I
loved trees.
That
age ... when you see only roses and not the underlying thorns, when you see the
sunshine and not the shadows that fall because of it, when everything seems
beautiful and you believe that with effort and will you can achieve what you
set your mind on. Yes, it was at that age that I saw the lush green tree. It
was a tall strong tree with wide branches and under its shade sat a girl. She
was busy writing something. The tree belonged to her. The fruits, the shade,
the cool breeze that blew under it, the protection ... all belonged to her. She
watered it with love and swept the place around the tree clean. She had even
kept a bowl of water hanging on the branch of the tree so that birds could come
and quench their thirst. She loved the tree and the tree loved her.
Wouldn’t
it be really nice if I had a tree of my own too? Yes, I wished for a tree for
myself. I saw one from far away. It looked good. Looked good. I walked towards
it and claimed it to be mine. Initially the shade of the tree seemed very
comforting. Seemed. I was prepared to adjust to any shortcomings that the tree
might have had. But the tree sensed that. There was no cool breeze under it. It
didn’t bear any fruits. What was worse was that the trunk was infested with
ants. I couldn’t even rest under it or lean my back and sit. I started getting
weary. And then that night of the heavy storm ... It thundered, it rained and I
stood under the tree, shivering and wet. The tree couldn’t protect me. That
night put a hundred questions in my head and slowly I started walking away from
the tree. There was nothing that now attached or bound me to the tree. I yearned
for shade, for protection, for care. The tree couldn’t give any. I walked away ...
I
now stood amidst a jungle. Full of trees. Full of variety of trees. I looked
again for a tree that I could claim. I saw a big strong tree. Once bitten,
twice shy. I checked the trunk for ants. There were none. I smiled and leant on
it. The shade it offered from the harsh sunlight was tempting. I slept under it
peacefully. And a snake slithered down from the branches. I woke up to see the
snake staring at me. I don’t think it wanted to hurt me immediately but it
frightened me all the same. I was wondering as to how to get rid of it when one
by one many other snakes started coming down from the branches. I realised the
tree belonged to them and not to me. I walked away ...
Deep
into the jungle ... I kept walking till I came across a beautiful tree. I took
a broken branch of a tree and hit the branches of the tree. Any snake that
clung on might make itself visible and I would know whether to sit under the
tree or not. None. I heaved a sigh of relief and sat under the tree, enjoying
the canopy-like shade of it. Finally. Or not so. At night, I woke up with a
stinging sensation all over my body. There were red ants all over my body. I
looked for the place where they came from ... a hole under the tree. I quickly
dusted off the ants from my body, sore with pain and itching all over. I walked
away ...
And
now I keep walking. I don’t like trees anymore. The trees stifle me, tease me, mock
me and much worse, hurt me. It isn’t that all the trees are bad, maybe a good
tree simply isn’t in my destiny. I am much too sore, too tired, too
disheartened, too weary, too disillusioned, too exhausted. It takes an enormous
lot out of me to trust the goodness of a tree and each time I do so I am left
hurting. I don’t have it in me anymore to seek a good tree. I want to run away
from this jungle ... out to the open land. To the desert. Or the sea. They don’t
pretend to offer comfort. They are barren and desolate. But at least they don’t
pretend. I don’t have any expectations from them and I know I will have to look
out for myself. No false promises from the desert or the sea.
I
hate trees.
