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The Girl Who Loved Trees |
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Once upon a time there was a little girl called Tina.
She lived in a small town next to a hill. The hill looked enormous to Tina. It also looked very pretty. There were lots of plants and trees on the hill, and it looked green like an emerald. She would wend her way along the little track that went up from the village to the hilltop and marvel at the many shades of green she would see around her.
Tina liked to touch the plants as she walked by them. Their leaves felt soft and friendly. In the morning they also felt a little moist from the dew. Tina liked to touch the trees even more. Some of them were big, and felt strong and solid to the touch; Tina thought of them as powerful and fatherly. Some others were not so big, and their body felt supple and smooth; they seemed almost maternal to Tina.
The truth was Tina had neither a father nor a mother. As long as she could remember she never had either. She lived with her old uncle, an older brother of her father, who had always looked after her, since the day many years ago when both her parents died in an accident. Her aunt had been a quiet kind of person, who rarely exchanged a word with her, and when she passed away three years back, Tina barely felt the difference. She started doing the small things around the house her aunt used to do. She liked doing them because she felt she was looking after her frail, weather-beaten uncle.
She particularly liked working with her uncle in the garden. She liked the orderliness of cleaning the land, preparing the soil, planting the seeds in rows. She liked the caring task of daily watering. She liked inspecting little plants as they emerged, examining their soft leaves for bugs, and checking for signs of health or weakness. She liked watching their growing branches, the daily change in their strength and height, their steady maturing into life and vibrancy.
Tina also liked doing what nobody had asked her to do. To run her fingers gently over the plants, their sparkling green leaves, their firming body. She would run out of the house in the morning as soon as woke, go to the garden and touch her plants. They were indeed hers, her very own creation. They meant something very special to her.
Her days might have continued like this, placid and uneventful. But something unexpected happened. Rather, something did not happen. The rains did not come that year.
Similar things had happened before. Each year the rains were different, sometimes abundant, sometimes not. Sometimes they were more than abundant. Tina not only heard the rains on her rooftop all night, but saw streams in the fields overflowing the village paths. Sometimes the rains were less liberal, barely wetting the ground and letting out that special aroma of the earth.
But this years the rains simply did not come. There was the occasional murmur in the sky, what looked liked the beginning of the rains, the strong winds, the leaves fluttering in anticipation. Then there was nothing.
Her uncle, who has had more than his share of blows from life, took the situation with quiet resignation, but Tina was hopeful. If not today, surely the rains will come tomorrow, she thought. They always did, in her short life so far. Little Tina had no experience of life’s capacity to spring cruel surprises.
The rains did not come. The plants drooped, the trees turned grey with dust, the earth cracked in the midday sun. The rains still did not come. Her uncle murmured, in an inaudible kind of prayer to a dimly perceived God, “Please, let the rains come,” and came out to see if there was a promising cloud in the sky. Tina followed him, and stood expectantly for some signal that things might change. There was none. The rains did not come.
Tina kept hoping. Every day she scanned the skies. She looked for signs of an impending downpour. Then, disappointed, she looked at her favorite trees in her little garden. The smaller plants were clearly withering. The smallest, which she had recently planted with loving care, were already withered beyond recovery. The larger trees had greater strength to survive, but even they were visibly wilting from lack of water. Soon they will all be beyond redemption. Tina was sad.
For as long as she could remember, the trees were her greatest love. She loved taking care of them. She loved nourishing them, with manure, with water, with the care only a loving friend can bestow. She removed bugs, she sprinkled moisture on the leaves, she took care to keep away the passing animal that might harm the trees. Now a greater threat was about to destroy all that she loved. All in one fell swoop. She could not bear the thought.
So it was that late that evening, after she and her uncle had their meager dinner, and the dishearted man had gone to bed, that Tina came out of the house and walked a long time among the beloved trees. She thought and she pondered. Then, in the agony of her heart, she took a terrible, painful decision.
She decided she could not stand and watch the slow agony of the trees dying hour by hour, day by day. She would end their hardship all at once. She went into the house and came out with a spade and an axe. She went to each tree, touched it lovingly, whispered a quiet word of affection and sympathy, and then, as briskly as her fragile arms could, wielded her axe and felled tree after tree. Tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with the sweat pouring down her face, but she neither stopped nor took a rest. She had to finish her terrible task before her resolve chould falter.
It was late when the axe had done its awful job and the spade had turned the ground over the poor little plants that had already withered and was looking for deliverance. Tired, dusty, heartsick, Tina could barely bring herself to wash her face and arms. Then she fell into bed and went whimpering into an exhausted sleep.
She must have slept only a few hours, before something strange woke her up. It was a special sound, a sound not unnatural but certainly unexpected, a pleasant and light patter on the roof of their tiny house. Tina was sleepy, and the next moment fully awake, sharply attentive to the sound, quickly deciphering its unambiguous meaning. It was raining. It was raining profusely, little streams of water sliding down the walls of the house and flowing down the pathway.
Tina jumped out of her bed, quickly came to the door and watched with wide eyes as the heavens seemed to melt and pour down endlessly. Water and more water, and even more water.
Tina looked down and saw the axe and spade, cast carelessly on the floor a few hours earlier once their appalling work was done.
Then she slowly stepped out in the rain and looked up at the sky. The familiar sky that had dealt her such a cruel blow. She walked aimless among the shreds of the trees she had pulled down at night. They were all gone, for ever. She had no friends left. She felt alone, deserted by the companions she had known and loved so long.
But she had a surprise as she reached nearly the end of the yard.
There, in the heavy downpour, barely visible, stood at the very end of the turf, a set of plants Tina had lovingly planted only a few weeks earlier. In the darkness of the night, Tina had overlooked them, and they had survived. Now, they were beaten down by the rains, but they were not down. They bravely faced the pelting rain, as if they were showing their friend how strong they could be.
Tina then knew that she was not friendless. She will never be. Try as anybody, whether temperamental Nature or fallible humans, might, her friends, the trees will always be there for her and for loving people like her, eluding all catastrophe, escaping all effort to remove them from the landscape. People may cut them down, burn them down, but some of them will spring back and reflect a new ray of hope and love to people.
Tina stood a long time in the rain, as among friends.
ooo
She lived in a small town next to a hill. The hill looked enormous to Tina. It also looked very pretty. There were lots of plants and trees on the hill, and it looked green like an emerald. She would wend her way along the little track that went up from the village to the hilltop and marvel at the many shades of green she would see around her.
Tina liked to touch the plants as she walked by them. Their leaves felt soft and friendly. In the morning they also felt a little moist from the dew. Tina liked to touch the trees even more. Some of them were big, and felt strong and solid to the touch; Tina thought of them as powerful and fatherly. Some others were not so big, and their body felt supple and smooth; they seemed almost maternal to Tina.
The truth was Tina had neither a father nor a mother. As long as she could remember she never had either. She lived with her old uncle, an older brother of her father, who had always looked after her, since the day many years ago when both her parents died in an accident. Her aunt had been a quiet kind of person, who rarely exchanged a word with her, and when she passed away three years back, Tina barely felt the difference. She started doing the small things around the house her aunt used to do. She liked doing them because she felt she was looking after her frail, weather-beaten uncle.
She particularly liked working with her uncle in the garden. She liked the orderliness of cleaning the land, preparing the soil, planting the seeds in rows. She liked the caring task of daily watering. She liked inspecting little plants as they emerged, examining their soft leaves for bugs, and checking for signs of health or weakness. She liked watching their growing branches, the daily change in their strength and height, their steady maturing into life and vibrancy.
Tina also liked doing what nobody had asked her to do. To run her fingers gently over the plants, their sparkling green leaves, their firming body. She would run out of the house in the morning as soon as woke, go to the garden and touch her plants. They were indeed hers, her very own creation. They meant something very special to her.
Her days might have continued like this, placid and uneventful. But something unexpected happened. Rather, something did not happen. The rains did not come that year.
Similar things had happened before. Each year the rains were different, sometimes abundant, sometimes not. Sometimes they were more than abundant. Tina not only heard the rains on her rooftop all night, but saw streams in the fields overflowing the village paths. Sometimes the rains were less liberal, barely wetting the ground and letting out that special aroma of the earth.
But this years the rains simply did not come. There was the occasional murmur in the sky, what looked liked the beginning of the rains, the strong winds, the leaves fluttering in anticipation. Then there was nothing.
Her uncle, who has had more than his share of blows from life, took the situation with quiet resignation, but Tina was hopeful. If not today, surely the rains will come tomorrow, she thought. They always did, in her short life so far. Little Tina had no experience of life’s capacity to spring cruel surprises.
The rains did not come. The plants drooped, the trees turned grey with dust, the earth cracked in the midday sun. The rains still did not come. Her uncle murmured, in an inaudible kind of prayer to a dimly perceived God, “Please, let the rains come,” and came out to see if there was a promising cloud in the sky. Tina followed him, and stood expectantly for some signal that things might change. There was none. The rains did not come.
Tina kept hoping. Every day she scanned the skies. She looked for signs of an impending downpour. Then, disappointed, she looked at her favorite trees in her little garden. The smaller plants were clearly withering. The smallest, which she had recently planted with loving care, were already withered beyond recovery. The larger trees had greater strength to survive, but even they were visibly wilting from lack of water. Soon they will all be beyond redemption. Tina was sad.
For as long as she could remember, the trees were her greatest love. She loved taking care of them. She loved nourishing them, with manure, with water, with the care only a loving friend can bestow. She removed bugs, she sprinkled moisture on the leaves, she took care to keep away the passing animal that might harm the trees. Now a greater threat was about to destroy all that she loved. All in one fell swoop. She could not bear the thought.
So it was that late that evening, after she and her uncle had their meager dinner, and the dishearted man had gone to bed, that Tina came out of the house and walked a long time among the beloved trees. She thought and she pondered. Then, in the agony of her heart, she took a terrible, painful decision.
She decided she could not stand and watch the slow agony of the trees dying hour by hour, day by day. She would end their hardship all at once. She went into the house and came out with a spade and an axe. She went to each tree, touched it lovingly, whispered a quiet word of affection and sympathy, and then, as briskly as her fragile arms could, wielded her axe and felled tree after tree. Tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with the sweat pouring down her face, but she neither stopped nor took a rest. She had to finish her terrible task before her resolve chould falter.
It was late when the axe had done its awful job and the spade had turned the ground over the poor little plants that had already withered and was looking for deliverance. Tired, dusty, heartsick, Tina could barely bring herself to wash her face and arms. Then she fell into bed and went whimpering into an exhausted sleep.
She must have slept only a few hours, before something strange woke her up. It was a special sound, a sound not unnatural but certainly unexpected, a pleasant and light patter on the roof of their tiny house. Tina was sleepy, and the next moment fully awake, sharply attentive to the sound, quickly deciphering its unambiguous meaning. It was raining. It was raining profusely, little streams of water sliding down the walls of the house and flowing down the pathway.
Tina jumped out of her bed, quickly came to the door and watched with wide eyes as the heavens seemed to melt and pour down endlessly. Water and more water, and even more water.
Tina looked down and saw the axe and spade, cast carelessly on the floor a few hours earlier once their appalling work was done.
Then she slowly stepped out in the rain and looked up at the sky. The familiar sky that had dealt her such a cruel blow. She walked aimless among the shreds of the trees she had pulled down at night. They were all gone, for ever. She had no friends left. She felt alone, deserted by the companions she had known and loved so long.
But she had a surprise as she reached nearly the end of the yard.
There, in the heavy downpour, barely visible, stood at the very end of the turf, a set of plants Tina had lovingly planted only a few weeks earlier. In the darkness of the night, Tina had overlooked them, and they had survived. Now, they were beaten down by the rains, but they were not down. They bravely faced the pelting rain, as if they were showing their friend how strong they could be.
Tina then knew that she was not friendless. She will never be. Try as anybody, whether temperamental Nature or fallible humans, might, her friends, the trees will always be there for her and for loving people like her, eluding all catastrophe, escaping all effort to remove them from the landscape. People may cut them down, burn them down, but some of them will spring back and reflect a new ray of hope and love to people.
Tina stood a long time in the rain, as among friends.
ooo
