THREE TREES (Nawab Nagar)

With axe and saw, rope and strength, apprehension, desperation; our elders came to settle the land. They came to raise families. They came to provide. They came with love and caring. They came with courage and conviction. They came with prayer and hope.

After the blitzkrieg; years of sweat and toil, only three trees of note remained standing from those native to the almost 500 acres of marsh and jungle. They were too noble to fall.

The rest were replaced by crops of every description and orchards of guava and mango. Of course, there were still a lot of date palms and others bordering the water canals and waysides, but they are not of consequence to this tale.

A ‘peepal’ stood about a hundred yards east of the homestead, a ‘neem’ even closer to the south, and a ‘pakhar’ out in the fields to the west.

(Now, I can surf the net and write the English names, but I’ll ask you to do it yourself if you really need to)

The Peepal gave us the first sounds of leaves rattling in the heat of the summer afternoon even before we felt the stir of the breeze. It gave us our first idea of ‘gigantic’. It gave us the taste of deep shade, really deep, so deep that it could take away the discomfort of the heat if one only looked into its depth even when not in the shade.

The Peepal gave us knots and hollows that harboured cobras and bats and bees and witches and ghosts and scorpions and a whole lot of creepy-crawlies. It gave us colonies of owls perched silently observant by day and swooshing by at night. It gave us flocks of storks balancing precariously on the highest twigs.

The Peepal gave us a feeling of an elder, a parent, a guardian watching over us, its leaves speaking soothingly at night while we looked up at the stars as we lay to sleep on the roof. Deep. Mysterious. Mystical.

It died when we were still children, falling to the axe because… because… well, because the elders decided that it had to go. We can still picture its silhouette with the mind’s eye. We can still feel its Presence if we try...

**                         **                         **                           **

The Pakhar was the companion of our youth. We spent hours up in its branches. We did pull-ups hanging from its sinews, we slept and dreamed and talked and droned on in its shade, we pitted our strength against it in chopping off its branches when they hung too low over the path on one side or the field on the other. One of our fathers had died right under it. Our children learned to climb it, then to jump off from where it hung just about two metres above the ground.

A cemented platform was built under it long ago, and thousands rested in its cool shade year after year. We left the work in the fields to have a snack or a cool 'sharbat' while our children played under the tree, with the tree, in its protection. Our wives sat on the platform, so sweetly cold to the touch, and spun dreams of fairy lands that lay in the future just beyond our reach. They seemed so tenderly beautiful in its shade... or was it the light diffused by the leaves...

The Pakhar personified Contentment.

Caring. Shelter. Rejuvenation. Calm. Patience. Sagacity. Life.

It fell to fear.

As generations progressed in time, the mood of the land changed. The Pakhar became a sort of gathering place for evening hooch drinkers and sometimes possible pedlars. And we were scared that some day a government department would lay claim to the land that it stood on, or we would somehow be drawn into something bad due to the undesirable goings-on. After years of worrying, we decided to let it go.

Axe and saw.

It wrenched our hearts. Our children fought with us, demanding to have it back. They cried when they saw the fallen giant and the finality of it all sunk into their hearts. I think they lost a bit of faith in us then... The world became a bit more dry, sort of sharper at the edges. Nothing inspired fairy tales any more.

**                         **                         **                           **

The Neem. It was the youngest and smallest of the three. Unassuming. It never had airs about being very huge or very shady. Its leaves were bitter to taste. It always seemed to be shedding leaves and little fruit that would rot and attract swarms of flies. The crows that made it their favourite perch always aimed well at those who sat in its shade.

A hollow in the trunk of the Neem was always home to huge swarms of bees. We tried to seal it off so many times, but the little bees would find a way to get in and out. In time, we learned to live with it.

The Neem was like us.

Or was it?

We spent long afternoons shooting cane arrows into its branches from bows we had made ourselves. Our first swings, and our children's too, hung from its branches. We learned to climb. Youth made us hang ropes on the Neem to build muscle. Harpal hung a cricket ball from it on a string to practise his batting without a bowler.

Hundreds have cleaned their teeth with its twig 'datoons'. Hundreds have applied poultices of its leaves and bark to wounds and sores. Many have eaten its leaves to purify their blood. Some have even spread the leaves under their mattresses to keep bedbugs out!

When farm machinery was repaired on home ground, the Neem supported a block-and-tackle for years, and it was common to see a tractor engine or some such thing suspended from it!

As our children grew, we were eager to share with them the world we had so happily inhabited. A little boy was too small to climb such a big tree, so the father took an axe and carved out footsteps in the trunk. The boy was excited, he climbed up and down so many times! The following day the tree bled, and father and son were both sad and quiet, downcast with guilt and remorse. After a few weeks we were overjoyed to see fresh strong wood growing and converging back onto the wounds we had created. Hope. It took some years to heal completely, as good as new. It taught us something about hurt and forbearance, and about magnanimity.

Squirrels raced up and down. A pine standing close by fell in a storm, and was caught in mid-fall by the Neem, there to lean and remain for some years, alive and well in the embrace of a caring companion. 

Some superstitious mumbo-jumbo in the desperation to get 'rich' led one of us to believe that the Neem was spoiling the 'vaastu' of the homestead. Efforts were made to 'get rid of it'. Most of its branches were pruned off. It was a sad sight.

Bad health in the family led to some counter-superstitious talk that it had struck due the tampering with the tree, and it was again left alone. It did not take much time to regain its former glory, and the swings were up again.

The children loved it. It was part of 'home'.

It fell one night in summer, gently lying down on one side....

The elders are in different dimensions. We are getting on into years where it often seems better to let go than to chase. The 'children' are young men and women, some with kids of their own, being sucked in and spun dizzily in the vortex of education, career, money, power, health, family, failure, success, hope, faith, love, future, good, bad.... Life.

It left a hollow in the ground, its roots hanging up in the air.

It filled some empty spaces in our hearts.

A few days later, we buried Bulldy where the old tree had stood, just a few feet off into its shade.

**                         **                         **                           **

Love, respect, awe, comfort, faith, trust, hope, beauty, strength, steadfastness, courage, tolerance, forgiveness, magnanimity, resilience; all these and much more were what these three giants inspired and demonstrated. Without running around, without planning and scheming and cheating and quarrelling and envying and stealing. Without fear or distrust or cunning or connivance. Without vengeance. Without ambition, without pride.

Just by being there.

Just by giving, and resenting not the takers, but being there to give more and give again.

They left us richer.

                                                              The fallen Neem.




(See also ‘FILL YOUR THOUGHTS’ for more about the Pakhar)


(If you wish to know about Bulldy, the most awesome little fellow we were ever blessed with, please read 'PRANA AND PRAYER - II (Bulldy)' )

“Zeina Glo brings you the radiant glow of inner peace, good health and attendant beauty.

Zeina Glo helps you strip off layers of inhibitions, hesitation, and cynicism, allowing your thoughts and emotions to flow freely.

Zeina Glo helps to douse the flames of insecurity and guilt, to open the windows of mind and body to the cool fresh breeze of love.

Zeina Glo encourages you to spread inner peace, good health, radiance, exuberance, warmth, joy and the glow from your inner being.

Zeina Glo brings the beauty of your own thoughts back to you!!”

For, questions, criticism or advice, please post comments here, or write to zeinaglo@rediffmail.com or zeinaglow@gmail.com