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Young World
Rooting for the Gulmohur
RADHA SAMPATH
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That the Gulmohur had to be cut down was shocking. Could it be saved?
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The old Gulmohur stood in an untidy garden, drowsy in the afternoon sun. A tiny breeze darted in and out, playing with the leaves. Crows napped and squirrels scampered up and down the trunk. In a hole in the trunk, an owl was fast asleep.
The tree dreamt of the beautiful bungalow that had stood there, of the happy family that had enjoyed its shade. The children, now grown up and had gone away and the parents, unable to look after the big house, had shifted to an apartment. Neglected, the bungalow became just a broken-down building.
Suddenly, the doors of a car slammed, shattering the afternoon calm. The tree woke up with a start. The crows began to caw; the squirrels scurried to hide.
The gate creaked open to let in a tall man. The Gulmohur disliked him on sight. Behind him came a younger man. The tree recognised him with a thrill of joy. It was Manu, one of the children who had lived in the house.
“I’ll give you a good price for this land and two of the flats we’ll build,” the man told Manu with a slimy smile. “There will even be space for a swimming pool if we get rid of that old tree.”
The Gulmohur and Manu were horrified. “You can’t cut down the Gulmohur,” Manu protested. “It’s been there for ages and we’ve had such fun playing in its shade.”
Disaster strikes
The slimy smile flashed. “Well, you know the land on which that tree stands is worth a lot.”
The men left. Manu looked unhappy. The crows cawed angrily, the squirrels squeaked anxiously and the tree wailed. “Now what’s all the noise?” asked the owl, peeping groggily out from his hole. They told him what had happened.
“Hmmm…we can’t let the tree be cut,” the owl said. “I’ll think of a plan.”
Next day, workers arrived and put up a hut for themselves. By evening, the owl had his plan.
It was a dark night. The owl gave a long, mournful hoot, “Whoooo…ooooooooo!”
The workers in the hut clutched each other. Then came an eerie CLANK, CLANK, CLANK…the crows were running chains against the gate. The squirrels made holes in the hut’s roof through which the little breeze blew in to make pots and pans tumble. The garden gate went creeeeaaaaaaaak!
“This place is haunted,” the workers yelled, and fled.
The next day, the whole area was abuzz with rumours of angry ghosts. The builder gave up his plan. He certainly didn’t want a haunted site! Some months later, Manu told another builder to build a house there. “The Gulmohur is not to be touched,” he said firmly. “I want my children to play in its shade, just as we used to.”
The Gulmohur smiled and the young man looked up in delight as a shower of red flowers fell on him.
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