They were eighteen, dark and green. Yet, they seemed as untold legends for me. Eighteen in all, gracefully they stood, erect and tall, in a row sprouting luxuriously. Such was the beauty commanded by the seventeen Debdarus and one Nageshwar in front of our quarters, in Arundhutinagar, that they evoked in a heart many a tranquil thoughts for reflections. A man without a name planted them within the police compound. And for seventeen seasons, our officer Shri B. K. Ray attended to them. Expansion of roads led to the retreating of the compound wall. So, they moved outside and stood as guard, proclaiming their gracious presence. No electric cable dared to pass overhead, so glorious were they. The majestic strength creates an awe and makes the hands tremble that think to harm them. These eighteen guard us and guard themselves.
A day ago, a glance forty feet high as they whispered against the blue skies left me humming the popular number of Roza
“ Dil hai chhota sa chhotee see aasha
Mastee bhare mann kee bholee see aasha
Chaand taaro ko chhune kee aasha
Aasmaan me udane kee aasha….
…………………………………………………………
This little heart has a little wish
This playful mind, its simple wish
To touch the moon and stars I do wish
To fly in the sky is my wish ….
‘How far could they reach?’ I wondered. I surfed. The answer was – a Debdaru or the Indian Fir Tree could grow beyond 40 feet. A Nageshwar or the Indian rose chestnut could grow almost 100 feet! This made my longing keen; a desire to see them touch the sky mesmerized me.
Trained in police I fancied them as Eighteen poles with green fluttering flags. With their symmetrical pyramidal growth, willowy weeping pendulous branches and long narrow lanceolate leaves they manage to steal from me each time I pass them. They whisper and only to me:
Mehak jaau mai aaj toh aise
Phul bagiya me mehke hain jaise
Baadalo kee mai odhu chunariya
Jhum jaau mai banake baavariya
Apanee chhotee me baandh lu duniya…..
…………………………………………………………
This day I will be fragrant thus
As those in the garden of flowers
Drape myself in the veil of clouds
Dance in steps of a Bawariya
Knot the world in my plaits of hair ….
Spring graces its boughs with delicate flowers. Fruits come and birds feast. Winter sheds their old garments and summer adorns them anew. O what melody as the falling leaves touch the ground! What symphony as the other tree patiently waits to let its leaf fall at the moment a leaf of its friend rests on the ground! It reminds me of our relay race; the partner waits to take the baton and then continue his run. So, the season of fall brings the music of leaves that do not drop at once. Man is a trivial being who is yet to unravel the truth behind the sing-song effects of dripping drops and those of leave that fall. My heart broke into a song – ‘Jhara patago ami tomari dole….. O fallen leaves, I am one with you….’
Early showers make them green. They enchant me swaying their slim maiden branches now covered with fresh leaves. Green leaves of the Nageshwar flush with red and pink; the white fragrant flowers enthroned in between. The rays of the sun and the drops of the rain frolic in these juvenile leaves. I watch their mystic play whenever I chance upon it. When in play they swing and sing:
Swarg see dharatee khil rahee jaise
Meraa mann bhee toh khil raha vaise
Koyal kee tarah gaane kaa armaan
Bijalee kee tarah machalu yeh armaan
Javanee hai laayee rangin sapana…..
…………………………………………………………
The heavenly earth blooms here thus
I too blossom heart of heart
To sing like the koel, I do wish
To flash like a lightening, is my wish
Many hued dreams youth does bring ….
