-- *Mar*Certainly. Here's an original short story inspired by some of the philosophical and poetic elements from your essay *"Arrival into Life"*, with themes of nature, childhood, and perception interwoven. ------------------------------ *🌿 "The Boy Who Spoke to Leaves"*
In a village where the trees outnumbered people and the clouds moved as if they listened to music only they could hear, a boy was born beneath a banyan tree. His mother swore that the tree had sung when he arrived—not with words, but with a thousand rustling leaves that danced like tiny green hands. They named him *Vihan*, meaning "morning," for he was like the first breath of day—soft, bright, and full of promise. Vihan did not cry at birth. Instead, he opened his eyes and looked around as if he had been here before, as if he remembered the earth. The midwife said it was an omen. The old priest said it was a blessing. His mother just smiled and held him close, whispering lullabies she hadn’t yet learned. ------------------------------ *He grew like trees grow—silently, deeply.* At the age of three, Vihan began to speak. But not in words that others understood. He spoke in *tones*, in rising and falling hums, in patterns of breath that made birds tilt their heads and squirrels pause in their scurrying. He would lie on the earth, ear pressed to the soil, and listen for hours. When asked what he was doing, he would reply: “I’m listening to the stories underground.” When the villagers laughed, he didn’t mind. He had other listeners. The *leaves*, it turned out, listened well. ------------------------------ *By five, Vihan could “talk” to nature.* Not in fantasy—but in feeling. He would sit beside a drooping sapling and hum low notes that made it perk up within days. He would whistle gently into the wind, and it would swirl around him like a cloak. When other children learned the alphabet, Vihan learned the rhythm of rivers. His teachers called him distracted. “He daydreams too much,” they said. But his mother disagreed. “He’s not distracted,” she told them. “He’s tuned to a different channel.” ------------------------------ *Then came the school. The Real One.* At six, Vihan was taken to the town, placed in a clean, boxy room with painted walls and windows that never opened. The teachers taught facts—hard, cold, sliced into subjects. There was no space for wind. No time for whispers. No music. Vihan stopped humming. By the second week, he had stopped speaking entirely. ------------------------------ *But nature, it seems, does not forget its own.* One afternoon, when he could bear the walls no longer, Vihan ran. Through the corridors, past the gates, over the roads, and back to the forest. He collapsed at the base of the banyan tree—the one that had sung for him at birth. Silence. Then… a single leaf fell beside him. Then another. The branches above rustled like memory awakening. A gust of wind circled him. And then, in a tone softer than language, the tree said: “You remembered the way back. That is enough.” ------------------------------ *From that day forward, Vihan lived in two worlds.* In the mornings, he went to school. He answered when asked, but never more than needed. At night, he returned to the banyan tree and taught his little sister how to listen. The villagers began to notice that plants in Vihan’s presence grew stronger, greener. Birds followed him. Even wild dogs sat quietly at his feet. One day, an old teacher who had once dismissed him came to sit beside the tree. She said nothing for a long time. Then Vihan asked her, “Can you hear them yet?” The teacher closed her eyes. A breeze passed. A leaf brushed her hand. She smiled. “Almost.” ------------------------------ *🌱 End.* ------------------------------ Would you like this turned into a *children’s picture book*, a *poetic version*, or a *longer short story* with more characters and development? -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Thatha_Patty" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. To view this discussion visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/thatha_patty/CACDCHC%2BCXJj6mjdT02DvpOzzy4YMpMbxkcriU%3DqSxAkvDEAqPg%40mail.gmail.com.
