Bipu and the May–June Tree

Heart-Touching Children’s Story on Nature

by Pallapuram Prabakaran

 

 

Seven-year-old Bipu lived with his parents in a small, rented house. Right in front of their home stood his favourite thing in the whole world, a May–June tree.

Every summer, this tree bloomed with pink-and-white flowers that smelled sweet like fresh sugar candy. Butterflies circled around it, sparrows built tiny nests, and the whole street looked like it had wrapped itself in a colourful shawl. The flowers stayed only for the months of May and June, and Bipu waited all year just to see them.

“This is my tree… my friend,” he whispered every morning.

One summer holiday, Bipu had to visit his aunt’s house in the city for a month.

“But the flowers!” he worried. “What if I miss them?”

His mother smiled and stroked his hair.
“The May–June tree blooms all May and June, dear. You’ll still see it when you return.”

Bipu nodded slowly, hugged the tree trunk one last time, and left.

The city was fun, tall buildings, long roads, ice cream every evening and cousins who played with him day and night.
But still, every night before sleeping, Bipu thought of his tree.

While Bipu was away, the street outside his house had become unusually noisy.

One hot afternoon, several neighbours gathered near the May–June tree, voices rising sharply.

“The flowers are falling all over my steps!” one lady complained, almost shouting.

“My veranda is full of dry leaves every morning,” a man argued, brushing imaginary petals off his shirt.

“And look at my bike seat,” another grumbled. “Every day I have to clean it!”

Soon a small crowd formed. People waved their hands angrily, talking over one another.
All their complaints pointed at a single culprit, the May–June tree.

“It’s your house, so you must do something!” a woman scolded the house owner.

“Cut it! Cut the tree!” a man demanded.

The house owner tried to calm them.
“It blooms only for two months… it gives so much shade too,” he said softly.

But no one wanted to listen.

“We sweep our houses every day because of this!”
“Flowers everywhere!”
“No more mess! Cut it!”

Tired of the arguments and wanting peace, the house owner finally sighed.

“Alright… I will remove it.”

The next morning, a man with a chainsaw arrived.
No butterflies fluttered.
No sparrows chirped.
No one warned the tree.

In a few minutes, the May–June tree quiet, gentle, harmless fell to the ground.

The neighbours watched in satisfaction.
But they did not see the sparrows flying in confused circles, or the butterflies hovering sadly over the empty air.
The street felt strangely hollow.

After a month, Bipu returned home.

He jumped out of the auto, ready to run to his tree.
But something felt wrong.

The sky looked too empty.
The air smelled different.
There was no flutter of wings.
No soft carpet of petals.

And then he saw it.

The May–June tree was gone.
Cut.
Only a lonely stump remained.

Bipu’s eyes filled instantly, and he burst into tears.

“Where… where is my tree? Appa… Amma… where is it?!”

His mother knelt beside him and whispered,
“The neighbours complained. They wanted more space… less mess. So the house owner… cut the tree.”

Bipu shook his head, sobbing.
“Why would someone cut a tree that gives flowers… shade… happiness?”

He didn’t want to enter the house.
He didn’t want his summer holidays anymore.
He didn’t want anything.

That evening, seeing him cry, his parents sat beside him.

“Do you know why the May–June tree was special?” his mother asked gently.

“It gives thousands of flowers…
Its shade keeps the house cool…
Its roots hold the soil together to prevent erosion…
And every creature birds, bees, butterflies depend on it.”

His father added softly,
“Trees protect us without asking for anything. Losing one is like losing a friend.”

***