The Weeping Demon
Long ago, in the deep green vastness of the Pudugu forest, there existed a tribe known as the Pudugor. They were a people of hunters and gatherers, fierce in war, yet bound together by rituals that they believed tied them to the gods. In the heart of their settlement stood a strange statue called Thenappan—a monument unlike any other idol carved by human hands.
It was no graceful sculpture, no carved deity of beauty or animal form, but instead a massive block-shaped head, built crudely out of heavy bricks. Its two eyes were hollow square sockets, staring endlessly into the void. There was no mouth, no nose, no arms—just the head, heavy and still, planted like
a forgotten relic of something not human.
The Pudugor bowed before it, for they were told it was a god.
But one day, everything changed. From the hollow eyes of the statue, water began to flow. Thin streams at first, then heavier, until the villagers stood in awe—it looked as if the brick giant was crying tears.
The timing was terrible. The tribe had been torn by war, their warriors slain and their food stores burned. A terrible famine ravaged Pudugu. So when the idol wept, fear gripped their souls. They named it Azhugum Chettan (அழுகும் செட்டான்)—the Weeping Demon.
"Why does it cry? What omen is this?" the villagers whispered. Fear turned to ritual. To appease it, they began to sacrifice. At first, goats and hens. Then cows. Then, in desperation, humans. Prisoners of war were tied and bled at the foot of the brick-headed demon, their blood soaking the soil beneath the tears.
And the strange thing was—sometimes, after sacrifices, the rains came. The people believed. They worshipped harder. They killed more. And when rains failed, their fear grew darker. The Weeping Demon's legend rooted deep in Pudugu.
Even after 150 years, the statue still cried endlessly. Always tears. Never words. Never answers.
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Among the people lived three orphan brothers:
Chokkan (சொக்கன்) — the butcher, broad-shouldered, with the strength to snap a buffalo's neck with his bare hands. His eyes burned like a tiger's, fierce and unyielding.
Palani (பழனி) — the builder, sharp of mind, master of crafting weapons, walls, and even traps to slay wild boars with a single spear thrust.
Thumban (தும்பன்) — the shepherd, gentle at heart, keeper of sheep, yet brave enough to stand against wolves and thieves alike.
The three brothers were bound by blood and love, their bond forged harder than steel in the furnace of pain.
Their father had once been falsely accused and sacrificed to Azhugum Chettan. Their mother withered away, dying of thirst in the famine. Only an old caretaker saved them——feeding scraps, teaching them survival. From this fire of loss, Chokkan grew into a fearsome butcher-warrior, Palani into a builder of genius, and Thumban into a loyal herder who dreamed of peace.
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One day, the tribe caught a man who had slain a woman for refusing to marry him. The Nattamai—the village head—gave his verdict. The man was not to rot in chains, not to swing by rope. Instead, he was to be offered to the Weeping Demon.
The man was dragged, screaming, and bled before the crying idol. His blood spilled, but no rain came. Only the endless tears of the statue continued. People grew anxious. "Has the god abandoned us?"
The elders feared: what if there are no prisoners left? Without sacrifices, the rains may vanish forever. In their madness, they began falsely accusing innocents—condemning men and women to death so that the demon's hunger would not be starved.
The brothers knew this cruelty too well. For this was how their own father was slain—an innocent carved into offering for false hope.
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Life rolled on.
Thumban's sheep were stolen by a gang. Palani, skilled in warlike craft, hunted them down, wielding his spears with deadly grace. The thieves were knocked out, scattered like leaves in a storm.
Trouble escalated when the arrogant sons of the Nattamai—Arjunan (Thumban's classmate, proud and cruel) and Aranan (Chokkan's drinking friend once, but spoiled by luxury)—mocked and insulted the women of the tribe. They laughed, jeered, and behaved with vile indecency, forgetting the sanctity of mothers and sisters.
But Palani stood in their way, unshaken. "Stop," he said.
Then came Chokkan. His very presence made men tremble. With eyes like burning embers and arms heavy with strength, he looked into the arrogant brothers and growled:
"If you wish to mock, then mock your own mothers. Mock your own sisters. Do not dare to touch another's."
The crowd gasped. No one ever spoke to the Nattamai's sons like that.
Fury consumed Arjunan and Aranan, but none dared strike—for Chokkan was a storm given flesh. The tale spread: Chokkan had once felled a raging buffalo with nothing but his bare hands. To strike him was to invite death.
So instead, they turned their cruelty toward the one weak spot—the old caretaker who had raised the three orphans.
When the brothers learned of this, their rage became unholy fire. They fought like demons unleashed. Three against an army, but the three brothers cut through their enemies like blades through silk. Villagers, tired of cruelty, joined their side. The battleground was chaos—steel and blood, cries and dust.
The Nattamai himself despised the savagery of his sons. But power had twisted the tribe's justice.
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In a twist of darkness, Arjunan killed his own brother Aranan. The reason? Arjunan's fiancée had a secret crush on Chokkan. In his twisted pride, Arjunan wanted to destroy his rival once and for all. He pinned the murder on Chokkan.
The Nattamai, though he knew the truth, allowed it. The tribe needed sacrifices. And Chokkan, the strongest, the rebel, the man who threatened their order—he was to be given to Azhugum Chettan.
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Palani and Thumban were shattered. Their brother, accused falsely, was to be tied to the crying demon and bled.
Palani clenched his fists. "Enough. If they thirst for blood in the name of rain, then let us create water ourselves. Let us build a river that flows longer than their tears."
Thumban whispered another truth, heavy in his heart: "If we prove the statue false—if we show the people that this weeping demon is nothing but hollow stone—then the killings will end. Forever."
The brothers' destiny was set. They would fight for rain, for water, for truth. They would challenge not just the Nattamai, not just the tribe, but the very curse of Azhugum Chettan itself.
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To be continued...
Vol 1