The Sal Tree- A Tribute

The leaves of the sal tree ruffled in the winter morn. Shaking the very vibrations of my thoughts of the past. The number of leaves reverted me back to the present moment.

Nature in relation to man.

The tree has been standing there in the field in front of our local Meghdoot Club for over more than 30 years now. I still remember the smell of the wet soil , the scattering of the seeds in autumn and brotochari and go- as- u- like, all at one go.

It has become my diary.

I used to wear men’s wear when it was not in vogue during those times. Playing football and cricket waxed my childhood dreams of becoming an Olympic Champion. Riding my father’s scooter with my brother was enthralling and the tree witnessed it all.

Even my father’s death.

I was very young then, when he died. My father was my favorite playmate, guardian, parent. The sound of the scooter when on his morning duty found me rushing to the window to bid him goodbye and equally receiving him when he returned. The tree shed its leaves every autumn marking the end of one more year.

My birthdays no longer worked out with that intensity of a celebration as it was when I was younger. Marriage and Pooja Pandals on the playground near the tree,occasionally reverberated the nostalgic effulgence of my existence in this not-so-troubled part of the world. The smell of the shiuli flowers added flavour to the long forgotten times with my classmates, the anxiety born out of exam preparation and the consequent results, and the serenity that enveloped the playground when most of our neighbours left. The tree bore with the storms, the gale, the hail and yet stood for what it was. It secretly, silently taught me to withstand life’s ordeals but I was too young to understand.

It reflected motherhood.

6 years flew bearing in it all of the transformation that came along with my encounter with Bhgwan Shri Sathya Sai Baba and I looked at the tree imaginng myself to be a bird perched at the topmost branch. The tree loved me, truly, wholeheartedly. That’s the reason why my eyes inadvertently went to the fluttering green leaves.

The tree taught me to take out time for myself.

Now, I feel that the tree was there for a purpose. Of course, for a purpose. Stories of a man trying to sell sal wood when some of the branches broke in a storm, images of a man plucking leaves to feed his goats no longer come afresh unless I do make an effort to bring them; night-out football matches on the other part of the field leaving the tree, all make so much of meaning to me now as I look at it. It still continues to inundate my heart, my being, with a feeling of nostalgic warmth.

Though of a different species, the tree is me becoming myself. My past blending into the present. I wonder whether I had had ever noticed the onslaughts of the storm failing to uproot the tree when other trees, stout ones (like mango and jackfruit) uprooted elsewhere. I have been through difficult periods of time but I withstood them, overcame hurdles with a gusto I had unconsciously breathed in from the tree. Today, when I look at it I still feel deep within the relation that I share with it. It has witnessed my growth, my presence, my mental whims and fancies, my disposition, my thoughts, my demands, my understanding. It is my benefactor who helped me recognize and cull out the immense power that lies latent in me. It’s my saviour as it helped me develop ino a mature being with it’s contrast of strength and softness, as it stood steadfast yet welcoming. It’s the change, that I wanted to bring within me. It’s the personification of all that mattered to me and materialized me into a replica of itself.

Thank you Swami for encouraging me, guiding me, remind me who I am through this wonderful image of Yours. Hail Thee, my sal tree!