In the lush, green heart of Pichikullanka, a tiny island cradled by the shimmering backwaters of the Godavari Delta near Dowleswaram in East Godavari District, lived a spirited girl named Maya. At ten years old, Maya was known for her boundless curiosity and love for every creature that roamed the island’s muddy paths and swayed in its gentle breezes. Her best friends, Anil, a clever boy with a knack for building things, and Lakshmi, who could spot a bird’s nest from a mile away, were always by her side. Together, they explored the winding waterways, coconut groves, and rice paddies that made Pichikullanka a magical place.

One sunny morning, as the trio paddled their small wooden boat through the backwaters, Maya’s sharp ears caught a faint, trembling sound. “Moo… moo…” It was soft, almost lost in the chorus of chirping birds and lapping water. She held up her hand, signaling Anil and Lakshmi to stop rowing. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Lakshmi tilted her head, her braid swinging. “It sounds like a calf! But where?”

Anil, squinting through his glasses, pointed toward a dense patch of tall reeds where the backwaters curved. “There! Something’s moving.”

The children guided their boat closer, the water rippling under their careful strokes. As they parted the reeds, they gasped. There, tangled in a mess of vines and stuck in the muddy shallows, was a tiny cow calf, no bigger than a large dog. Its soft brown fur was matted with mud, and its big, frightened eyes looked up at them. The calf let out another weak “moo,” its legs trembling from exhaustion.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Maya said, her heart aching. “We have to help it.”

Lakshmi frowned, scanning the surroundings. “It must have wandered from the village and gotten lost. The backwaters are tricky here—too many vines and deep mud.”

Anil, ever practical, hopped out of the boat, his feet sinking into the squishy bank. “We need to free it before the tide rises. The water gets deeper in the evening.”

Maya named the calf Mooli, because its little moos reminded her of the radishes her grandmother grew. The children set to work. Lakshmi, with her nimble fingers, began untangling the vines wrapped around Mooli’s legs. The calf squirmed, scared but too tired to fight. “Shh, Mooli, we’re here to help,” Maya cooed, stroking its head gently to keep it calm.

Anil, meanwhile, assessed the mud. “It’s like quicksand,” he said, scratching his head. “If we pull too hard, we might hurt Mooli or get stuck ourselves.”

Maya’s eyes lit up with an idea. “Anil, can you make something to help us pull her out? Like one of your contraptions?”

Anil grinned. He loved a challenge. From the boat, he grabbed a rope they used for fishing and some sturdy bamboo poles lying on the bank. With Lakshmi’s help, he tied the rope into a makeshift harness, looping it carefully around Mooli’s body to avoid hurting her. Then, he wedged the bamboo poles into the mud to create a lever system. “If we all pull together, we can lift her out slowly,” he explained.

The plan was set, but the backwaters weren’t making it easy. The sun climbed higher, and the air grew heavy with humidity. Mosquitoes buzzed around them, and the mud sucked at their feet. Maya, standing in the shallow water, held Mooli’s head above the surface, whispering encouragements. “You’re so brave, Mooli. We’ve got you.”

Lakshmi and Anil pulled on the rope, using the bamboo levers to ease Mooli out of the mud’s grip. The calf’s legs wobbled as the suction finally gave way with a loud schlurp! Mooli stumbled forward, free at last, and the children cheered. But their joy was short-lived—Mooli was too weak to walk far, and they were deep in the backwaters, far from the village.

“We need to get her to safety,” Maya said, her voice determined. “She needs water and food.”

Lakshmi looked at the boat. “It’s small, but we can fit her if we’re careful. We’ll row her back to Pichikullanka.”

Getting Mooli into the boat was another adventure. The calf was skittish, and the boat rocked dangerously as they lifted her in. Anil held the ropes steady while Maya and Lakshmi guided Mooli’s trembling legs. Finally, with Mooli nestled in the boat’s center, the children began rowing back through the winding channels. The Godavari’s waters sparkled under the noon sun, and egrets soared overhead, as if cheering them on.

As they neared the village, Maya spotted her uncle’s fishing boat. She waved frantically, shouting, “Uncle Ravi! We need help!” Uncle Ravi, a kind man with a booming laugh, rowed over and gasped at the sight of Mooli. “Where did you find this little one?” he asked, helping them transfer Mooli to his larger boat.

The children explained everything, their words tumbling over each other. Uncle Ravi chuckled. “You three are braver than a whole herd of buffalo! Let’s get this calf to the village.”

Back in Pichikullanka, the villagers gathered around, amazed at the children’s courage. Mooli’s mother, a gentle cow from Farmer Gopi’s herd, had been searching for her calf all morning. When they reunited, Mooli nuzzled her mother, mooing happily, and the villagers clapped. Farmer Gopi, grateful beyond words, gave the children a basket of sweet mangoes and promised them a ride on his bullock cart whenever they wanted.

That evening, as the sun set over the Godavari, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Maya, Anil, and Lakshmi sat by the water’s edge, sharing their mangoes. “We did it,” Maya said, her face glowing. “Mooli’s safe because we worked together.”

Lakshmi nodded. “And because you heard her, Maya. You always know when someone needs help.”

Anil, licking mango juice off his fingers, added, “Next time, let’s build a bigger boat. Just in case we find a whole herd!”

The three friends laughed, their voices mingling with the soft lapping of the backwaters. In Pichikullanka, where the Godavari flowed like a lifeline, Maya and her friends knew they’d always be ready for the next adventure—whether it was rescuing a calf or chasing a new mystery in their island paradise.