In the village of Samagi Gama in Bentara, there was a land known to all as Sahodara Watta. It was not remarkable in size, yet it held a quiet authority, for it once belonged to Old Jayasinghe who knew every corner of it, the well that never failed, the trees that marked the seasons, the paths worn by years of use. In his time there was no question of ownership. The land was his, and that was the end of it. When he passed away, the land did not follow him as one. It passed to many. His children and wife inherited it, and after them the next generation. The family grew, but the land did not. What had once been a single title became a bunch of shares. Still, life went on without disturbance. They lived as one family. One cultivated the fields, another cared for the garden, another maintained the house. No one asked where one man’s portion lay or another’s began. The land held them together, and they believed it always would. Yet beneath that calm lay a different truth. In law, each ...