Hundred years and he spent all of them at a single place.No it wasnt boring.. For he loved living in this village . It was his soil, his land, his birthplace..Everyday was the same yet he was used to the schedule..

He loved waking up to see the beautiful sunrises and his mornings started with the melodoius songs of chirping birds.The cool morning brezze caressed his face lovingly and  energized him..Watching people was his favourite pastime . At noon,he spent his time with children. He loved their playful nature.He liked listening the stories of men when they gathered around him at dawn,resting their stressed bodies,smoking their chillums freely..

He had seen this village in every state..In its sickness and wellness..In calamities and distress..In joy and victory..He was there always.. Standing like a soldier for  his people..

He was like an old grandfather in this village.A silent companion whose existence never mattered but absence surely does..Hundred years is enough time to get to know the people around him and  he has known several generations and have given all of them equal share of his love,care and attention.Afterall,he considered them as his own people..His family..

Yet they had betrayed him..He gave them, generously, whatever they wanted and never complained.He beared the scars they gave and never thought ill of them.Generousity was his behaviour.Yet ,people never got enough of him.They wanted more..And when he was unable to fulfill their needs,he was killed..Brutally murdered..And the irony was that no one shed a tear for him.. Yes,hundred years is a long time but he still wanted to live..And everyone has a right to live their life to its fullest..
“But humans have turned mean..”,thats what the tree thought when he died..

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