The prayer room in Manthravadi Channar’s estate was a sanctuary, filled with sacred relics and palm-leaf manuscripts containing ancient secrets. It was a place of power and peace, where no one dared to tread without his permission. One evening, as Channar prepared for his nightly rituals, he noticed something amiss. His ceremonial cloth, intricately woven and blessed, lay shredded on the floor.
Channar’s sharp eyes scanned the room, searching for the culprit. He called for his servant, Velan, who hurried in, bowing low. “Who has been in this room?” Channar demanded, his tone icy.
Velan stammered, “No one, master. The door has been locked all day.”
Channar dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he lit the sacred lamp and began chanting an incantation. The warm glow of the lamp grew brighter, filling every corner of the room. As his voice rose, the shadows seemed to shift, and from the corners emerged tiny figures—mice, dozens of them, their eyes glinting like jewels in the light.
The mice gathered in a circle around Channar, their squeaks soft but frantic. He observed them in silence, his gaze piercing. Finally, he spoke. “Who among you defiled the sacred cloth?”
The mice shuffled nervously, their tiny bodies trembling. Slowly, one stepped forward. It was smaller than the rest, its whiskers quivering as it squeaked softly. Channar leaned closer, his face stern but calm. “You dare disrupt what is holy?” he asked, his voice low and commanding.
The mouse bowed its tiny head as if in apology. Channar picked up a thin reed from the floor and tapped the mouse lightly twice. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said. The mouse scurried back into the shadows, followed by the others, leaving the room eerily silent once more.
The next morning, Channar summoned Velan and handed him a pouch of sacred ash. “Sprinkle this around the prayer room,” he instructed. “No creature will dare enter again.”
Word of the event spread quickly through the village. The tale of Channar’s sorcery and black magic over the mice became a legend, a testament to his ability to command respect from even the smallest of beings. From that day, his prayer room remained untouched, its sanctity preserved by the power of his will.
