Merciless assault on a majestic tree

ONE of the reasons why I bought a house in Gurugram was the presence of an old peepal tree that dominated the landscape. It grew near the wall of an abandoned school and, generous as trees always are, spread its branches beyond the compound to shade cars parked underneath.

It reminded me of the peepal in my childhood home. From that superb representative of its species an abiding love for trees was born. The beauty of flowers was overrated and tragically transient. They had their moments of glory, but were soon reduced to drooping caricatures of their former selves. Trees were there for life — permanent yet ever-changing. Yellowing leaves dropped like tears in March and, for a short while, bare branches spread heavenwards in prayer.

Almost overnight, tightly rolled soft brown leaves appeared at the tip of every branch. As the days grew hotter, they unfurled into sword-tipped, fresh, young leaves that glinted silver in the sun; it was as if the tree had painted its nails green. Finally, dark green leaves broad as an adult’s palm waved the heat away like myriad little fans. So what if there were no flowers to speak of? Flowers were nothing but pretty little things. Their flamboyance and fragrance had but one purpose — to seduce — while an entire world existed in the shade of a tree. Canopied by its love, I felt an incredible peace.

The same feelings resurfaced years later as I watched these changes occur in my newfound friend while sitting in the balcony with a steaming cup of tea. I felt a kinship with it that I felt for no human. I was grateful for its quiet companionship, though I talked with it at times.

Then the unbelievable happened. I had gone to Kasauli for an invigorating week and told the towering pines on sloping hillsides about my dear friend waiting for me back home. Little did I know that the school had been taken over by mercenaries who wanted to use every inch of real estate, and the peepal occupied a lot of space — both above and below the ground.

At first I did not realise what had happened, though something did seem amiss. I was neither awakened by the song of birds nor entertained by the flutter of parrots. The ugly high-rise building in the distance seemed to come closer. My heart sank as realisation dawned — my dear friend had been beheaded!

Horror-struck, I watched the stump standing gallantly upright, while its crown lay guillotined on the ground. It took but a few minutes to destroy what had taken nature decades to build. The felling of a mighty tree, the killing of a tusker, the assassination of an emperor were of equal import to me.

My heart bleeds and my eyes brim over with tears as I gaze at the tree’s raw wounds, but nobody else gives two hoots for my friend.

Musings