"No, no! I'm not worried about that. The people will have to elect whoever I nominate, won't they?"

"Hanh, babu."

"Well? What did Ram Haldar tell you?"

"The same thing that you said."

"And what was your reply?"

"Just that I told you."

"What kind of an answer is that?"

"I am not a fool, babu", said Ketu.

"Never mind. There is something I want you to do. Are you interested?"

Ram Haldar and Bishal Mahato belonged to different parties. But for Ketu and his companions, they were two of a kind. One had to appear dumb whenever they were around. Both these deities had to be pleased, if one were to make a living in this area. But who among them would dare to say "no" to these party members? Haldar and Mahato too knew that the Shabars were indispensable-they held the world record for jail terms after all.

Now, Bishal Mahato had indeed managed to arouse Ketu's curiosity. Elections were round the corner. Bishal babu had been busy, attending meetings, giving speeches. So if the matter didn’t concern votes, what could it possibly be? Whatever it was, it must be something shady.

"You have to cut down the Arjun tree," Bishal said.

"Why, babu?" Ketu was startled.

"Just do what I say."

"Please babu, I've just come out of jail, babu."

"If I wanted to send you back, would you be able to prevent it?" asked Bishal Mahato.

"No, babu."

"This is not like one of Ram Haldar's contracts. Only through his illegal operations do you land in jail. Who'd dare to arrest you if I ordered the removal of the tree from the main intersection at the Government road?"

Ketu's mind went blank. He had never thought about it, but it was true. You worked for Ram Haldar and you promptly got caught. That meant another trip to the jail. But Bishal babu's word was law. He actually ran the country, you know! So, who would send you to jail if, under his instructions, the shady tree no longer stood at the government road?

An idea flashed through Ketu's mind. "Babu, are you making a pucca road at this time, to ensure the votes?"

"Pucca road? Here? Ketu, you must be mad! It has not happened in thirty years. And it won't happen now. No, I need the tree."

"A full grown tree?"

"Yes, the whole Arjun tree."

"And how would you transport it?"

"Ram babu's truck, what else."

It was as if the clear sky, the pure, cold, air and the Santoshi Ma bhajans blaring out on the cassette player were prompting Bishal Mahato to speak the truth.

It was that magical hour when earth bids farewell to the day and twilight disappears into the arms of night. The wind carried the smell to ripe paddy from the fields of Bandihi. But Ketu was oblivious to all that. Mohato's request had stunned him. It was as if a huge stone had been placed on his chest. This is what Chandra Santhal must have felt when, during the harvest revolution, they had pinned him down with a half- maund measure. That weight… frightening.

Bishal Mahato and Ram Haldar belonged to two different parties. But only in word did they represent opposite camps. One conducted the Panchayat, the other ran the sawmill just outside the borders of the district. If one ordered the Arjun to be cut down, the other happily provided the transport to carry it away.

Hai! The tree couldn’t be saved. It was the only surviving relic of the Bandihi jungles from the Zamindari era. It still evoked memories of the past in the minds of Ketu and his friends.

When the jungle were not jungles in name only, the Shabars had been forest-dwellers. Gone were those days when they scampered off like rabbits into its dark depths the moment they heard or saw a stranger approaching. Was that why they had been identified as Khedia Shabars, in the census records?

The elders of the tribe still revered the Arjun tree. They believed that it was a manifestation of the divine. Now Ketu was to be responsible for its death!

"Yes, babu. I'll cut it down," Ketu Shabar said. He stretched out his hand for ten rupees.

What a strange evening this was. He was even given what he had asked for.

"Go, go drink," Mohato said. "You won't be able to manage the job on your own, so get all those just released from jail. I'll see to it that you are all taken care of."

Ram Haldar's business did not stop with one or two trees. First, he put up posters, "Save the Forests", then, vandalised the jungles. Hands that wielded the axe were rewarded with torches, wrist watches, gleaming radios, cassette players, cycles, and of course, unlimited quantities of liquor. Each according to his capacity and capability. But the fallout was that whether innocent or guilty, the Shabras were repeatedly prosecuted by the Forest Department of the Police.

Mahato's offer was much more promising. Who else would offer them so much?

"Very well, I'm going to the town now. For a meeting... I must get some posters. How on earth can one conduct a campaign without wall-posters?"

"Get some for me too, babu."

"Why, do you have a wall to stick them on?"

"No, no, babu. I'll spread them out on the floor when I sleep. Then I won't feel the cold in my bones."

"All right, all right. See that you cut down the tree in two or three days. I'll have it removed when I return."

"The Arjun tree, babu?"

"Yes, yes that one. Of course, it will be like the death of a mahapatra, a noble soul….," the monkey- capped, sweater-clad Mahato muttered as he disappeared into the foggy darkness of the night.

Ketu was deep in thought. He went to look for his friends-Banamali, Diga and Pitambar-to see if they could offer a solution.

Since he was carrying liquor, they welcomed him warmly. All of them had wielded the axe. All of them were just out of jail. He who wields the axe goes to jail-that was the rule of the land. Just as it was understood that Ram Haldar would get palatial mansions built in Purulia and Bankura. That was fate. So what could they possibly do to change the order of things?

"Let me think," said Diga. Among them, Diga was treated with a little more respect. He had actually attended four whole days at the non-formal education centre! And learnt the alphabet too.

The four Shabras drowned themselves in thought and liquor. During festivals and weddings, they went around the Arjun tree, beating their dhol-dhamsas. After a certain wish had been granted, the tribals made the ritual sacrifice of their hair and buried it under the tree for good luck. Hadn't Diga's father said that the tree had medicinal properties?

Drunkenly, Pitambar exclaimed, "Even the Santhals come here during the Badhna Jagoran for the cow dance."

What a predicament! Cut the tree, you go to jail; don’t cut the tress, you still get jailed. What is the Shabar to do? This prosperous village of Bandihi sits where once the jungle used to be. Now it falls under the jurisdiction of the Forest Department. But of course the Shabars don’t have any claim to it.

After much contemplation, Diga said, "So why should we alone take the blame? Why should only Shabars get trapped in a false case? I'm going to tell the others. After all, they too revere the Arjun. What do you say?"

Who knows how long the Arjun had stood at that intersection. No one had really noticed it all these years. It was as if the tree had been there for time eternal. But now, all of a sudden it had become enormously important for everyone. As if it was a symbol of their existence!

The Forest Department did not control only the jungles, but fallow land too. So where could the Shabars go? They had simply begun to wander from place to place. Wherever they saw a green patch of jungle land, they would settle down. Then the jungles would start disappearing. The fallow land would be sold off. Once again the Shabars would be homeless.

When the Arjun had been a young tree, the Shabars had offered prayers to it before going on hunting expeditions. Now that it was mature, how grand it was! A shiny bark, the top touching the sky. On full moon nights, the tree and moonlight seemed like one. During Chaitra and Baisakhi, its spread of leaves provided such shade. It meant so much to them. That Arjun at the crossing…

Pitambar asked, "For how long has the Arjun been guarding us? That one tree is the entire jungle for us. And our few families, the children of the forest. Now Mohato wants that very tree?"

"What can we do? Everything belongs to Bishal babu and Ram babu."

"Till we had built our huts, we lived under the Arjun. Only later did Mohato give us the land to build our huts.." went on Pitambar.

Diga added in his bit,"Didn’t the Santhals come to it for shelter and consolation after Haldar had burnt their shanties?"

One by one, they began to recall stories about the Arjun tree. Each one realised that their lives and fate were inextricably linked with that of the Arjun. Society and the system had continually persecuted, exploited and almost obliterated this handful of tribals from the face of the earth. Now the same fate awaited the Arjun tree, the last mute symbol of their existence.

"Bishal babu is going to town. We must collect the cash from him before he leaves," said Diga.

"You will cut the trees then?"

"Five people should be enough to do the job. We'll ask for one hundred rupees, what do you say?"

"You may have to go to jail."

Frequent visits to the jail and constant exploitation by society had taught the Shabars to mask their true feelings and intentions. One face was presented to the Mahatos of the world, while the other one remained hidden. In the days of the British, the Shabars were the only ones who could be relied upon to set police stations and checkposts on fire. Today the babus were dependent on them, for these same Shabars performed the all important tasks of land encroachment, crop theft, disposal of corpses and clearing of government owned forests.

So who would be so dumb as to go to jail for cutting one single tree?

Diga gave a shrewd, cunning laugh. "You don’t worry about it", he told the others. After all, he knew the alphabet, had been to the jails of district as far as Jamshedpur, Chaibasa, Medinipur and Bankura.

Bishal babu was assured that by the time he returned from the town, the job would be done. "Go and conduct your election meetings with an easy mind. Give us the money. When you come back, you'll see that the tree is not there."

"Make sure that Ram babu doesn’t get a hint of what is happening."

"Why, isn't he giving you the truck?"

"Yes, but he'll still create a big fuss. Also, take care that no one outside the district gets news of it."

"We'll see, babu."

On the surface, politicians hoisted different flags, but underneath, they were like sugar in milk. No conflict of interest when it came down to brass tacks.

Bishal babu, you have taught the foolish Shabars many lessons, haven't you-what they call non- formal education!

The leaders of the two opposite camps abuse each other at public meetings. The cadre members do not understand all this. Abuses, petty quarrels and occasional bloodshed are all part of the political system. There is bound to be some dispute over the Arjun too. But then, how many people would really support Ram Haldar? The entire village was under Bishal Mahato's sway.

A trip to the town really becomes frenzied, thought Bishal Mahato. On the way there are speeches and gatherings at the public halls and bazaars to be attended to. In the town, so many chores have to be taken care of. Get the moped light repaired, buy a new lantern, a shawl for the wife, some medicines…

Satisfied with his trip, Bishal Mahato was returning to Bandihi. The problems of votes had been taken care of. Oh god! When would they build a proper road to the village? Nengshai, Tetka, stream after stream, and then the descent down the bamboo bridge. After that, the tortuous way through slippery paths and uneven roads.

But as he neared the village, his head reeled.

Against the backdrop of the deep blue sky, the majestic Arjun tree stood with its head held high-like a guardian of the village, keeping vigil from its lofty post. Once upon a time, this land used to be guarded by hundred of leafy sentinels. One by one, they have all gone, leaving no trace. Only the Arjun is left now. Alone, to guard this devastated, neglected, humiliated land of his.

Unbidden, a proverb flashed through Bishal Mahato's mind, "The leaves of the Arjun tree are like the tongue of man."

All around boomed the sounds of the dhol-dhamsa-damak and the strains of the nagra. An agitated Bishal Mahato rushed into the village. A huge crowd had gathered around the Arjun. Its trunk was covered with aakondo garlands.

Haldar was standing at the perimeter of the crowd, holding on to his bicycle.

"What happened?" asked Mahato.

"The gram-devata has made them do it," answered Haldar.

"What? Which ill-begotten fellow says so?"

"Diga had a dream, it seems. You paid him money in the dream and instructed him to build a concrete base around the trunk. People from all the tribes-Santhal, Khedia, Shohish, Bhumji-have now gathered to make their offerings."

"To the gram-devata?"

"Yes, and the crowds have not stopped coming. There is practically a mela on. We'd thought these fellows were fools. But they have made fools of us, Mahato?"

Bishal stepped forward to taste the full flavour of his defeat.

What a stupendous crowd! Ketu was dancing away like a maniac, going round and round with his dholok.

Bishal was suddenly afraid. This tree, these people-he knew them all. He knew them very well. And yet, today, they seemed like strangers.

Fear. An uncomprehending fear gripped him.