Two Nights in the Forest: The Baby Who Shouldn’t Have Survived
A baby lost. A forest watching. A parrot who refused to leave.
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
The forest shivered with a sound
Mithu had never heard before — a child’s cry, thin and broken, drifting through
the trees like a wounded bird. “Mama… mama… no?” the little one whimpered,
stumbling away from the pit where the earth still trembled with the violence
done moments ago.
Mithu fluttered to a lower branch,
heart pounding in his tiny chest. The baby’s bare feet scraped against stones.
Her hands reached into the empty air as if searching for someone who would
never answer again. “Papa… gone? Home? Mama… Mithu…?” she sobbed, her voice
cracking like dry leaves.
A low howl echoed from deep inside
the forest — long, hungry, too close. The child froze. Mithu did not.
He swooped down, circling her head,
calling out the only words he knew from the woman who had loved her: “My baby…
my life…”
The toddler looked up, tears shining
on her cheeks. “Mama?”
Mithu landed on a branch ahead of
her, wings trembling, urging her forward. Behind them, the pit swallowed the
last warmth of the mother. Ahead of them, the forest waited — dark, wild,
alive.
Hours earlier, the forest had been peaceful… and Mithu had been just another bird on a branch.
***
Mithu had lived in the Singh
household long enough to know the difference between the sounds of love and the
sounds of danger. Love was the soft clink of Sarla’s bangles as she prepared
breakfast before leaving for the school in Bhavanpur. Danger was the heavy,
uneven footsteps of Raghav Singh stumbling around the house after drinking,
muttering to himself, slamming doors, pretending he still had control over
anything in his life.
But the sweetest sound in the house
was Anaya’s giggle.
She was barely two, with hair that
curled at the ends and eyes that sparkled like she understood more than she
could say. She would toddle up to Mithu’s cage every morning, holding a tiny
piece of roti in her hand.
“Mithu!” she’d call, voice bright.
“Eat!”
Mithu would hop closer, nibbling
gently from her fingers. Sarla would laugh softly, brushing Anaya’s hair back.
“Mithu, Anaya is your baby sister,”
she’d say. “You look after her, okay?”
Mithu would puff his feathers proudly
and mimic, “Ba‑bee! Ba‑bee!” Anaya would squeal with delight, clapping her
hands.
Raghav, sitting on the verandah with
a half‑empty bottle hidden behind his leg, would roll his eyes.
“Bloody parrot gets more love than
me,” he’d mutter.
Mithu didn’t understand the words,
but he understood the tone — sharp, bitter, resentful. He stayed close to Anaya
and Sarla, where the air felt warm and safe.
But the air changed whenever Nisha
Verma came.
She arrived when Sarla was at school,
her perfume sharp enough to sting Mithu’s nose. She laughed too loudly, spoke
too sweetly, and touched Raghav too freely. Raghav followed her around like a
shadow, whispering things Mithu didn’t understand.
Mithu watched from his cage, head
tilted, repeating the words he heard because that was what parrots did.
One afternoon, Nisha leaned close to
Raghav and whispered, “Come quick, she’s gone.”
Mithu repeated it perfectly.
The moment the words left his beak,
the room froze. Nisha stiffened. Raghav’s face drained of colour.
And Sarla, who had returned home
early that day, turned slowly towards Mithu with eyes that filled with a hurt
so deep it made the air heavy.
“What did he say?” she whispered.
Mithu repeated it, innocent and
oblivious.
The fight that followed shook the
walls. Sarla’s voice cracked with betrayal. Raghav shouted back, slurring
excuses. Nisha slipped out the back door like a frightened fox.
Mithu fluttered in his cage, heart
thumping. He didn’t understand the words, but he understood tones. He
understood danger. And he understood that Raghav’s eyes had changed when he
looked at him — dark, cold, calculating.
Raghav grabbed the cage so suddenly
that Mithu screeched. Sarla shouted something, but Raghav ignored her, storming
out of the house with the cage banging against his leg. Mithu clung to the
perch, wings trembling.
He didn’t know where they were going.
He only knew Raghav was breathing hard, muttering words that sounded like
curses.
Raghav stopped near the back fence,
where the neighbour’s cat often prowled. He opened the cage door with a jerk.
Mithu hesitated, confused. Raghav hissed, “Out.”
Mithu stepped onto the edge of the
cage. The cat’s eyes glowed from the shadows. Raghav kicked the cage, and Mithu
lost his balance, tumbling into the dirt.
The cat lunged.
Mithu flapped wildly, wings beating
the air in panic. The cat’s claws grazed his tail feathers. Mithu shot upward,
barely escaping, heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst.
He landed on a branch high above the
yard, chest heaving. Raghav watched him with a cold satisfaction before walking
back inside.
Hours later, Sarla returned from
school. She froze when she saw the cage lying broken on the ground, the door
twisted, the latch snapped. She called out for Mithu, voice trembling,
searching the yard, the verandah, the trees.
“Mithu! Mithu!”
Anaya toddled beside her, confused,
calling, “Mithu! Mithu!”
Mithu watched from above, hidden in
the leaves. He wanted to fly down. He wanted to nuzzle her cheek. But he
remembered Raghav’s boot slamming into the cage.
He stayed silent.
Sarla sank to her knees, tears
slipping down her face. Anaya pressed her tiny hands to her mother’s cheeks,
confused by the sadness.
Mithu’s heart ached. But he didn’t
move.
He stayed in the tree long after the
sun went down, watching the house, watching Sarla cry, watching Anaya sleep in
her arms.
He didn’t know the worst was yet to
come.
Mithu heard Raghav whispering to
someone in the dark — and the word “policy” drifts up to the tree like a
warning.
***
Mithu stayed awake the whole night,
feathers fluffed against the cold, listening to the murmurs drifting from the
house. Raghav’s voice was low, hurried, tense. Another voice — a woman’s —
crackled faintly through his phone. Mithu recognised the sharp tone. Nisha. He
didn’t understand the words, but he caught fragments.
“Policy…” “Soon…” “Forest…” “Big money…”
The words meant nothing to him, but
the tone meant everything. It was the same tone Raghav used before hurting
something.
The next morning, Sarla seemed
lighter. Raghav was unusually cheerful, making tea, humming tunelessly. He told
her they should visit Maa Chandika Devi Temple in the Dhaulagiri Forest Reserve
— “like old times.” Sarla’s eyes softened. She agreed.
Anaya clapped her hands. “Mama!
Mithu!” she chirped, looking around.
Mithu watched from the tree, heart
twisting. He wanted to fly down, but Raghav’s presence kept him frozen.
Raghav packed the old white Maruti
car. The engine coughed like it was choking on its own rust. Sarla strapped
Anaya into the back seat. Raghav slammed the boot shut and got behind the
wheel.
The car rattled out of Bhavanpur,
dust rising behind it.
Mithu launched into the air.
He flew above the car, wings beating
hard, keeping pace as the road wound past fields and into the hills. He
recognised the sealed road that led to the temple — a narrow strip of bitumen
pilgrims used every year.
But Raghav didn’t take it.
He turned the car sharply onto a dirt
track that cut deeper into the forest. The path was uneven, overgrown,
untouched by tyres or human feet. The trees closed in overhead, swallowing the
sunlight.
Mithu circled lower, uneasy.
Inside the car, Sarla leaned forward.
Mithu couldn’t hear her words, but he saw her hands moving, questioning.
Raghav’s shoulders stiffened. His replies were short, sharp. Anaya’s small face
pressed against the window, eyes wide at the towering trees.
The car jolted violently over a rock.
Sarla grabbed the dashboard. Raghav snapped something at her. She flinched.
Mithu’s feathers bristled.
The car rolled into a clearing where
no road should exist. Raghav killed the engine. The forest fell silent.
Sarla stepped out, confused. She
looked around, frowning. She pointed back the way they came, shaking her head.
Raghav’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer to her, too close.
Mithu perched on a branch, heart
thudding.
He didn’t understand the words, but
he understood the tones — Sarla’s rising, frightened; Raghav’s sharp, angry,
dangerous.
“No!” Sarla’s voice cracked through
the trees. “Raghav, stop!”
Anaya whimpered in the back seat.
Raghav’s voice rose, harsh and
jagged. Sarla stepped backward, away from him, towards the mossy edge of a pit
hidden beneath leaves.
Mithu screeched, wings flaring.
Sarla turned — too late.
Raghav shoved her.
Her scream tore through the forest as
she slipped, fell, vanished into the pit. The sound echoed, then stopped.
Anaya burst into tears.
Raghav stood frozen, chest heaving,
staring down the slope where Sarla had disappeared. His hands shook. His breath
came in ragged bursts.
Then he turned.
He looked at Anaya.
Mithu’s heart stopped.
Raghav hesitated, jaw clenched, eyes
darting. Then he opened the back door, lifted Anaya out, and set her on the
ground. She reached for him, sobbing.
He stepped back.
He wiped his hands on his shirt.
He got into the car.
The engine sputtered, caught, roared.
Tyres spun on loose soil.
The car lurched forward, disappearing
between the trees, leaving a cloud of dust and a crying child behind.
Anaya stumbled after it, tiny arms
outstretched. “Papa! Papa gone! Papa!”
Mithu swooped down, landing in front
of her. She stopped, tears streaking her cheeks, breath hitching.
“Mithu…” she whispered, voice
trembling.
He nuzzled her hand gently.
She reached for him, clinging to his
feathers with desperate fingers.
“Mama?” she whimpered. “Mama… home?”
Mithu chirped softly, not
understanding the words but understanding the sadness. He hopped back, leading
her away from the pit, away from the danger.
Anaya followed, stumbling over roots,
wiping her eyes with tiny fists.
The forest swallowed them both.
Behind them, the wind carried a faint
echo — a sound Mithu couldn’t name, but one that made him fly faster, guiding
Anaya deeper into the unknown.
***
The forest
swallowed them whole. The trees rose like giants, their branches knitting
together to block out the sky. The air smelled of damp earth and fallen leaves.
Anaya clung to Mithu’s tail feathers with tiny fingers, stumbling as she tried
to keep up with him.
“Mithu… come…” she whimpered.
He chirped softly, hopping ahead, then fluttering back to make sure she followed. He didn’t understand her words, but he understood her voice — frightened, lost, desperate.
She tripped over a root and fell to her knees, crying.
“Mama… Mama…”
Mithu fluttered around her, nudging her shoulder with his beak. She looked up at him with wet eyes, cheeks streaked with dirt and
tears.
“Mama gone…” she whispered.
Mithu didn’t know what “gone” meant. But he knew the sound of heartbreak. He had heard it in Sarla’s voice the day she found his broken cage. He had heard it in Anaya’s cries when Sarla left for work. And now he heard it again, deeper, heavier.
He hopped to a nearby ber tree, drawn by the sweet scent. The branches were heavy with ripe fruit. Mithu plucked one in his beak and dropped it in front of Anaya.
She blinked at it, sniffled, then picked it up with trembling hands. She bit into it. Juice ran down her chin, mixing with her tears. She chewed slowly, as if each bite reminded her of something she couldn’t understand.
“Mama…” she whispered again, voice cracking.
Mithu dropped another berry. And another.
Anaya ate them, crying between bites, her small body shaking with exhaustion. When she finished, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and reached for Mithu.
“Mithu… home?”
He chirped, tilting his head. He didn’t know the way home. He didn’t know where Raghav had taken them. But he knew they had to move.
The forest was no place for a child to stay still.
He hopped forward.
Anaya followed.
They walked for hours. The sun dipped lower, turning the forest gold. Shadows stretched long across the ground. Anaya stumbled often, her legs wobbling. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she called for Sarla. Sometimes she whispered “Papa gone?” in a confused, broken voice.
Mithu chirped each time, trying to comfort her, though he didn’t understand the words.
As the light faded, the forest grew colder. Anaya’s teeth chattered. She rubbed her arms, shivering. Mithu flew ahead, searching for shelter. He found a thick bush with low branches and soft leaves beneath it. He fluttered down and chirped loudly.
Anaya crawled under the bush, curling into a ball. Her breath came in small, shaky gasps. Mithu perched above her, fluffing his feathers to keep warm. He sang softly — the same tune Sarla used to hum while cooking. The melody drifted through the trees, gentle and familiar.
Anaya’s breathing slowed. Her eyes closed.
Mithu stayed awake.
The forest was alive with sounds — rustling leaves, distant animal calls, the soft hoot of an owl. At one point, a snake slithered near the bush, its scales whispering against the ground. Mithu screeched and flapped his wings wildly. The snake recoiled and disappeared into the darkness.
Hours passed. The night felt endless.
When dawn finally broke, pale and cold, Anaya stirred. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Her lips were dry. Her face was pale. She
looked at Mithu and whispered, “Mithu… water?”
He chirped and flew ahead, searching. He found a shallow puddle formed by the night’s dew. He landed beside it and called out.
Anaya crawled to the puddle and drank with trembling
hands. The water was muddy, but she didn’t care. She drank until her thirst
eased, then sat back, breathing hard.
“Mithu… Mama?” she asked again.
He chirped softly, hopping closer.
She reached out and touched his head gently. “Mama gone…”
Mithu didn’t understand the words, but he pressed his head into her palm, offering the only comfort he could.
They continued walking.
The sun climbed higher, but the forest canopy kept the ground cool. Anaya’s steps grew slower. Her legs shook. She stumbled often, catching herself on branches. Sometimes she stopped walking altogether, sitting
down and crying softly.
Each time, Mithu pecked gently at her sleeve, chirping insistently until she stood again.
By midday, she was barely moving. Her breaths came in short, weak bursts. Her eyes drooped. She swayed on her feet.
Mithu flew in frantic circles around her, chirping loudly.
“Come…” she whispered, reaching for him. “Mithu… come…”
He landed on a branch and chirped again, louder, urging her forward.
She took one step. Then another. Then collapsed to her knees.
“Mama…” she sobbed. “Mama…”
Mithu dropped another ber berry in front of her. She picked it up slowly, ate it, and cried as she chewed. The sweetness didn’t comfort her. It only reminded her of something she couldn’t name.
She wiped her face with dirty hands and whispered, “Home…”
Mithu chirped, hopping ahead.
She followed.
The forest thinned slightly. The air changed. Mithu heard something — faint, distant, unfamiliar. Voices. Human voices. He chirped loudly, excited.
Anaya looked up, confused. “Mithu?”
He flew in circles, calling out, wings beating fast.
Anaya took a shaky step towards the sound.
Then another.
Then she stumbled forward, drawn by the faint hope of something she didn’t understand.
Through the trees, Mithu saw movement — humans — but they hadn’t seen Anaya yet, and she was about to collapse again.
***
Through the
trees, Mithu saw movement — flashes of colour, the sway of cloth, the glint of
metal pots. Villagers. They were close, but not close enough. Anaya swayed on
her feet, her tiny body trembling with exhaustion. Her eyes fluttered, her
breath shallow.
Mithu screeched, flapping his wings wildly.
Anaya blinked up at him. “Mithu…?”
He flew in frantic circles, calling louder, trying to guide her towards the voices. She took a step, then another, but her legs buckled. She fell forward onto her hands, sobbing.
“Mama… Mama…”
Mithu landed beside her, nudging her cheek with his beak. She lifted her head weakly, tears streaking her dirt‑covered face.
“Mithu… home…” she whispered.
He chirped, hopping ahead, urging her to follow. She crawled a little, then pushed herself to her feet again, wobbling like a newborn calf. She stumbled towards the sound of human voices, drawn by instinct, hope, or maybe just the faint promise of warmth.
A woman collecting firewood stepped out from behind a tree and froze.
“Arre! A child!” she shouted.
Two men rushed over. One dropped his bundle of sticks. The other knelt beside Anaya, lifting her gently into his arms.
“Where are her parents?” the woman cried.
Anaya’s head lolled against the man’s shoulder. Her lips moved.
“Mama…” she whispered.
The man’s face tightened. “She’s burning up. Quick — get water!”
The woman ran to a nearby pot she’d brought for collecting stream water. She poured a little into her hand and dabbed Anaya’s lips. The child swallowed weakly.
“Call the police,” the man said. “Now.”
Mithu perched on a branch above them, chest heaving. Relief washed over him, but fear lingered. He chirped softly, watching as they carried Anaya towards the road.
A motorbike arrived minutes later, the rider shouting into his phone. A police jeep followed, siren off but urgency in every movement. Officers lifted Anaya into the vehicle, wrapping her in a shawl.
Mithu flew after them.
The jeep sped towards Bhavanpur, bouncing over potholes. Mithu kept pace from above, wings aching, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t leave her now.
At the hospital, nurses rushed Anaya inside. They placed her on a small bed, cleaned her face, checked her breathing. One nurse whispered, “Poor thing… how did she survive out there?”
Mithu perched on the window ledge, watching through the glass. His feathers were ruffled, his body exhausted, but his eyes never left Anaya.
Minutes later, Raghav arrived.
He ran into the hospital, shouting Anaya’s name, pretending to be frantic. His shirt was untucked, his hair messy, his voice cracking in all the right places. People stared at him with sympathy.
Mithu’s feathers bristled.
Raghav pushed past the nurses and reached Anaya’s bedside. He grabbed her tiny hand, tears streaming down his face.
“My daughter… my baby… what happened to you?”
Anaya whimpered, turning her head slightly. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw Raghav.
Her face twisted.
“Papa gone…” she whispered.
Raghav froze.
A police inspector standing nearby raised an eyebrow.
“Gone? What does she mean?”
Raghav forced a laugh. “She’s just scared. She doesn’t
know what she’s saying.”
Mithu hopped closer to the window, pressing his beak against the glass.
The inspector stepped towards Raghav. “Where were you when she went missing?”
Raghav swallowed. “I—I was looking for her. We got separated in the forest. I searched everywhere.”
The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Why were you in that part of the forest? It’s not on the temple route.”
Raghav hesitated.
Mithu felt something inside him tighten. He remembered Sarla’s voice that morning — soft, warm, full of love — whispering to Anaya as
she dressed her.
“My baby… my life…”
He mimicked it now.
“My baby… my life…”
The words rang through the hospital corridor.
Everyone turned.
Raghav’s face drained of colour.
Mithu said it again, louder.
“My baby… my life…”
The inspector stared at Raghav. “Why is the parrot saying that?”
Raghav stammered, “I—I don’t know. It’s just a bird!”
Mithu flapped his wings, screeching, repeating the phrase again and again, each time sharper, more insistent.
“My baby… my life… my baby… my life…”
Nurses exchanged glances. The inspector’s expression hardened.
Raghav backed away from the bed. “This is ridiculous. It’s just repeating nonsense!”
But Mithu wasn’t repeating nonsense. He was repeating the last thing Sarla ever said to her daughter — the last thing Mithu had heard before everything went wrong.
The inspector stepped forward. “Mr Singh, I think you need to come with us.”
Raghav’s eyes widened. “What? No! I didn’t— I would never—”
But the officers were already closing in.
Anaya whimpered softly, reaching out a tiny hand towards Mithu.
“Mithu…” she whispered.
He pressed his beak to the glass, chirping softly.
As Raghav was led away, Mithu realised something — the danger wasn’t over yet, because Anaya still needed someone to protect her, and
he was the only one left.
***
The officers led
Raghav down the corridor, his protests echoing off the walls. He twisted,
trying to break free, shouting that he was innocent, that the parrot was lying,
that everyone was mad. But the inspector’s grip was firm, and the nurses
watched with a mixture of shock and suspicion.
Mithu stayed on the window ledge, feathers puffed, eyes fixed on Anaya. She lay small and fragile on the hospital bed, wrapped in a thin blanket, her tiny chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Her hair was tangled with leaves. Dirt smudged her cheeks. Her lips were cracked. But
she was alive.
A nurse adjusted the drip beside her. “Poor little thing,” she murmured. “Two days in the forest… how did she survive?”
Mithu chirped softly, pressing his beak to the glass.
Inside, Anaya stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. She turned her head slightly, searching. When she saw the green blur on the window, her face softened.
“Mithu…” she whispered.
Her voice was faint, but it carried across the room like a prayer.
A nurse glanced at the window. “Is that… the same parrot they were talking about?”
Another nodded. “Looks like it.”
They didn’t shoo him away. Something in the way Anaya reached for him — weak fingers stretching towards the glass — made them pause.
Mithu hopped closer, chirping gently. He wanted to be inside. He wanted to sit beside her, warm her, protect her. But the glass stood between them, cold and unyielding.
Anaya’s eyes filled with tears. “Mithu… come…”
He chirped again, softer this time, tilting his head. He didn’t understand the words, but he understood the longing.
A nurse walked to the window and opened it just a crack.
“Let him in,” she whispered. “He’s harmless.”
Mithu slipped through the gap, wings brushing the cool air. He landed on the metal railing of the bed, careful not to startle anyone.
The nurses watched, stunned but silent.
Anaya reached out with trembling fingers. Mithu leaned forward and pressed his head into her palm. She stroked his feathers weakly, a tiny smile forming on her cracked lips.
“Mithu…” she breathed.
He chirped softly, a sound filled with relief and affection.
Outside the room, raised voices echoed — Raghav shouting, officers responding sharply. The sound made Anaya flinch. Mithu puffed his feathers, positioning himself between her and the door, as if he could shield her from everything that had happened.
A doctor entered, checking Anaya’s vitals. He paused when he saw Mithu but didn’t chase him away. “If he keeps her calm, let him stay,” he said quietly.
Anaya’s fingers curled around Mithu’s tail feathers. She closed her eyes, breathing more steadily now.
Hours passed. Nurses came and went. The sun shifted across the sky, casting warm light into the room. Mithu stayed by her side, hopping closer whenever she whimpered, singing softly whenever her breathing grew uneven.
In the late afternoon, the inspector returned. His expression was grim but resolute.
“We’ve taken Raghav into custody,” he told the doctor. “There are… inconsistencies in his story. And the child’s condition doesn’t match what he claimed.”
The doctor nodded. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
The inspector glanced at Mithu. “And that bird… he might’ve saved her.”
Mithu didn’t understand the words, but he recognised the tone — respectful, gentle, nothing like Raghav’s voice.
The inspector stepped closer to Anaya. “We’ll find out what happened,” he said softly. “I promise.”
Anaya didn’t respond. She was drifting into sleep again, her hand still resting on Mithu’s back.
As evening settled, the hospital quieted. The corridor lights dimmed. The world outside turned a deep blue. Mithu stayed awake, watching over Anaya, listening to her soft breaths.
He thought of Sarla — her laughter, her gentle hands, her warm voice calling him “my clever boy.” He remembered her last morning, the way she had kissed Anaya’s forehead and whispered, “My baby… my life…”
He repeated the phrase now, softly, almost like a lullaby.
“My baby… my life…”
Anaya stirred, her lips curling into a faint smile.
Mithu nestled closer.
He couldn’t bring Sarla back. He couldn’t explain what he had seen. He couldn’t speak the whole truth.
But he had done the only thing he could — he had saved the child Sarla loved more than anything.
And he wasn’t going to leave her again.
As the night deepened, Mithu settled beside Anaya, his feathers warm against her arm, his eyes half‑closed but alert. The hospital hummed softly around them, safe and steady.
Anaya breathed in, breathed out, her tiny hand resting on his wing.
Mithu watched over her, the last guardian she had left.
He wasn’t leaving her again.
⭐ Note from S A Spencer ⭐ This story is inspired by a real incident that took place
in India in April 2024, when a toddler — a little boy in the real case —
was found walking out of a forest alone after surviving two days and nights
without food, water, or protection.
The exact
location reported was near the forests of Bhopal, where villagers
spotted the child wandering out of the wilderness in a dazed, dehydrated state.
To this day,
nobody knows how that baby survived. No adult was with him. No
footprints were found. No clues explained how he walked so far.
Some said it
was luck. Some said it was instinct. Some said nature protects the innocent.
That idea
stayed with me.
So in this
fictional retelling, I introduced Mithu the parrot — a symbol of
nature’s unseen guardianship. The characters’ names and details have been
changed for privacy, but the heart of the story remains rooted in that real
miracle.
❤️💬🔁⭐ If this story moved you, please like,
share, comment, and subscribe. Your support helps me bring more true‑inspired
stories to life.
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