Samana

Samana is the inn of the Canopy Throne. Her crown spreads wider than a village square — a vast green umbrella — and travelers, tapirs, and tired saplings all rest in her shade. But her true generosity is stranger: when the rain comes, her leaflets fold. She closes her own umbrella to let the water through to the seedlings below, drenching herself to water them. "An umbrella that opens for others by closing," the court poets say, and never tire of it. At dusk she folds again for the night, leaf by leaf, like a hostess turning down lamps. She asks nothing for the shelter — though the seedlings she raised now form a ring of honor guards around her trunk, which she pretends not to notice. The Canopy Throne measures status in height. Samana measures it in who sleeps safely underneath.