We live in an old house with a small garden. The house has been ours since our granparents shifted here from Haridwar. It has two floors and my room’s window faces the gargantuan tree on the other side of the lane.
It’s a mango tree that my grandfather planted years ago. It bears the most ripe and juicy mangoes in the summer.
This morning, I descried my best friend Dhruv hugging the tree. “Hey Dhruv! What’s going on?” I called.
“Our tree and all the ones around it will be cut down today,” Dhruv responded sadly.
I was struck with disappointment. My feet were rooted to the ground and my head was in a whirl. The tree was more of a friend to me. I gazed at it, as it stood tall under the crepuscular firmament.
Life thrived on all of the old tree’s parts. Vines hung on some of the branches, some of which were growing frowsy with senescence.
I’ve got a bunch of memories revolving around the tree. It provided the sweetest mangoes in the summer. My mother used to make pickles with the raw mangoes, and we all still relish it.
I’d fallen off the tree a couple of times when I was younger, but now the scars are memories.
A myriad of animals resides on the ineffable tree. It is a paradise of birds. I’d even witnessed some crows building their nest, laying eggs, the birding hatching, and today I saw it take flight. I feel proud for that crow!
A mycologist would practically live on the tree, if they got a chance, owing to the fungi adorning it.
I was heartbroken to realise the ecosystem on the tree would be deprived of its habitat once the tree fell.
The tree is a living organism itself. Do we humans take and not give at all? The tree that gives mangoes and shelter, would be cut on the contrary? Why don’t we learn to care from such a situation? We should learn from the tree to provide, to have kindness. If only the lumberjacks saw all this. Perhaps they would have a heart and some contrition. Maybe they would change their minds.