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I looked along the road. Three lorries and
a tractor stood ready to begin their work
at any moment. I tried once again. ‘You
can’t stay there. The tree is coming down
soon.’

Grandpa grinned as usual. ‘This tree will

come down only over my dead body.’ He
was not going to give up.
Just then the police arrived. The jeep

screeched to a halt at the foot of the tree.
Two policemen got out. They both looked
grim. One of them was thin and tall. The
other one was heavily built.

The tall one stared at me. He began to
walk towards me.

Suddenly, he fell flat on the ground. He had tripped over the ladder which was hidden in
the grass. I pretended not to notice. The policeman stood up. He looked even grimmer.
His mouth had taken on a new shape.

‘What is going on here?’ he asked.

As he spoke, some groundnuts fell down from the tree. They missed him by centimetres.
He looked up sharply. When he saw grandpa up on the tree, he looked surprised.

Grandpa smiled. It was a friendly smile.

‘Good afternoon, officer,’ he said. ‘I am squatting on this tree, as you can see.’
The policeman stared at grandpa for a minute. Then he said, ‘Squatting in trees is not

allowed.’
Grandpa looked at him again with a smile.

The heavy one stepped forward. ‘Sir, I must ask you to come down from that tree. Please
come down now.’

Grandpa shook his head. ‘I am sorry, I can’t come down. I am up here to protest.’ The
two men looked at each other. They felt that this was something serious.

Then the tall one asked grandpa, ‘Why are you protesting?’ Grandpa began to narrate the
details. He told them all about the plan to cut down the trees. Cutting down a live tree–a

neem tree–was like committing a murder.
He could not allow murder. If the trees were cut, the place screeched: moved with a
would lose its beauty. The trees were sacred to him. If they shrill high-pitched sound
grim: very serious
wanted to cut the trees, they must cut him first.

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