Sanju wandered barefoot along the path, his thoughts adrift in the pale morning light. He paused as a gentle breeze rustled the tall grass, carrying the ethereal melody of a song from somewhere unseen. The world seemed to hold its breath, every leaf and blade bathed in the golden promise of a new day.

Sanju followed the music, heart pounding with curiosity and a trace of longing. As he neared the largest banyan, he glimpsed a figure wrapped in a faded blue saree, her hair tumbling like a river down her back. She sang softly to herself, her voice as delicate as the morning itself.

Sanju hesitated, unsure whether to speak or remain an unseen listener. The woman looked up, her eyes reflecting the green depths of the forest. "Your song… it feels like it belongs to this land. Like it’s grown from the roots," he ventured, voice trembling with awe.

She smiled, her gaze never leaving Sanju. "Every morning, I sing for Lata—the spirit of the fields," she replied, her tone both playful and reverent. "She listens when the world is silent and gifts the fields their music. Have you heard her before?"

Sanju closed his eyes, letting the melody wash over him. He felt the weight of old sorrows lifting, replaced by a gentle hope. "Maybe I have," he whispered, "but I never knew her name until now." The woman’s laughter rang out, clear and bright, as if the land itself was rejoicing.

Sanju turned to leave, the memory of the song threading through his mind like a delicate ribbon. The woman’s voice lingered on the breeze, a promise that the music of Lata would always remain—as long as someone was willing to listen. The day had begun, but something within Sanju had quietly changed, touched by the spirit and song of the fields.