In the spring, when the banyan tree was full of small red figs, birds of all kinds would flock into its branches: the red-bottomed bulbul cheerful and greedy parrots myna and crows squabbling with one another. During the fig season, the bayan tree was the noisiest place in the garden. Halfway up the tree I had built a crude platform where I would spend the afternoons when it was not too hot. I could read there with a cushion from the living room. Treasure Island, huckleberry finn and The story of Dr Dolittle were some of the books that made up my banyan tree library. When I did not feel like reading, I could look down through the leaves at the world below. And on one particular afternoon I had a grandstand view of that classic of the Indian wilds a fight between between a mongoose and a cobra. The warm breezes of approaching summer had sent everyone, including the gardener, into the house. I was feeling drowsy myself, wondering if I should go to pond and have a swim with Ramu and the buffaloes when I saw a huge black cobra gliding out of a clump of cactus. At the same time a mongoose emerged from the bushes and went straight for the cobra. In a clearing beneath the banyan tree, in bright sunshine, they come face. The cobra, too, well that the grey mongoose, three feet long, was a superb fighter, clever and aggressive. But the cobra, too was a superb fighter, clever and aggressive. But the cobra, too was a skilful and experienced fighter. He could move a swiftly and strike with the speed of light and the sacs behind his long sharp fangs were full of deadly poison. It was be a battle of champions.