The author has an interesting conversation with a Sheesham tree, who talks about man’s behaviour towards him.

Couched comfortably on a tree trunk reading “Trees of Delhi”, I heard a meek murmur and looked around to find nothing.  The murmur however got a bit louder and I realised that it was from within the tree.  I closed the book and lent a caring hand on the tree trunk and lowered my ears closer to the voice which turned choked with emotions, repeatedly faltering to say something.  I promised to take note and care and pleaded with him to narrate.

He started, “I am 15 years old and tilted on to the pavement and going towards the road.  Hundreds of passers-by come and go, some bowing their head, others banging it against my trunk causing pain to both of us, followed by heaps of curses on me and the horticulture department of DDA for not pruning me. 

Survival for me was most difficult in the trying conditions.  May be I was not lucky to be planted and sprung out on my own from the remains of my royal forefathers, the Sheesham family,  embedded in the soil down under. Hardly had I stood on my own when there came a large force of men, women and children to plunder the land as deep as they could, to sustain a high- rise.  Perched in the corner of this activity, I was witness to the remains of my forefathers falling further down to nearly thirty feet and breaking into pieces.  Today I am proud to be one from the generation which lies in the foundation of this high-rise, giving birth to the hope of seeing my generation rising out from the underground parking or may be from a first floor balcony.

Thus spoke the Sheesham tree

Servitude to mankind embedded into us, the memories of my childhood are a telling tale of my sufferings today.  Weathering the harsh conditions then, I used to look at the massive Safeda trees across the road  and worship them as my role models, wishing to grow like them one day. 

My dreams vanished suddenly when I felt a little weight on my shoulders, and heard a baby’s cry from a cloth strung around me to make a cradle.  Initially, I was irritated with this compulsive responsibility thrust upon me but ultimately derived happiness and satisfaction    out of getting closer to enjoy Mother’s touch whenever she came to feed.  The years passed by in the company of the growing family and life became a lot easier, so much so that the cradlers grew taller and slept on my stretched arms.

Overnight, I felt suffocated under the tinned roof and isolated from my companions. I was burdened with gunny bags of flour, rice, pulses and the gas stove interspersed with harsh noise levels.  Breaking the family bond, together with crumpled surroundings, broke me emotionally and the pulls and pushes of food grains and LPG cylinders hung all around rattled me.  The trauma continued for years and my confinement deprived me of natural sunlight and air.  This affected my physical growth also and prevented me from growing skywards.

In deep slumber at midnight I was rattled by the falling of LPG cylinders from my arms and woke up to find that I was once again a free individual to claim my share of sunlight and air.  This kept me awake for hours as I waited to see the first rays of the Sun, an unforgettable experience.  After a long sunbath I looked down upon the ground and to my horror found a pedestrian pathway going under me on one side and on the other side, near my base, a boundary wall had been constructed, further distancing me from my forefathers.

All this happened around me without my knowledge and today I am almost heading on to the road.”  With tears rolling down, he murmured,  “What is my fault?”

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Thus spoke the Sheesham tree
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