The Aswatha Tree

By the side of a village road was a huge Aswatha tree

Its strong wide trunk supporting numerous branches

Its leaves full of life vibrating with cosmic energy

The roots penetrated deep as well as extending above ground

A rope swing hung from thick branch like a huge garland around Deity’s neck

Children swung upon it to catch their dreams from high above

Villagers rested under its shade to descend in to dream world

Even the visitors traveling on dusty village road would admire its strength and beauty

Old as the tree was it inspired awe and devotion

Surrounded by the changing land scape of land

It provided stability and connectivity to village life

Some time village girls would offer flowers and light diyas* in its cervices

To celebrate divine blessings or life’s jubilation

Their slender bodies swung at the rhythm of folk music

Sweet prayer hymns echoed the air

On those nights brightened with full moon

The grand tree was transformed into all that is revered as divine

One day the sky started getting dark and ugly

Huge rainstorm covered the village

Clouds raced the sky

Bolts of lightning flashed like swords flashing in war zone

With thunder deafening the ear

The wreath of nature was unleashed upon the village

With an ominous sound a bolt of lightning struck the Aswatha tree

Shrieking birds flew everywhere in darkness

The sky was lit with orange and red flames

Where there stood the mighty grandsire of the village

Only ashes were remained

Villagers watched the burned roots and charcoaled trunk with deep sorrow

Farmers working in the fields

Children playing in the sun

Visitors traveling on the muddy roads

All missed and longed for the protection of Aswatha tree

Its majestic image etched in their memories for ever
The rainy season was over

Fields were crowded with farmers planting new crops

Then one day returning home from fields they looked at the vacant place

Where there stood the mighty Aswatha tree

The ground was full of new tender shoots

Roots from underneath were giving life to many new saplings

The villagers smiled and danced with joy

Some day another Aswatha tree would grow there

What has been taken was bestowed again upon them

The story of Aswatha tree is the story of life and it’s full circle.

Note-

This short story was written long time ago when a Patriarch of our family passed away. Living far away from home I was not always able to share in the family grieving process. As I sat alone with thoughts of family back home the childhood images of Aswatha tree crossed my mind. In so many ways the family patriarch are like that tree nurturing, sustaining and keeping family together. I wrote my thoughts on paper, silently paying tribute to our patriarch who was loved by so many. 

In many cultures especially in India Aswatha tree is also revered as divine symbol of Universe, immortal as well as transitory. As I share this post today I have added the shloka of Kathopanishad from ancient Sanskrit literature that I read and enjoy often.

Urdhva-mulo ‘vak-sakha

Eso’svattah sanatanah;

Tad-eva-amrtam ucyate

Tasmin-lokah sritah sarve,

Tad-una atyei kascana: Etad vai tat.

Translation- this is the ancient Aswatha- tree whose roots are above and whose branches (spread) below. That is verily the pure, that is Brahman, and that is also called the Immortal. In that rest all the worlds, and none can transcend it. Verily this is That.

Aswatha*- in Sanskrit means- One that does not remain the same tomorrow.

Diya* –Small oil lamp made with clay.

Savita Tyagi

A Piano

Sometime I wish I had a piano

In a long list of wishes may be another addition

Or if my pen was a piano key

On lazy afternoons of summer

When touched softly

Its music would break the silence of this room

The languid humming of air conditioner

Would mellow in its sweet sound

The colors esoteric in nature

Ascending through air reaching to empyrean

Would shower upon me in sweet paean

I do laugh at the idea though

That sounds so perfect in phantasmagoria

The trill coming out of the keys

Would probably be as smudged and muddled

As the writing coming out of this pen

Backed only with a dull desire or inclination to write

When would I realize that the pen or the piano key

Both are substitute for my inability

To sit quiet and enjoy the stillness.

  

Yama*

A thought upon wasting time reverses itself under scrutiny that moves deeper from surface

Here in its domain we are being wasted bit by bit by its mighty power

The eternal Yama ever so slowly tightens

 Its snooze around our neck and

 Drags us to the sacrificial alter of time from where nobody escapes

Our body like wick of oil lamp drinking its sustenance

Drop by drop finally burns itself out

In nature’s play energy being created and wasted every second

Life in the realm of Creation seeks continuous new expressions 

The enigmatic hands of time working from behind

Give us the illusion of our own invincible power

And as if we own that slippery moment

Creates an urge for us to leave an impression upon next

As a signatory of destiny this and only this is our calling and our joy.

*Yama – ancient Indian deity of time and death

Note-
In Bhagvad Geeta  Arjuna asks Lord Krishna

ākhyāhi me ko bhavān ugrarūpo........na hi prajānāmi tava pravṛttim...... 11.31

"Declare to me who Thou art that wearst this form of fierceness.....For I know not the will of Thy workings." 
Shree Bhagvan answers:
kālosmi lokakṣayakṛt pravṛddho
lokān samāhartum iha pravṛttaḥ...... Rtepi.....11.32

"I am Kaal (Time Spirit) huge-risen for the destruction of the world, intent on devouring the people here.... as my will in My workings...."

I am constantly reminded of and humbled by these verses as I make this post.

Savita