Now, all trees are special.

They live for many years. A tree planted by your grandfather can be enjoyed by your grandchildren. They are Earth's greatest natural wealth. Trees keep the air clean, reduce noise pollution; their roots hold the soil together and give shade.

But Gautam's tree was not an ordinary fig tree. It was special because...

"It was the oldest tree!" My nephew shouted with enthusiasm.

"No, sweetheart, the oldest tree is the Methuselah, a pine tree, which is more than four thousand eight hundred years old."

"Is it the tallest tree?"

"No. That is the Hyperion, a redwood tree that is one hundred and sixteen metres tall."

My munchkin was baffled, but did not give up, "It is the biggest tree?"

"No, it is not even the biggest tree. The biggest tree is the General Sherman Tree, a giant sequoia which is about eleven metres in diameter at its base."

Now he was bewildered, "Then why do you say it is special?"

"It is special because it had been planted around two thousand years ago by a child, planted with love and gratitude. Do you want to hear that story?"

At his enthusiastic nod, I continued, "A long time ago, in a little village there was a boy who was very sick and none could cure him. The parents were worried and almost giving up hope when they heard about a monk who could cure their son.

His desperate parents carried their son, sick and dying, to Bodh Gaya, nearly three hundred miles from their village, hoping for a miracle. The Buddhist monks treated the little boy and in a few months, he grew strong and healthy.

The monastery was close to the Bodhi Tree and the child was fascinated by the tree. On the day they were leaving for his village, he clambered up the tree and snapped off a twig to carry home. It was an act that angered the monks and terrified his parents as to what the punishment could be. Everyone watched in horrified silence as the trembling child was carried to the head monk.

But the head monk was a truly wise man. Instead of simply scolding the child, he knelt before him and asked, 'Why did you break a stem? You do know it is a holy tree.'

It was the kindness in the monk's question that gave the boy courage to stammer, 'I like the tree, it helped me get better. So I wanted to have one in my village too.'

His answer pleased the monk, who let the child carry the small twig back to his village, though he did not believe that the twig would ever grow into a tree.

The twig was almost dried up when the child planted it, but he never gave up. Maybe it was his faith, or maybe the care he showed, the twig did live and take root. The peepul tree is a fast-growing tree and by the time the child grew to adulthood, the tree had already reached its full height of hundred feet.

It was born in the faith of a fading religion. And in the firm belief of innocence, it found a new life. And that is why that tree is special."

"Oh...and then what happened?"

Time passed and the years went by. Men came and went. The river flowed and dried up. Villages grew into towns. Through all these years, the tree lived and thrived. Worshipped and feared by villagers, the tree had been left to grow unchecked and its large branches were home to many birds and small animals.

After two thousand years, that tree found a friend in Gautham, another child who was full of faith. A child who believed that he could do something to save the Earth. And when faith is combined with belief, magic happens. For the hollow into which Gautham put all his treasures, was not just a hiding place, it was a passage.

A gateway to a new planet, one that would soon burst into life. From the seeds that Gautham had dropped.

The seeds and bulbs dropped through the passage that seemed to be never-ending, it was a long path of little light and muffled sounds. No sounds could be heard above the tree and soon the patch of the sky grew smaller and smaller, till it could no longer be seen. Still, the seeds and bulbs kept falling, some faster and some gently floating down. And at last, they tumbled out of the passage, thrown in all directions.

The heavy bulbs rolled a bit, while the wind scattered the seeds near and far.

The air was clean and the light was bright. There was the fragrance of new, unspoilt soil and warm winds. Helped by the wind and the water, the seeds soon sprouted. The bulbs took root. Soon the land was covered with plants and grasses. They looked quite similar to the ones that once grew on Earth but untouched by Man, the plants grew healthier and faster. The brown stalks were stronger and browner; the leaves were larger and more green, while the flowers and fruits had brighter colours.

However, despite the similarities and tiny variances, there was one major difference.

The plants the grew on the new planet were intelligent, capable of thought and action. It was as though Mother Nature did not want the new planet to be destroyed as Earth was. For when the plants grew big, the flowers could talk and the fruit could walk too. Not all of the fruits did though, some chose to silently swing by their stalks though other fruits loved the chance to roam free.

"Oh! that is why those brinjals could talk and walk?"

I was pleased that he remembered and could make the connections.

"Yes."

"But why were they worried?"

"Patience, my munchkin, you wanted a long story, right?"

"One clue, one small one, pleeease?"

That did me in. I pretended to think and after a minute, answered, "Well, that was because they had to catch the spy and stop the chocolate war."

He was adorable as he squealed in surprise, "One of the vegetables was a spy? Which one? And there was a chocolate war?"

"Yes, a spy, and no more till I get to that part, or else it will be a short story."

It was with reluctance silence that I was allowed to proceed.

The new planet was green, unlike our blue Earth. And because of its colour, it was named Verdura.

In a few years, this new planet was filled with plants and shrubs. The trees grew tall and large. Soft green grass and tailing vines covered the ground. Soon birds and bees and butterflies appeared, followed by small hares and squirrels. It as was as if the plants and animals that were disappearing on Earth were finding a new home here.

For every tree that was cut down on Earth, a sapling sprouted on the new planet, stronger and taller than the lost ones. And the trees carried the memories of what they had seen and heard on Earth. When the leaves rustled, the wind carried their whispers to each other and their roots remembered what they have seen and heard.

They were determined to never forget how badly they had been treated on Earth. Nor could they forget how uncaring and selfish Man had become.

The trees were the guardians of Verdura.