May 11, 2009, 08.00am IST
ARUNA JETHWANI.
A tree by the window is a blessing, two are God's grace and three are a miracle. There are three trees by my window: Neem, Acacia, and Silk cotton.
They are a benediction in the urban jungle, calling for thanksgiving every morning. Beautiful birds flock in, twittering and warbling throughout the day. In the evening children climb the trees or play on the swing.
Ujwalla, my helpmate, often stands by the wide glass window, watching the children play. One night Ujwalla remained rooted in the balcony for an unusually long time. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to hear me calling out to her. "What is so fascinating you?" i asked. "I am listening to trees," she replied. Talking trees? "What did the trees say?" i asked. She then narrated the conversation she had "heard".
The Acacia was moaning about how ugly it was with its thorny spikes and brittle leaves. "I am ugly. I bear no fruit, no flowers. I am worthless. I am fed up of living this dry and harsh existence," said the Acacia. "O Neem tree, you are so fortunate. You bear flowers in spring; your fruit is loved by birds and human beings. The medicine man uses you for healing. You are invaluable to entire creation."
The Neem tree was sympathetic. "Don't feel so morose. You have your intrinsic worth. You are useful to sparrows; they build their nests for their young ones. You safeguard and protect them. Your thorns are their safety, your leaves their food. You are truly invaluable. Camels relish your juice. You are truly great."
The Acacia was hard to convince. Having lived in harsh, inhospitable conditions, it had become imperious to all wise uttering. Comparing itself to a Neem tree, it shed a tear or two feeling low and depressed. Everyone wanted a Neem tree, but Acacia, it was to remain in the wild arid regions.
The Silk cotton tree, listening to this conversation, thought, "Of what use am i? My branches are dark, almost black. My flowers are momentary; they bloom in April and by May i am empty of the silky wafts. The summer breeze blows away the softness from my body. Acacia is at least a home to the weaklings and the featherless. Me? I am useless. I have no right to live."
The Neem tree was wise. It said, "You sound so desperate. Perhaps you have never realised that you are a beauty. You are an artist's inspiration and children's delight. Artists paint you in the beauty of the space and children blow your silken wafts and clap with joy. Your arms are raised heavenward and your pain is actually a prayer of longing."
The Silk cotton tree replied, "Inside of me is suffering of centuries! I feel worthless." "Ah," whispered the Neem tree. "Your crimson blooms smile on your wings,/ Your eyes are smeared with kajal./ Winter hangs heavy on your lashes; / The centuries of wounds are anguish for the rain;/ You are waiting to engulf heaven!" What more do you want?
"Acacia, do not envy me. You bear the blaze of hot sun and you do not even flinch. Is it not something to be proud of? I mean the inner strength that you have to survive!"
Mother Earth who was listening to the conversation of the trees, now intervened and spoke: "Each one of you is invaluable to me. Each one is an integral part of the great creation. Each one beautifies the world in its own way. Be yourself and play your part in the best way."
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