When the Axe Spoke

In a peaceful green forest, full of singing birds and rustling leaves, there stood a very old and wise tree named Old Meroo. He had lived there for more than a hundred years. His thick trunk was strong, his roots ran deep, and his branches stretched wide like arms ready to give a hug.

Old Meroo wasn’t just a tree. He was a home, a shelter, and a friend to many creatures. Birds made nests in his branches. Squirrels raced up and down his bark. Deer rested in his shade on hot summer days, and even butterflies loved to rest on his leaves.

All the animals in the forest respected Old Meroo. They believed he was the heart of the forest. When the wind blew through his leaves, it sounded like he was whispering stories of long ago.

One sunny morning, a man named Rohan, a woodcutter, came walking into the forest. He wore a red cap, had a bag over his shoulder and carried a sharp shiny axe in his hand.

“I need a big tree today,” he said to himself. “One strong tree will give me enough wood to build and to burn.”

He walked through the forest, looking this way and that. Then his eyes fell on Old Meroo.

“This one,” Rohan said. “This tree is perfect.”

He stepped closer and placed his hand on the bark. It felt rough, old and wise. He lifted his axe, ready to swing—

“STOP!”

Rohan froze.

“Who said that?” he asked, spinning around. But there was no one there.

“I did,” said a voice, low and clear.

Rohan looked at his hands. The voice had come from the axe.

“You?” Rohan whispered.

“Yes,” said the axe. “Before you strike, I must speak.”

Rohan was shocked. “But… you’re just a tool!”

“Maybe,” said the axe. “But I’ve cut many trees, and today, I feel something different. Look at this tree. It’s not just wood. It’s alive. It has a story. It has friends.”

Rohan looked again. A squirrel peeked from a hole in the trunk. A blue bird sang softly from a branch. Below, a deer lay in the shade with her fawn. Butterflies floated nearby like little forest fairies.

Just then, the tree itself spoke. His voice was deep and warm, like the earth.

“Good woodcutter,” said Old Meroo. “I know you need wood. But please, listen. I have lived here for a very long time. I have given shelter, shade and safety to many creatures. If you cut me, they will lose their home.”

“But I have a job,” Rohan said. “People in my village need wood. I’m just doing what I must.”

“And that is fair,” said Old Meroo gently. “But not all wood must come from living trees. Some trees have already fallen. Some branches break with time. If you look with care, you will find what you need—without hurting what still grows.”

Rohan sat on a nearby rock. He looked around. The forest was full of life. He saw tall trees, tiny plants, singing birds and buzzing bees. He saw how everything was connected.

“I never thought of it like that,” Rohan whispered.

The axe in his hand grew heavier. It didn’t feel like a tool anymore. It felt like a question: Will you take without thinking—or give something back?

Rohan stood up slowly and placed the axe on the ground.

“You are right,” he said. “I don’t want to be the one who breaks the forest’s heart.”

Old Meroo rustled his leaves softly, as if smiling.

From that day on, Rohan changed. He still worked as a woodcutter, but he was no longer quick to cut. He searched for fallen branches, dried trees, and broken logs. He planted a sapling for every tree he used. He became known as “Rohan the Gentle”, a man who worked with the forest—not against it.

Old Meroo stood tall for many more years, watching over the animals, the plants and the people who had learned to listen.

As for the axe—it never spoke again. But it didn’t have to. Its one message had been enough.

Moral of the Story:

True strength lies not in how much we take, but in how wisely we choose. Even a single moment of listening can save a world of life.