Of fallen trees and the cycle of life

Dec 16, 2009, 12.00am IST
ARUNA JETHWANI.

The cyclone hit the coast. The wind went wild. It whirled and whistled and then struck trees with all its might. Three huge trees outside the compound came crashing down. We panicked. Seeing the roots upside down and the heavy trunks flat on the ground, my helpmate Ujwalla’s began to fill up. Was she going to cry? “What happened,” I asked her.


“So what if they are trees. They breathe like us. They are dead, all three of them.” There was no denying the fact that the trees were indeed dead. But there was no way to tell her that whatever had happened was for the best. After wiping her tears, she asked: “Why has nature been so unkind to them?” Nature has its own guarded secrets.


I had noticed the incline of the trees and the branches that were bending towards the earth, a few days ago. I had even told her on an earlier occasion, “The trees are taking too much energy from the earth.” I had read that trees bending too low were not benign to earth. ‘So what?’ said Ujwala. “They screen the sun, and give shade to shepherds who roam around with their flock of sheep. The children come to play. And it was a home to an owl, who visited every night.”


I said: “They had sucked enough energy from the earth. Nature had to intervene and put them to sleep. Nature has its own way of dealing with situations. Nature is kind, it is also just.”


I continued, to make Ujwala feel better: “Nature could not bear the suffering of the Earth. Moreover the people who came to play on the ground had also created a lot of negative energy. You had seen how rough the boxers were with those trees? Sport, when played as competition, is not always healthy,” I explained.


Ujwalla frowned visibly. In her innocence she said: “The trees were not healthy, because we had not nurtured them well, we should have watered them when the summer elongated and the monsoon was delayed.” That was partly true. The delayed monsoon had weakened their roots.


To get Ujwalla out of her guilt feeling and her bereavement, we offered a prayer, a requiem saying: “Thank you God for giving us joy of the trees for two decades. May their roots be washed by the rain and purified. May the tree spirit float free in peace. May their seeds sprout again.”


The prayer seemed to have little effect on Ujwalla. The torrent of rain continued and she began to shiver: “It is not right, why should the trees be uprooted? And a prayer without the ritual of burning incense is an insult to the trees.” “OK, go out in this lashing rain and do the ‘ agarbatti ’ ritual.” IF by doing so she would get a sense of closure, so be it.


The next morning, the sky was clear. The rain had stopped. Ujwalla carried twelve agarbatti sticks to the open ground that was littered with hundreds of branches of fallen trees. She lit the agarbatti near the open roots of trees and offered her own prayers. Little girls had gathered around. They were picking up twigs and making them into bundles to carry home. I called out to a little girl in a torn sari. “I am collecting wood for fuel. We had no fire in the hearth for many days.” The joy on her face was revealing. “Light the incense and celebrate,” I hollered to Ujwalla. “Nature has been merciful to all these hungry kids!” I think Ujwalla understood. The cycle continues.