Written by Katja Bhatnagar

The house where Mira and her father lived had once been a warm shelter, but now it resembled an empty shell. Broken windows, creaking doors and silence bore witness to how far their home had drifted from what it used to be. In the place where they lived, people had forgotten compassion and cooperation. The fire that destroyed the nearby forest had been the final blow. The air had grown heavy, the earth barren.

Every day, Mira returned to the charred remains of the forest, though she did not know why. Something pulled her there—perhaps hope.

One day she noticed, amidst the black ashes, a few shoots of vivid green. She could hardly believe it—out of soil where no life remained, something was growing. She ran home to tell her father what she had seen. At first he did not believe her, but allowed himself to be persuaded. When he saw the shoots, a smile crept across his face for the first time in a long while.
“Blueberries!” he exclaimed. “As sweet as the ones I ate when I was a child.”

Each day they returned together, watching the blueberries grow and hoping one day to taste the fruit. But they were not alone. Neighbours and villagers began to notice—at first with doubt, then with curiosity. Once they learned what was growing on the burned land, they started to come in crowds, each with their own basket. Some only looked, others trampled over the young plants. Mira was disheartened. She felt that nature was giving once more, yet people did not know how to receive with respect. She decided to come early the next morning.