“The Black Shawl (Kari Thundu)” – A Kurumba Ballad
In the shade of the shivering trees,
Where winds whisper what no one sees,
A man once walked with head held high,
In black shawl draped beneath the sky.
He sang for rain, he sang for sun,
He buried their dead when days were done.
They feared his words, yet called his name—
When crops failed or cattle came lame.
“O Kari Kurumba, speak your spell!
Guard our village, all be well.”
He walked in circles, fire and leaf,
They cheered his chants, then fled in grief.
For when the child fell sick one night,
And goats died crying before daylight,
The drums were struck, the rumors ran—
“It’s him! The Kari! The cursed man!”
No trial. No proof. Just fear and flame.
The same hands that fed him now staked his name.
They burned his hut, his drum, his prayer—
And tied his shawl to a tree laid bare.
The winds, they howled. The forest cried.
The birds flew low, the river dried.
And ever since, the hills still moan
For a man they killed, but never owned.
Black shawl, black shawl, what did you hide?
Forest’s faith or village pride?
Curse or cure, god or ghost—
Only the hills know what we lost most.
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