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like to be, now? What an interesting question. I will have to think about it.”
    He went back to digging, then stopped. “I know what tree I want to be. I want to be a bamboo, although technically it is not a tree. It belongs to the grass family. Does that count?”
    Biren frowned. “I suppose so.” He was disappointed in his father’s choice. He had expected him to pick something more significant like, say, a mango tree or a banyan, even a papaya tree. But bamboo ? Father must be joking.
    “But why bamboo, Father? It’s so...so ordinary.”
    “Your father is an ordinary man, son. But why a bamboo, I will tell you. A bamboo is strong and resilient. It has many uses. You can build a house with it, you can make a raft and float down a river with it. You can eat it as a shoot, and drink out of it as a cup. Most important, the bamboo is hollow and empty inside. If a person can be hollow and empty like the bamboo, all the goodness and wisdom of the universe will flow through him.”
    Biren was still not impressed. He did not want to be a bamboo. He saw himself as a magnificent and glorious flame tree, admired by all from near and far. He told his father that.
    “The flame tree is an inspiring tree,” Shamol conceded. “It gives cooling shade and when it blooms it brings joy to all. But also know this. When the flame tree sheds, it loses everything. You see this in life, mia . Sometimes a person has to lose everything to renew and bloom again.”
    Biren twirled a marigold seedling between his fingers. “Why is there only one flame tree, Baba? I have not seen any other flame trees around here.”
    “Because it is an unusual tree for these parts. The natural habitat of the flame tree is in tiger country, hundreds of miles away.”
    Shamol smiled at Nitin, who was frowning at the ground. “So what do you think, Nitin? What tree would you like to be? Dada wants to be a flame tree and I want to be a bamboo.”
    “I...I...” Nitin faltered. He looked distressed, like he had been given a difficult piece of homework.
    “Don’t worry,” Shamol said kindly. “You don’t have to be a tree. You can be anything you want.”
    “I want to be an ant tree!” Nitin blurted out.
    Shamol twitched his lips. “An ant tree!” he repeated. He leaned on his shovel and studied the round, earnest face of his younger son. “How marvelous! But tell me, mia , is it a tree where ants live or a tree that grows ants? I am curious to know.”
    Nitin brightened. “An ant tree is a tree that grows ants and when...when...the ants get ripe they all fall down...and...when they all fall down they all play together and go to school!”
    “Is that so?” Shamol’s eyes widened. “Be sure to warn me, mia , if you ever see an ant tree. I would be very much afraid to walk under one, with all the ripe ants falling on my head.”
    Biren rolled his eyes at their silly talk. He tried to give Shamol a knowing look to say, Nitin is such a baby ,but Shamol’s face was deadpan as he struck his shovel into the ground and continued to dig.

CHAPTER
    10
    The schoolmaster told Biren to see him in his office. When Biren stood in front of his desk, he handed the boy a folded note.
    “Give this to your father,” he said, without looking up. “And don’t forget to bring back the answer tomorrow.”
    Biren looked at the schoolmaster nervously. This was the first time he had written a note to his father—for that matter, to anybody’s father. Disciplinary measures were taken care of in school with no interference from parents, except, of course, in Samir’s case. Even that was most unusual. Most parents could not read or write anyway. Biren’s father, who had attended college in Dhaka, was the most educated man in the village, even more educated than the schoolmaster himself. To send Biren home with a handwritten note for his father and expect an answer the following day was all very odd. Biren wondered what the note was about.
    “Did I do something