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pecked at the blossoms and broke them off. But the tree kept blossoming right through
the spring, and there were always more blossoms than birds.

That summer there were small cherries on the tree. Rakesh tasted one and spat it out.

‘It’s too sour,’ he said.

‘They’ll be better next year,’ said Grandfather.

But the birds liked them – especially the bigger birds, such as the bulbuls and scarlet
minivets – and they flitted in and out of the foliage, feasting on the cherries.

On a warm sunny afternoon, when even the bees looked sleepy, Rakesh was looking
for Grandfather without finding him in any of his favourite places around the house.

Then he looked out of the bedroom window and saw Grandfather reclining on a cane
chair under the cherry tree.

‘There’s just the right amount of shade here,’ said Grandfather. ‘And I like looking at
the leaves.’

‘They’re pretty leaves,’ said Rakesh. ‘And they are always ready to dance, if there’s a
breeze.’

After Grandfather had come indoors, Rakesh went into the garden and lay down on the
grass beneath the tree. He gazed up through the leaves at the great blue sky; and turning
on his side, he could see the mountains striding away into the clouds. He was still lying

beneath the tree when the evening shadows crept across the garden. Grandfather came
back and sat down beside Rakesh, and they waited in silence until the stars came out
and the nightjar began to call. In the forest below, the crickets and cicadas began tuning
up; and suddenly the trees were full of the sound of insects.

‘There are so many trees in the forest,’ said Rakesh. ‘What’s so special about this tree?

Why do we like it so much?’

‘We planted it ourselves,’ said Grandfather. That’s why it’s special.’

‘Just one small seed,’ said Rakesh, and he touched the smooth bark of the tree that hehad
grown. He ran his hand along the trunk of the tree and put his finger to the tip of a
leaf. ‘I wonder,’ he whispered. ‘Is this what it feels to be God?

–Ruskin Bond

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