Long ago, the Alummoottil family controlled vast stretches of paddy fields and depended heavily on the backwaters for trade. Boats laden with paddy, coconuts, and spices often navigated the waterways. Among the most trusted boatmen was Velappan, a loyal servant who had worked for decades.
One stormy night, Velappan set out alone with a consignment meant for the temple in Kayamkulam. The family waited anxiously for his return, but neither Velappan nor the boat was ever seen again. Days later, a villager claimed to have spotted a lone figure rowing in the moonlight near the canals, singing a haunting melody.
“It was Velappan,” the villager whispered to the chieftain. “But his face was pale, and his eyes—empty as the night.”
The sightings continued, and traders reported eerie encounters with a spectral boatman who offered to row them, only to vanish mid-journey. Crops spoiled, granaries flooded, and the Alummoottil family grew desperate.
The matriarch, Lakshmi Amma, ordered an offering ritual by the canals. During the ceremony, Velappan’s ghost appeared, drenched in water.
“Why do you haunt us?” Lakshmi Amma asked.
Velappan’s voice was a hollow echo. “I was loyal, but I drowned because the boat was overloaded. You owed me honor, but I was forgotten.”
To appease him, the family built a shrine for Velappan by the backwaters. Since then, travelers and boatmen leave offerings of rice and flowers there, ensuring safe passage. To this day, some claim to hear his boat creak along the waters on quiet moonlit nights.
