Rakesh was on his way home from school when he bought the cherries. He paid fifty paise for the bunch. It took him about half-an-hour to walk home, and by the time he reached the cottage there were only three cherries left.     'Have a cherry, Grandfather,' he said, as soon as he saw his grandfather in the garden. Grandfather took one cherry and     Rakesh promptly ate the other two. He kept the last seed in his mouth for some time, rolling it round and round on his tongue until all the tang had gone. Then he placed the seed on the palm of his hand and studied it. 'Are cherry seeds lucky?'... Show more

Rakesh was on his way home from school when he bought the cherries. He paid fifty paise for the bunch. It took him about half-an-hour to walk home, and by the time he reached the cottage there were only three cherries left.    
'Have a cherry, Grandfather,' he said, as soon as he saw his grandfather in the garden. Grandfather took one cherry and    
Rakesh promptly ate the other two. He kept the last seed in his mouth for some time, rolling it round and round on his tongue until all the tang had gone. Then he placed the seed on the palm of his hand and studied it. 'Are cherry seeds lucky?' asked Rakesh.    
'Of course.'    
'Then I'll keep it.'    
'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.'    
So, Rakesh found a small space and began to dig up a flowerbed. 'Hey, not there,' said Grandfather, 'I've sown mustard in that bed. Plant it in that shady corner, where it won't be disturbed.' Rakesh went to a corner of the garden where the earth was soft and yielding. He did not have to dig. He pressed the seed into the soil with his thumb and it went right in. Then he had his lunch, and ran off to play cricket with his friends, and forgot all about the cherry seed.    
When it was winter in the hills, a cold wind blew down from the snows and went whoo-whoo-whoo in the deodar trees, and the garden was dry and bare. In the evenings    
Grandfather and Rakesh sat over a charcoal fire, and    
Grandfather told Rakesh stories and in turn Rakesh would read to him from the newspaper, Grandfather's eyesight being rather weak. Rakesh found the newspaper very dull    
– especially after the stories – but Grandfather wanted all the news.    
One morning in the garden he bent to pick up what he thought was a small twig and found to his surprise that it was well rooted. He stared at it for a moment, then ran to fetch Grandfather, calling, 'Dada, come and look, the cherry tree has come up!''What cherry tree?' asked    
Grandfather, who had forgotten about it. 'The seed we planted last year –look, it's come up!' Rakesh went down on his haunches, while Grandfather bent almost double and peered down at the tiny tree. It was about four inches high.    
'Yes, it's a cherry tree,' said Grandfather. 'You should water it now and then.' Rakesh ran indoors and came back with a bucket of water. 'Don't drown it!' said Grandfather.    
Rakesh gave it a sprinkling and circled it with pebbles.    
'What are the pebbles for?' asked Grandfather. 'For privacy,' said Rakesh. He looked at the tree every morning, but it did not seem to be growing very fast, so he stopped looking at it except quickly, out of the corner of his eye.    
And, after a week or two, when he allowed himself to look at it properly, he found that it had grown – at least an inch!    
The cherry tree grew quickly during monsoon. It was about two feet high when a goat entered the garden and ate all the leaves. Only the main stem and two thin branches remained. 'Never mind,' said Grandfather, seeing that    
Rakesh was upset. 'It will grow again; cherry trees are tough.' Towards the end of the rainy season new leaves appeared on the tree. Then a woman cutting grass scrambled down the hillside, her scythe swishing through the heavy monsoon foliage. She did not try to avoid the tree: one sweep, and the cherry tree was cut in two. When    
Grandfather saw what had happened, he went after the woman and scolded her; but the damage could not be repaired. 'Maybe it will die now,' said Rakesh. 'Maybe,' said Grandfather. But the cherry tree had no intention of dying. By the time summer came again, it had sent out several new shoots with tender green leaves.    
One day he found a bright green praying-mantis perched on a branch, peering at him with bulging eyes.    
Rakesh let it remain there; it was the cherry tree's first visitor. The next visitor was a hairy caterpillar, who started making a meal of the leaves. Rakesh removed it quickly and dropped it on a heap of dry leaves. Come back when you're a butterfly,' he said.    
Winter came early. The cherry tree bent low with the weight of snow. In February it was Rakesh's birthday. He was nine – and the tree was four, but almost as tall as    
Rakesh. One morning, when the Sun came out, Grandfather came into the garden to 'let some warmth get into my bones,' as he put it. He stopped in front of the cherry tree, stared at it for a few moments, and then called out,    
'Rakesh! Come and look! Come quickly before it falls!'    
Rakesh and Grandfather gazed at the tree as though it had performed a miracle. There was a pale pink blossom at the end of a branch. '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 he had 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?'    

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