Chirya Aor Kaaye

Near the village of Darakhtpur, in a dense and peaceful forest, lived a tiny sparrow. His nest was perched high on a tall tree—one of the fifteen towering trees in that area. Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight broke through, the sparrow would chirp joyfully, flitting through the greenery and playing with the wind. His melodies echoed through the quiet forest air.

But one day, the atmosphere changed suddenly. A group of people entered the forest with axes and saws. In their hands gleamed the sharp edges of destruction. The harsh, screeching sounds of cutting echoed through the woods.

One by one, the trees fell—and the sparrow, helplessly fluttering his little wings, watched his world collapse before his eyes.
With tearful eyes, he chirped—not a song of joy this time, but a cry of sorrow and helplessness.

At that very moment, a short distance away, a boy stood silently, watching it all.
His name was Kaaye.