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One monsoon, a stranger arrived: Arjun, a cartographer mapping changes in the coastline. He carried a battered journal and a compass that never seemed to point the same way twice. The village welcomed him, but the tides had been strange; fish were fewer, wells tasted weak, and even the temple bell’s tone seemed thinner.

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They debated what to do. Some villages might have taken the stone to a museum, others to a temple. Kaveri remembered her grandmother’s last lesson: “Balance is not treasure to be owned. It listens when you listen.” Rather than move the heart, they decided to restore what had been disturbed around it. They dug channels to let freshwater mingle gently with the tide, planted barrier mangroves, and laid offerings of rice and salt at the stone as a gesture of respect.