In a cozy village nestled between whispering woods and a sparkling river, lived Grandpa Vasudeva Murthy and Grandma Malathi. Their small house, with its creaky wooden porch and flower-filled garden, was a favorite spot for their grandchildren: Neha, Nisha, Anand, and Aravind. The four children, aged between eight and twelve, loved spending their summers there, listening to Grandpa’s stories and Grandma’s songs. But this summer, Grandpa had a special lesson in mind—how to be fearless, no matter what.

One sunny morning, the children gathered on the porch, munching on Grandma’s crispy dosas. Neha, the eldest, was bold but afraid of the dark. Nisha, her twin, shivered at the thought of spiders. Anand, ten, feared failing at anything, while Aravind, the youngest, was scared of loud noises, especially thunderstorms. Grandpa Vasudeva, with his twinkling eyes and silver beard, clapped his hands to get their attention.

“Today,” he said, “we’re going to learn how to be fearless. Fear is like a shadow—it seems big, but it’s not real unless you let it be. Let me tell you a story about the Brave Sparrow.”

He began weaving a tale about a tiny sparrow named Chiku who lived in a towering banyan tree. Chiku was terrified of hawks, but one day, a fierce hawk threatened her nest. Instead of hiding, Chiku puffed up her chest, chirped loudly, and flew straight at the hawk, confusing it. The hawk, startled by her courage, flew away.

“The first secret to fearlessness,” Grandpa said, “is to face your fear head-on. Neha, when the dark scares you, light a small lamp in your mind. Imagine its glow chasing the shadows away. Try it tonight!”

Neha nodded, her eyes wide. “But what if I’m still scared?” she asked.

Grandma Malathi, stirring a pot of sambar in the kitchen, poked her head out. “Oh, Neha, my dear, when I was your age, I was scared of ghosts! My trick was to sing a cheerful song. Fear hates music! Try humming your favorite tune when the dark feels heavy.”

The children giggled, imagining Grandma singing to ghosts. Grandpa continued, “The second secret is preparation. Anand, you fear failing, but failure is just a teacher. Let’s practice something hard together.”

Grandpa led them to the backyard, where he’d set up a rope bridge between two trees, wobbly and high. Anand gulped. “I’ll fall!” he cried.

“Try it anyway,” Grandpa encouraged. “Plan each step. Fear shrinks when you’re ready.”

Anand took a deep breath, planned his moves, and crossed the bridge slowly. He wobbled but didn’t fall. “I did it!” he shouted, beaming.

“That’s my boy!” Grandpa cheered. “Being fearless means preparing and trusting yourself.”

Nisha tugged at Grandpa’s sleeve. “But what about spiders? They’re creepy!”

Grandpa chuckled and told another story about a clever ant who faced a giant spider. The ant didn’t fight but observed the spider, learning it was harmless unless provoked. “The third secret,” Grandpa said, “is understanding. Nisha, next time you see a spider, watch it from a distance. Learn its ways. Fear often comes from not knowing.”

Grandma Malathi joined them, carrying a tray of mango juice. “And my way, Nisha, is to give fear a silly name. I call spiders ‘Wiggly Whiskers.’ Makes them less scary, doesn’t it?”

Nisha laughed, sipping her juice. “Wiggly Whiskers! I’ll try that.”

Finally, Aravind spoke up. “But Grandpa, thunderstorms are so loud! They shake the house!”

Grandpa’s eyes softened. He told a story of a young lion cub, Rishi, who trembled at thunder until he learned to roar back. “The fourth secret, Aravind, is to find your own strength. When thunder roars, you roar back—maybe not out loud, but in your heart. Say, ‘I am strong!’”

Grandma added, “And I always cuddle under a blanket with a cup of warm milk during storms. It’s like telling the thunder, ‘You can’t bother me!’ Try it, Aravind.”

That night, a storm rolled in, perfect for testing their lessons. Thunder boomed, and Aravind clutched his blanket. “I am strong!” he whispered, sipping milk Grandma gave him. The thunder didn’t seem so scary anymore.

Neha lit a small candle and hummed a tune, picturing its light chasing the dark. Nisha spotted a spider in the corner and whispered, “Hello, Wiggly Whiskers,” watching it calmly instead of screaming. Anand, inspired by his rope bridge success, wrote “I can try again” on a piece of paper and tucked it under his pillow, feeling braver about mistakes.

The next morning, the children raced to the porch, buzzing with excitement. “Grandpa, Grandma, we did it!” they shouted. “We weren’t so scared!”

Grandpa Vasudeva smiled. “Fearlessness doesn’t mean fear never comes. It means you know how to face it—with courage, preparation, understanding, and strength. And a little help from Grandma’s tricks!”

Grandma Malathi winked. “And don’t forget myieszcz

System: the songs and snacks!” The children burst into laughter, and the air filled with the aroma of Grandma’s sambar. From that summer on, Neha, Nisha, Anand, and Aravind carried Grandpa Vasudeva’s secrets and Grandma Malathi’s tricks in their hearts. They faced dark nights, creepy spiders, new challenges, and loud storms with a spark of fearlessness, knowing they were stronger than any shadow. And in the village by the whispering woods, their laughter echoed, fearless and free