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Grandma found it while digging near Keeladi, a shard of ancient pottery worn smooth by centuries. Her hands trembled as she brushed away red earth. Kannadasan's verses echoed in her mind—words about common people and forgotten stories. The archaeological team arrived, photographing her discovery. They praised her knowledge, her patience, her connection to ancestral land. She'd earned no money, yet something deeper stirred within her. That evening, villagers gathered around the shard. They sang old songs, shared family histories. Grandma understood then: some treasures multiply when shared, binding generations through soil and memory.