THE tree looks magnificent from a distance — tall, big, with an immense dome-like canopy — result of decades of luxuriant growth. The big tree covers a wide expanse. Indeed, a whole community, a sizable village, is living in its shadow.
The community loves the tree, even to the extent of worshipping it. The Big Tree, rhyming with victory, is actually a sacred site; everything associated with it is sacrosanct — its leaves, twigs, branches, bark, blossoms, flowers, twining vines and its many trunks. The great tree resembles a Bunyan tree, in that it tends to lower its long limbs into the soil, to take root there and act as pillars for the massive arboreal complex. Thus, in addition to its thick buttress roots, the tree also boasts of ever-multiplying prop roots that serve to anchor it firmly into the ground. But unlike the Bunyan, it is a solid hardwood growth.
In many ways, it is a very strange tree. Its shadow, though soothing, is intoxicating and a bit enervating; its shoots and flowers — bright and beautiful — have a dizzying fragrance. Its pulp, oozing out of its bark, is very sticky and itchy. It is really a formidable leafy structure and extirpation of such a huge mass, rooted deep in soil and history as well, is totally unthinkable.
The tree is the permanent habitat of strange and awesome creatures — big birds, animals, slithers and crawlers, too. The curious fact is that some of these denizens can speak like humans, though their vocabulary is very limited. They fix their hard gaze upon you, contorting their faces, and bark out a few words, commanding you not to do this and reprimanding you for doing that. They do not understand a word of what you say, and your explanation only fuels their rage.
When very angry, these gnashing and growling creatures hit you with hard, gourd-like fruits that grow in abundance on this tree, and curse you to eternal damnation. You meekly bow your head, acknowledging your guilt and with tear-filled eyes, beg for beneficent remission, that is granted in the form of a snarl or scowl.
Nearby is a pool, and the presence of a pool should have made this place a bit more pleasant. But unluckily and quite inexplicably, the pool is a green-scummed body of dead-water, full of waste, weed and algae, all jointly exuding a very disagreeable smell, enough to nauseate any stranger and catch him by the throat. But this pool, too, is sacred and attracts a horde of adorers who admire its beauty and consider it the source of their village’s well-being. Any suggestion to clean up the pool is frowned upon, as this would constitute a sacrilege and incur heavenly wrath.
Another annoying problem is the air, specially the fresh breeze frequently streaming in from afar and enveloping the whole place. Inhabitants of the thick foliage — the strange creatures and flightless birds — find the fresh whiffs suffocatingly unbearable. They gasp helplessly, and in their distress bellow out commands to block the inrush of this alien miasma, by raising high curtain walls all around and stretching a tarpaulin roof over the canopy of the great tree. “Don’t you know, you lowly critters,” grunt and grimace the formidable tree dwellers, “this foreign influence is meant to turn you into fiends?” The grateful villagers thank them with folded hands.
The female members of the village population lead a very controlled (and corralled) life, because — amazingly enough — according to the chest-thumping tree arbiters, in the ‘Cosmic Script’ females have expressly been assigned a supporting role on the stage of life. As such, they must never attract attention or try to be prominent. They are not allowed to ‘paint’ their faces, giggle or use incomplete dresses. Females are required to live strictly in a utilitarian way (as stagehands, not performers on the stage) and forever be ready to submit and surrender, without demur.
If a female shows the effrontery of ‘enjoying’ life or joining the mainstream, a large reptile slides down from the branches and constricts the offending female in its coils, to the point of suffocating or even killing her. Moreover, the alert, hawk-eyed vigilantes also take care of a bunch of mavericks among the villagers who, naively or knavishly, champion the cause of equal opportunity. “A female — symbol of frailty — can never become a supremo, a code-giver; so how could she claim equality? Promoters of such outlandish and ungodly ideas are enemy’s agents in disguise and must be handled with severity,” pronounces a prehensile guru with a snort, and, in his fit of rage, flings himself from branch to the lichen-encrusted branch of the big tree.
Quite frequently a uniquely diverting scene takes place under the tree. Commiseration Rallies are held where quite a few of the concerned villagers shed tears in unison and, to register their protest, utter “tut, tut” a hundred times each. Occasionally, a group of good Samaritans, aggrieved by the unfair treatment of the fair sex (inferior sex, as set down in the Tree Code), make passionate speeches and recite stirring odes to rouse the populace in favour of ‘enlightenment’ and ‘emancipation’.
“We must join the world,” they plead vociferously, “and come out of the dark ages.” Rising applause intoxicates them further, but soon enough, the tree dwellers take matters in their own hands. An enraged denizen, with a formidable visage, fixes his bloodshot eyes upon the orator or the reciter, and hurls down his sharp rebuke. It is again all calm and quiet under the sacred tree.
A good number of the villagers frequently go out fortune-hunting, accomplishing big tasks abroad, amassing wealth and wisdom, meeting all sorts of people and seeing different lifestyles. But they never forget their beloved village. They pine for it all the time, and upon their return, the first thing they do is to kiss the holy ground on bended knees. The good fellows revere the proud tower of the big tree. They love their village exactly as it is, and would sooner die than accept any change in their glorious way of life or heritage.
THE tree looks magnificent from a distance — tall, big, with an immense dome-like canopy — result of decades of luxuriant growth. The big tree covers a wide expanse. Indeed, a whole community, a sizable village, is living in its shadow.
