Song of the Two Skies

“Kree-kree-kreee!” called Meenu, the chattiest little myna in all of Mallandur.

Every morning, her voice danced through the coffee plantation, echoing between the roofs and the wild pepper vines.

Mallandur was no ordinary place. It was where the city met the forest.

On one side, there were zooming scooters and honking cars, clinking coffee cups, chattering people, and children running to school.

On the other side stood whispering trees, sparkling streams and hills wrapped in the morning mist. 

And right in between sat Meenu, the clever, curious and full of song.

She perched on electric wires, feasting on berries and bugs and sometimes dipped her beak into bright yellow flowers, just to see what sweetness they held. 

“Ah, what a lovely day to sing!” she would chirp, shaking her little wings with pride.

One afternoon, as she was swinging on the wire, the air began to feel strange.

The leaves rustled faster and the sky slowly turned grey.

“Hmm… maybe a storm is coming. I’d better leave,” Meenu said, tilting her head.

She flapped her wings and began to fly. But she had flown only a few meters when, WHOOSH!

A huge gust of wind swept under her and flung her high into the sky!

Note: This post contains Amazon affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. 

“Stop! Stop!” she cried, flapping hard. But the wind only roared louder.

It lifted her high, higher! until the coffee plants looked like tiny green dots below.

The wind spun her round and round, tossing her about like a tiny piece of paper. Before she knew it, she was being carried straight toward the forest. 

Then, thump...! she hit a thick branch and held on as tightly as she could. 

“Hold on, Meenu! Hold on!” she told herself, her claws digging deep into the bark. 

Her feathers trembled and her heart pounding like a drum.

When the wind slowed down, she could hear her heartbeat, drops falling from the leaves and strange sounds that made her afraid. 

When Meenu opened her eyes, everything around her looked pitch dark.

The air smelled of wet earth and wild ginger.

“Where am I?” she whispered softly. 

A distant cry answered, “Kok-kok-kok-kok!” 

“That must be a hornbill!” she gasped. 

That night, she curled her wings around herself and hid under a bunch of leaves. “Tomorrow, I’ll find my way home”, she whispered to herself.

The forest felt as if it was listening to her tiny breaths, but Meenu couldn’t gather the courage to call out. 

She missed the chatter of city birds, the soft buzz of power lines and the comforting smell of coffee beans drying back home. 

At dawn, Meenu spread her wings and began to fly.

She glided past tall trees and misty hills, but nothing looked familiar.

“I hope my friends are safe too,” she thought, her heart fluttering.  

Soon, she spotted a fig tree heavy with ripe fruits.

“Yum!” she chirped, landing softly and pecking at a sweet fig.

With her tummy finally full, she sent multiple tiny distress calls, hoping it would reach someone who could guide her home. 

But all her calls went in vain. No voice answered her back.

She flew from tree to tree, searching and hoping, but nothing looked familiar, nothing brought her closer to her old home. 

That evening, the clouds gathered thick and dark.

Meenu snuggled under a large leaf. She missed her home, her friends, her songs.

“No one here knows my tune,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

And as the forest sang its night song, the croak of frogs, the hum of crickets,

Meenu closed her eyes and drifted into a shivering sleep.

Next morning, she woke up with new hope. She started sending multiple tiny distress calls again. 

The myna flock resting nearby tree suddenly paused whatever they were doing.

One myna whispered, “That’s a distress call… someone is in trouble.”

Another leaned forward and said softly, “And it sounds close… very close.” 

When one of the forest mynas answered her call, Meenu knew they must be close. 

She looked around and suddenly she spotted the myna flock perched nearby. 

“Oh my, my! I see my own!” she cried, her heart leaping with joy.

She fluttered over eagerly and said, “Hello… I’m lost. I can’t find my way home. Could you please help me?” 

The flock grew cautious. They murmured softly among themselves.

“We can’t leave her alone… she’s new here”, said one myna.

“But she isn’t from our forest. We don’t know her yet”, whispered another.

“We need a little time before we let her into our flock”, said a third, looking thoughtful.

After listening to everyone, the flock leader spoke kindly. 

“We don’t know the way out of the forest”, he said, “but you can fly close to us. We just need a little time before we can welcome you fully into our flock.” 

Meenu felt safe now.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

She flew with the flock wherever they went, staying close and watching them carefully.

Each morning, they sang together, Meenu with her quick city notes and the forest mynas with their slow, deep tones.

Bit by bit, their tunes began to blend and soon the flock welcomed Meenu with open hearts.

Meenu learned the rhythm of the forest: how to sing with the drizzle and how to pause for the breeze.

The others learned her bright city chirps, playful and full of spark.

“Listen to us!” one myna chuckled with chirp. “We sound like rain meeting sunshine!”

Meenu giggled. “Yes… a new kind of song!” 

And so, in the heart of the Western Ghats, the forest found a fresh melody, a tune that belonged to everyone.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow, too city or too wild.

It was a song of friendship, of voices that learned to listen to each other.

And every day, the coffee plantations carried the sweet, magical music drifting from afar. 

If Meenu’s adventure made you curious about other Indian birds,

A Naturalist’s Guide to the Birds of India is a great place to start.