In a quiet little town called Sandalpur, there stood a huge peepal tree at the edge of the school playground. This tree was home to many birds and animals, but the liveliest of them all was a tiny brown squirrel named Chintu.
Chintu was small, with a fluffy tail and bright, curious eyes. He spent his mornings running up and down the branches, nibbling on nuts and chattering happily with the mynahs and sparrows. Everyone liked Chintu, but they often teased him too.
“Chintu is the smallest,” chirped the sparrows. “He hides when the wind blows,” laughed the mynahs. Even the butterflies teased, “Don’t be scared, little one!” Chintu only uses to smile back and ignore.
One afternoon, dark clouds gathered over Sandalpur. The sky turned grey, and a fierce wind began to blow. The birds hurried to their nests. The bigger squirrels rushed to the old banyan tree, which had a stronger trunk.
But Chintu noticed something that made his heart thump. A nest with two baby sparrows was perched on a thin branch. The wind shook it violently, and the mother sparrow was nowhere to be seen.
The others shouted, “Come, Chintu! The storm is coming!” But Chintu looked at the tiny nest and said softly, “I can’t leave them.”
The wind howled. Branches cracked. Rain began to fall. Chintu took a deep breath and started climbing up the slippery bark. Step by careful step, he climbed toward the shaking nest. The branch swayed like a swing. His little paws trembled, but he didn’t stop.
When he reached the nest, he held it tightly with his tiny claws. Using his tail as a shield, he covered the two baby sparrows.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, though his own heartbeat was beating like a drum.
The storm raged for hours. Chintu stayed out, getting soaked, holding on until the wind finally grew gentle.
When the sun returned, the mother sparrow came back, worried and crying. She saw Chintu protecting her babies and let out a grateful chirp.
All the other animals gathered around. The big squirrels looked at Chintu in surprise.
“We thought you were the smallest and the weakest,” one said. “But you are the bravest among us,” added another.
Chintu blushed, shaking the rain from his fur. “I only did what was right,” he said quietly.
From that day on, nobody teased Chintu. Whenever a strong wind blew through Sandalpur, the birds would say with pride, “Don’t worry, Chintu the Brave is here.”
Moral
Courage is not about size or strength.
Even the smallest heart can be the bravest when it chooses kindness.