A Lineage of Miracles: Stories My Grandmother Told

Every family carries stories.
Some are warm recollections shared over a cup of tea, while some are warnings. Others are passed down like prayers from one generation to the next, gently whispered in your ears by our elders.
But the stories my grandmother told me weren’t just fond childhood memories of mine—they were miracles. Forming the invisible thread that connects me to my ancestors, they were very special and etched into my soul, giving me a sense of belonging to a precious lineage. These stories weren’t simply meant to create awe. They were meant to be remembered forever.

The Child Born After Fifty

My grandmother’s very birth was a miracle in itself. I was told that her parents—my great-grandparents—remained childless well into their fifties, a time when society would have quietly accepted their fate. But instead of feeling defeated, they chose devotion.

They journeyed to Lord Annamalaiyar’s shrine in Thiruvannamalai, making vows, offering prayers, and pouring their entire longing into daily worship. And finally, when there was hardly any hope left, the miracle happened—my grandmother was born.

She was indeed a divine gift—a blessing long awaited by generations.

Returning from Death

At the tender age of twelve, my grandmother Ms. Unnamalai experienced the most transformational moment of her life. She was bitten by a poisonous snake while playing in the paddy fields. Her young body quickly succumbed to the venom. She lost her pulse. Villagers gathered, and even mourning had begun.

But then—a miracle.

Later, she described a journey beyond this world. Her soul, she said, had reached Yamaloka, the realm of Lord Yama, god of death and justice.

There, she stood—just a little girl—before the celestial court.

“She is too young to die. Send her back,”
Lord Yama said to the angels of death.

And just like that—she returned.

She opened her eyes just as her body was about to be cremated. The villagers were stunned. Her parents wept in disbelief. It was as though death had borrowed her briefly, only to return her through divine command.

Visions of Yamaloka

My grandmother had spoken to me about what she saw in Yamaloka. She described dungeon-like endless halls and prison cells, where souls awaited judgment or underwent punishment. She recalled them vividly: cries that echoed without end, and strange otherworldly beings maintaining law and order in the universe.

One chilling detail stayed with her—a cell reserved for women who had been unfaithful to their husbands, enduring the harshest of punishments. But she never said anything about men who were unfaithful to their wives—something that I still wonder about. Is that a punishable offense? Or so I wonder!

But she never shared these visions to frighten—only to warn.

To her, the spiritual world wasn’t a myth.
It was real—just beyond the veil.

As for men? Though she never said much, later I found scriptures like the Garuda Purana, which describe that men who cheat on their wives or cause suffering face equally brutal consequences in hell, perhaps the punishments you see in the Tamil movie Anniyan.

Whether taken literally or symbolically, her vision was a reminder:
Karma is real. And justice, though invisible, always finds its way.

The Man Who Returned from the Dead

At fifteen, my grandmother was engaged to my grandfather—a man nearly twice her age, serving in the British Indian Army during World War II. Such early engagements were common in those days.

Soon after, devastating news reached the village of Thurinjipoondy, near Gingee:
My grandfather had been killed in the war.

Army officers came with his uniform and personal belongings. The engagement was considered over.

But my grandmother made a quiet, radical decision:

“I will remain unmarried,” she said.
“I was promised to marry him. And my promise will remain—till the end of my life.”

Fate, however, had other plans. Because a few months later, he returned—alive.

It seems he had been deployed to Jerusalem and was mistakenly reported as dead. When he walked back into the village, the people were stunned. Disbelief turned into celebration.

They were married soon after.

Their first child was a daughter. Their second was my father, followed by more kids. My aunt’s son was the first grandson of the family. And I came after him—another storyteller in this chain of miracles.

Why These Stories Matter

These are not just family tales. I think these are sacred messages meant to be carried across many generations.

They speak of the justice and grace of God, and the mysterious second chances offered to souls in the afterlife.

“Blessed are those who inherit not just gold, but the soul’s stories—a true spiritual treasure.”

My grandmother’s life touched both the spiritual and the earthly realms.

She was born by prayer, died and returned by divine will, and waited for a man lost in war—who came back as if from another lifetime. Though she lived a simple life and never claimed to be special, her life was indeed very special and left behind a remarkable story for all of us to read and be inspired.

Photo by Josh Marshall on Unsplash