and barriers. The Mahapeetha was alive, and it was protecting its children.

 

A deep voice filled the air. It was the Yaksha guardian. The voice was gentle but strong, like wind and thunder. It spoke to Thulasi, "Stand strong and guide your people. Take care of the land. Love the rivers, the trees, the soil, and all living things."

 

The villagers watched in wonder as the Mahapeetha rose around them. The Ash Riders froze. Their horses neighed and reared. The wind swirled, and the ground moved beneath their feet. They could not stay and ran back to the northern hills.

 

The villagers cheered, hugging each other and the animals. They looked at Thulasi, who smiled. She pressed her hand to the soil and felt the heartbeat, strong and steady again.

 

That day, the villagers learned something important. They learned that when people work together and care for the land, they are stronger than any danger. They learned courage and unity, and that the earth itself can help them.

 

Thulasi remembered all the stories Dharmabikshu had told her. The colors of the soil and the paths of the sun were not just stories. They were secrets to keeping Yakshakona safe.

 

The Yaksha spoke once more, "You have done well, Thulasi. But this is only the beginning. Love the forests, the rivers, the animals, and the soil. Share these lessons, and the guardians will always stay awake."

 

From that day on, the villagers never forgot to listen to the heartbeat of the earth, and the Yaksha guardians never fell silent again.

 

Stories That Live Forever

Peace returned to Yakshakona. The villagers laughed and played. The animals roamed freely, and the wells were clear again.

 

Dharmabikshu grew old, and one quiet morning, he passed away. Thulasi sat by his side, holding his hand. She felt the warmth of his stories and teachings settle in her heart.

 

The villagers gathered to remember Dharmabikshu and celebrate the lessons he had shared. They spoke of courage, unity, and the heartbeat of the earth.

 

Thulasi knew it was her turn. She became the new keeper of the stories. She ran to the banyan tree and pressed her hand to the soil. Feeling the heartbeat, strong and steady, she promised to teach the villagers everything she had learned.

 

The land and village thrived. The forests grew tall, and the rivers ran clear. The cattle and goats were healthy and happy. The Mahapeetha glowed softly in the sun, as if it, too, remembered the love and care of the people.

 

The secret beneath Yakshakona lived on. Thulasi shared the stories of courage and the Yaksha guardians with every child and adult. She reminded them to listen to the earth and care for the soil, the rivers, the forests, and the animals.

 

And so, the heartbeat beneath the banyan tree continued to thump, steady and strong, guiding Yakshakona for generations to come.

 

Moral

·      The land is alive and listening and when we care for it with love and respect it will protect us

·      Working together and helping each other makes us stronger than any danger

·      Stories and lessons from the past guide us to be brave kind and responsible

·      Courage, unity, and love for nature can keep a village and its people safe for generations