In a sun-drenched village near Warangal, lived Grandmother Sarojamma, whose hands smelled like tamarind and who always wore a bright yellow sari.
She had a guava tree (koyya chettu) in her backyard, with fruits so sweet that even parrots came to gossip.
But she warned her grandson Ravi, “Only pluck the ripe ones that fall. One of them can speak.”
“Pff! Guavas don’t talk, Aavamma,” Ravi laughed.
But one monsoon morning, a guava rolled right to his feet. When he picked it up—it said, “Take me to the hill.”
Ravi froze. “W-what?!”
He followed its whisper up to an old shrine hidden by vines. Inside, he found a half-buried idol of Ganesha, with a small crack on the trunk.
The fruit glowed and crumbled into gold dust, sealing the crack.
Later, Sarojamma told him the story: “I prayed for the idol’s protection long ago. Looks like the guava remembered.”
From that day, Ravi never wasted fruit again—and always left one guava at the base of the hill for the gods who listened.
Leave a Reply