Environment
One small seed
Meet Rakesh, a little boy who plants a cherry seed in the hills of Mussoorie.
Cherries from far away. Rakesh was six. He was walking home from the Mussoorie bazaar, eating cherries: 'a little sweet, a little sour; small, bright red cherries, which had come all the way from the Kashmir Valley.'
Why from so far? Because cherries did not grow here. In the Himalayan foothills the soil was stony, and the dry cold winds stunted (stopped the growth of) most plants. Only on sheltered slopes were there forests of oak and deodar. Remember this: it makes the story remarkable.
Rakesh's home. He lived with his grandfather on the outskirts (edge) of Mussoorie, just where the forest began. His parents lived in a village fifty miles away, growing maize, rice and barley in narrow terraced fields.
There was no school in their village, and they wanted him to go to school. So he was sent to live with his grandfather.
Three cherries left. He paid fifty paise for the bunch. The walk home took half an hour, and by then only three cherries were left. 'Have a cherry, Grandfather.'
Grandfather took one. Rakesh promptly (at once) ate the other two. He kept the last seed in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue until all the tang (sharp taste) was gone, then looked at it in his palm.
'Are cherry seeds lucky?' 'Of course.' 'Then I'll keep it.'
Grandfather's reply is the key to the whole story: 'Nothing is lucky if you put it away. If you want luck, you must put it to some use.'
'What can I do with a seed?' 'Plant it.' Not in the flowerbed, where mustard is sown, but in a shady corner where it won't be disturbed. The earth was soft and yielding, so he just pressed the seed in with his thumb.
Then he had lunch, ran off to play cricket, and forgot all about it.
Winter. A cold wind went whoo-whoo-whoo in the deodars. In the evenings Grandfather told stories (of people who turned into animals, ghosts who lived in trees, beans that jumped and stones that wept), and Rakesh read him the newspaper, because Grandfather's eyesight was weak.
They knew spring had come when the wild duck flew north again to Siberia.
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