Raghu the squirrel was old. He was older than most squirrels he knew, a fact that didn’t rest easy on his heart. On the brighter side, the gods had blessed him with the monkey’s friendship. The monkey crushed walnuts for him. Things worked out nicely.

There were parts of the day Raghu looked forward to. When the birds returned at sunset from their day’s foraging, they told him of all the things they had seen as they flew over Mount Himavat and beyond. One of the younger birds came to him every day and stayed for hours, chirping away without a pause about her day.

When she tired, the squirrel told her many stories from back when he had been young and had roamed the land. She listened with patience (she preferred talking to listening) until her mother sang to her from above that it was time to nest for the night.

Raghu listened to her chirpy song grow fainter and fainter until it remained not much more than a sound of the night. Then he slept and dreamt of far away lands and strange creatures, as he had done every night of his life.

It was on a day warmer than usual that it happened. Raghu had just eaten and was thinking of napping in his hollow in the tree for the afternoon when he saw the birds returning. The sun had still a long way to go before it set. He was wondering what it might be about when the little bird fluttered to a clumsy landing next to him.

“Something is coming! Something big! Really big!” she chirped breathlessly. “It is flying towards us from the south.” The earth shook and a rumble sounded all across the mountainside.