Mithus Treasure

Mithu, the little bird, loved to do many things:
To peck at pebbles, dried up leaves, and juicy berries in the spring;
To chase grasshoppers and crickets, and to

ap its tiny wings so fast,

making a huge, smoky cloud of dust that made everyone cough and sneeze;
To listen to the sound of water in the nearby river, or to trace the dark treetrunks where soft, pillowy mushrooms grow; To sing while watching thedewdrops sparkling in the morning sun and the murky, blue hills beyond thewoods fading away into the evening sky.
Mithu lived in a warm and cozy nest, nicely balanced on an old maple tree. The
nest was built piece by piece by collecting sticks, grasses, cattails, and feathers
and putting them in the perfect order. Inside the nest were Mithu’s treasures, fromglowing bugs to

u y feathers to smooth rocks, even a pack of nuts foremergencies; they were hidden under the velvety mushroom that calmed Mithu
into sleep in the night.
The maple tree was next to the breezy and sparkling river that ran through theforest. It was full of leaves that hid and protected Mithu and the nest from the hot
sun of the summer and the cold wind of the fall. In the spring, the leaves sprouted,waxy, light green, and all new. As the fall came, they changed into shades ofyellow, red, and brown. Mithu loved to borrow a few of the nest maple leaves todecorate its own nest. But what Mithu loved the most was the sweet maple syrup;
when mixed with fresh snow, the syrup made the juiciest and sweetest icicles. Thatmeant that in the height of the cold winter, when all fresh fruits and nuts had goneto long winter sleep, Mithu could enjoy homemade ice pops!
But, one stormy day in the fall changed everything.
Mithu woke up that morning to the sound of thunder and lightning. There wasfi

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heavy rain coming down like an explosion. Mithu could hear the maple tree’sswayed the tree in every direction, twisting and whirling the branches like helplessstraws, pulling and tearing the leaves.
Mithu looked around the nest, searching for cover. The bouncy mushroom thatlulled Mithu to sleep every night had fallen upside down. The smooth rocks were
scattered all over the nest’soor. The bottle of glowing bugs and the bundle ofu y feathers had come undone and were ying around.
Outside the nest, the wind kept on blowing, and the rain kept on pouring; themaple tree kept on squeaking, and Mithu’s nest kept on shaking. Before long,Mithu saw the wind snatching the rst stick out of its nest. After that, it was only amatter of time before the whole nest would break into pieces. Mithu had to let go.
Itew up into a small hole in the trunk of the maple tree. From there, Mithu

watched the nest crumbling down in pieces onto the ground below.
The storm stopped the following day, but the nest was gone. The only sign that ithad ever been there was a light patch on the branch. For Mithu, it was not just anest; it was home. Mithu built it with great care and treasured it too. It was theplace where Mithu ate, slept, and sang. It was where Mithu felt safe and happy.
Overwhelmed by everything that had happened, Mithu just sat on a branch next tothe hole; it felt too upset, too hungry, and too wet to do anything. That is when Ms.
Nightingale, the school teacher, paid a visit to Mithu.
“There you are! How are you doing? Are you OK?” asked Ms. Nightingale as she
perched on the branch next to Mithu.
“I am OK, Ms. Nightingale. I held on to the tree, and nothing happened to me,”Mithu said, trying not to cry.
“Hmm… you say nothing happened to you. But you are sad. That means

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something did happen. What happened?” asked Ms. Nightingale.

flflpainful wailing against the crippling wind: “squeeeeaak, squeeeeaak.” The windMithuew down to where the nest had been and pecked on the bark: “this iswhere my nest was,” it said.
“Oh, Mithu, your nest is gone,” Ms. Nightingale exclaimed, ying down to sit next
to Mithu once again.
“Yes, it is gone, and I could not save it. I tried to hold on to it, to my bed and mytreasures. But I could not. I was not strong enough. I left and ew away. I shouldhave stayed and tried harder,” Mithu said.
“Are you blaming yourself for what happened to the nest?” Ms. Nightingale asked.
She sounded concerned.
“I wish I stayed and tried harder. I wish I could save my nest. But I did not stay,”
Mithu said, sounding defeated.
Ms. Nightingale kept silent. Together, they looked down at the broken branches
and leaves on the ground, and the muddy patches on the maple tree, listened to
the roaring sound of the over owing river.
‘Have you seen that sometimes theowers of this maple tree struggle to bloom,

sometimes the petals are twisted or torn, or some buds take longer to bloom?’ Ms.
Nightingale asked.
Mithu could not understand what Ms. Nightingale was trying to say. But, Mithu
knew Ms. Nightingale was trying to help; thus, Mithu responded
anyway: ‘Yes, I have Ms. Nightingale. I have seen that some of the buds do notbloom like others, some take more time, some do not bloom fully.’‘When aower struggles to bloom, there is no point in blaming thefl

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Nightingale sounded thoughtful.

ower’ Ms.

‘Every ower wants to bloom. No ower will risk it if the ower can help it.
So, instead of blaming the ower, how about it if we look around to nd what
disturbed the ower and then see if we can change things so that the ower canbloom the best way it can?’ she suggested.
‘So, it is not the ower’s fault that it fails to bloom?’ this time, it was Mithu who
sounded thoughtful.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Ms. Nightingale returned the question to Mithu, with awarm glance.
After some time sitting quietly together, Ms. Nightingale turned to Mithu andprobed: “May I ask what broke your nest? What made it so hard for you to save it?”
“The wind. More than the rain, it was the wind. Even the maple tree lost so manybranches to it” Mithu replied.
“Aha!” said Ms. Nightingale. “Even a big maple tree could not

ght back? Thatmeans it indeed was an intense wind.”“Yes, it was. It broke the tree’s branches like dried straw!” Mithu answered.
“Really?” exclaimed Ms. Nightingale. “If that was the case, can you really blame
yourself for losing your nest?”“I guess not,” Mithu said re ectively. “But I lost everything, Ms. Nightingale. I could
not save anything!”“Hmm… I do not think that is true. I think you did save something really, reallyprecious,” Ms. Nightingale said, with a serious look on her face.
“I did? What? What did I save?” Mithu asked.
“You saved yourself. A nest can be re-made. Treasures can be re-collected. But you

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are not replaceable,” said Ms. Nightingale and gave Mithu a warm hug.

Lets be creative and re ect. . .

1. In the story Mithu has a lot of treasures like glowing bugs,u y feathers andcolorful leaves. But Ms Nightingale has a di erent idea about Mithu’s real treasure.
Would you agree with Ms Nightingale? Can you describe why you would agree, ordisagree with her?
2. The story tells us of the damage the storm causes. Moreover, the process ofrecovery and rebuilding the forest after the storm has not started yet. What do you
think Mithu needs right away to begin healing?
3. Imagine that Mithu is one of your best friends and that you meet Mithu soonafter the storm. What do you imagine the two of you doing together?

̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶Written by Udeni Appuhamilage

All rights reserved by Kotori Project

2022

Organized by:
MUSE (Music Unites Special Education) 認定NPO法人 ミューズの夢
Supported by:

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©︎

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Save the Children Japan and Japan Network for Public Interest Activities