“Why?” he asked. “Why do you look so so sad. Your head is drooping. Your spirit benumbed. Your shadows lengthen”.

The tree did not say anything. How could it? It was just a tree, a ghostly being.

One day there was violence in the town. The tree quivered. He looked at it and asked: “Why are you afraid? I am with you”. The tree did not say anything. How could it, it was simply a tree; a growth, a shrub.

When the wind blew, the tree swayed, in rhythm. One, two, three. It was like as if, playing to music. Music at dawn, music at night . . . music closetted in ethereal world.

When violence ceased the tree also became pacific. Sometimes he would sit under its shade. He sheltered himself under the tree, seeking protection from the wind and the rain.

One day there was a cyclonic storm. He watched the tree from the window pane. It groaned, it moaned.

It wept, “Why are you crying?” he asked. “Don’t weep. Storms are transitory. They come and go”. The tree did not reply. How could it? It was not human, it was like a huge monolith.

In winter, with the tawny sun set the tree appeared somnolent, in the winter’s sun. The tree seemed to laugh with the sun. He told the tree. “In winter you are quiet. You seem happy. Even the cold does not bother you”.

The tree smiled. But, it was not human. He was a child, when he saw the tree grow. Is this age? He thought. But, I am still a child, a child of this tree. I’ve seen it born, now I see it grow.

He lived his life like anyone else. He studied and got a job. But he thought, that his age and the age of the tree were the same. “Come, tree” he said. “We are friends”.

The wind laughed. He knew it, the wind slung itself against the shoulders of the tree. Many trees now, started sprouting beside this tree. It was like a forest with a dense thicket.

Violence came back to the town, with vengeance, like a vicious cycle. (The tree wept). He touched the tree and whispered: “I love you. In the midst of friend and foe, you are tender and caring, although now your bark seems old, withered and gnarled. How old are you?

Generations passed. In the meantime, the house was renovated and got a distinct face lift. He died (out of grief). One day a crowd gathered near the tree. It had eyes which were moist. A tear drop, emerald shaped fell. Then there was thunder and lightning. The crowd slowly disappeared.

The very next day, in the place of the tree was a mad hopping rabbit. A crow nibbled at the garbage dump. The rabbit said “I will live here”. The crow said “Same here”. Now, they hatched a conspiracy to kill trees.