The little orphen boy

The boy was born in a small village where the earth was dry and hope was fragile. The village lay far from the busy towns, hidden between worn-out fields and narrow dirt paths. Life there moved slowly, shaped by the sun, the soil, and the struggle to survive. His family was very poor. His father and mother were farmers, like most people in the village. They owned a small piece of land—too small to be called a proper field. The soil was weak and broken, exhausted from years of planting without rest. No matter how carefully his parents worked, the land refused to give enough rice. Each season ended with disappointment. Every morning before daylight, his parents rose from their thin sleeping mats. Without complaint, they walked to the field carrying simple tools and heavy worries. The boy followed them, his small feet sinking into the dust. He was too young to understand why life was so hard, but he understood hunger. They worked the entire day under the burning sun. His mother’s hands trembled as she planted seeds, and his father’s back bent lower with every passing year. The boy tried to help—fetching water, chasing birds away, pulling weeds. Though his body was small, his heart was full of determination. He believed that if he worked hard enough, things would change. But when night came, reality returned. The family’s rice jar was almost always empty. Dinner was usually a small portion of maize, shared quietly. The boy ate slowly, trying to make the food last longer. Many nights, he went to sleep hungry. His stomach ached, and sleep refused to come. He lay awake listening to the wind outside, dreaming of full meals and brighter days. Still, he did not lose hope. Each morning, he returned to the fields with his parents, believing that effort would one day bring relief. He wanted to save his family from suffering. He wanted to become strong enough to protect them. When the boy turned eight years old, darkness fell over their home. His mother became seriously ill. At first, she tried to hide her pain, continuing to work despite her weakness. But soon, she could no longer stand. There was no money for medicine, no doctor to visit their village. The boy watched helplessly as her strength faded. One quiet night, his mother took her final breath. The house fell into silence. Hunger had been cruel, but loss was crueler. The boy’s childhood ended that night. As he sat beside his grieving father, he did not cry loudly. Instead, something hardened inside him—a quiet promise to survive, no matter how difficult the road ahead would be. And so, in that small village of hunger and loss, his journey truly began.