The 5-year-old boy yelled, “That’s Mommy!” Just as he was about to seal the coffin, what happened in the river changed everything.The Sharma family lived in a quiet village along the Gages River, where life flowed as smoothly as the stream itself. Their small house, with a rusty tin roof, sat quietly beneath a bamboo forest, surrounded by rice paddies and the occasional distant bird call at dusk. Arjpu Sharma worked as a local repairman, while his hard-working, hard-hearted wife, Meera, usually headed to the riverbank every evening to wash the family clothes as the sun began to set.
Everything seemed sereпo, until that fateful night.
That day, Meera carried her usual basket of clothes to the riverbank. But by nightfall, she hadn’t returned yet. Arjo assumed she had stayed behind to chat with the neighbors. But as darkness fell and there was no sign of her, worry took hold. She grabbed her litter and went to the river, calling her name in the night air until her voice died away. The more she searched, the more the shudder of fear took hold.
The next morning, villagers discovered a woman’s body floating downriver, more than a kilometer away from where Meera used to wash clothes. The body had been submerged, the face swollen beyond recognition. But the complexion and clothes closely resembled hers.
Arjou tried to identify the body. One look and his knees gave way. While the face was unrecognizable, he was wearing the same mud-stained brown floral blouse that Meera wore by her side. With overwhelming grief, and time pressing, Arjou decided to take the body home for the funeral rites. The authorities saw signs of social play, so a detailed apotheosis was ordered.
The funeral was carried out quickly in accordance with the customs of the people. The death of the deceased was mingled with heart-rending sobs. His small house was drenched with grief. Arjo sat in silence, his eyes watery, clutching a lotus cloth. His children, from the eldest to the youngest, knelt beside the coffin. Among them was little Arya, the youngest, only five years old. Too young to fully understand death, but his tear-filled eyes moved as if searching for something.
That afternoon, the coffin-sealing ceremony took place. The body had been unveiled, and the cemetery was rising in the air. The family and neighbors gathered to say goodbye. Everything was ready; all that remained was to close the lid.
Suddenly, a sharp cry cut through the silence:
— “That’s Mom! She told me… that’s Mom!”
Everyone turned around in shock. It was Aryan. The boy had come running into the room, pain pouring from his face, tears running down his cheeks.
—“Mom’s cold! She’s right next to the crooked tree! She told me to come save her!” he cried, waving his arms wildly at the coffin.
The air stilled. Some strange murmurs: “He’s just a kid… probably overwhelmed…” Arya’s grandmother trembled, trying to calm him down:
— “Maybe… it was just a dream, little one…”
But Arya would not stop. He tore off his cloth, sobbing:
— “That’s her! Mom’s cold! She asked me to find her… right by the crooked tree!”
The people froze. A man leaned toward Arjup and said:
— “Brother… sometimes children know things that we don’t know…”
Arjpu had been sitting like a statue until then. Her cut hands clenched repeatedly. Sorrow ran through her mind, a memory that had been buried under the pain. When she identified the body, she saw the face clearly; only the blouse had been the main clue.
A chilling question ran down her spine: “What if… It wasn’t her?”
He stood up abruptly, his voice stony but firm:
— “Stop the coffin! I need to check the river of пυevo!”
No one objected. The urgency and the child’s cries had awakened something inexplicable. The whole family followed him back to the river, to the place where the body had been found. Arya led the way, his little hand grabbing his father’s, running as if dragged by something invisible.
When they approached the shore, Arya pointed out:
— “Here it is! The crooked tree! We have to go deeper!”
The adults followed them. They turned down the narrow path, pushing through tall trees, toward a musty, squalid patch where the roots of the old tree writhed as they saw. The air was heavy. Everyone caught their breath.
All of a sudden… A weak voice shouted:
— “Help… me…”
Uп sυsυrro, apeпas aυdible, pero iпpegablemeпte hυmaпo. Everyone remained silent, then ran towards the sound.
There, tangled in roots and thick mud, was a woman, her hair tangled, her face bruised, her clothes torn, but with her eyes still open, barely shining with life.
— “¡Meera!”
A scream rent the air. Arjup collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She was alive. She was alive.
Everyone rushed to pull her out of the mud. Her hands were trembling, her tears mingling with the sweat and slime. Meera, like a panic, explained that she had slipped into the river while washing clothes. The current swept her away, but she settled near the tree and was unable to scream out loud. Her only hope had been a miracle.
When the body that had almost been buried was found, it turned out to be another woman who had disappeared that same day, but her family had already said so.
That day, the funeral became a miraculous event. The entire town breathed a sigh of relief. They couldn’t stop talking about what had happened. But what remained most deeply in their hearts was the five-year-old boy, with his clear, innocent eyes, who had saved his life and saved his family from irreversible tragedy.
Arjυп grabbed his son in his arms, with his voice breaking:
— “You saved your mother… you saved us all… If it weren’t for you…”
Αryaп wiped her tears and said:
— “I heard it in my dream…”
Uп sυeño, o el vícυlo iпbυebraпtable de υпa madre y sυ hijo?
No one could say. But from that day on, anyone who passed by the riverbank, near the shadow of the crooked tree, would stop for a moment. Because it was believed, in the rhythm of nature, that sometimes miracles really do happen, thanks to the love, belief, and pure heart of a child.
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