The Endless Joys of Trees 

“A Tree 

So Free 

Grows with Glee

Attracts the Bee

Birds and Me!”

Many mornings I wake up to the singing of birds on a Ficus religiosa or Peepal tree. Interestingly, the leaves of the tree are heart shaped, perhaps signifying the symbiotic love between the tree and its animal visitors. Birds, bees, scurrying squirrels and especially the harshly cawing crows are welcome sights.

The creatures come at dawn to feed on the berries of the tree, and in the afternoons for a siesta.   It seemed like evenings were for sharing what transpired during the day! 

Every creature had its own adventure. Some managed to escape traps by the skin of their teeth, while others had joyous, happy days! 

Some of those heart shaped leaves glowed with the heartwarming stories, others were dark with sadness and anger. I wonder if trees are good listeners or counsellors, or whether the creatures were spellbinding storytellers? They spent so much time in one another’s company.

Each one of the creatures felt special. Myna said, “I am so glad I have a minimalistic look, a little yellow on my beak and feet, and white on my tail to distinguish my body from my tail. Just imagine the ginormous time that I would otherwise spend on colouring my feathers to look bright.” 

Long-tailed parrot said, “A little blue at the tip of my long tail, and a bright red beak is just the amount of makeup for me.” 

Sunbird was sad! She had built a nest in the yard of a kind lady. That morning, a bigger bird attacked her nest and she fled. One of the eggs fell and broke. She was sad, sad, oh so sad!

Crow sat there listening and said nothing. He thought of his colours; colours associated with sadness and mourning.  He thought about how his colours and harsh voice made him a societal reject.

Tree noticed most things; she saw Crow’s sadness. Ficus religiosa being the great healer that she was, began her story. With her limbs spread wide and leaves fluttering all over, she was privy to much.

She began, “Stories are always told by the victors. I have been standing here for 250 years and have seen love, trust, compassion and betrayal.

Let me share this story,”

How the crow got its persona.

Crow’s ancestor, his great, great, great maternal grandfather (also named Crow) was an artist. Peacock was a good friend of his. 

There was a community contest where the best dressed would win two tickets to travel the world. All the birds were invited. The macaws, sparrows, bulbuls… 

Crow was hired as one of the artists to make the birds well-dressed. Some birds did not wish for too much colour while others wanted a monochrome look. He catered to every request.

Peacock asked for his feathers to be spruced up. Though he had a long train like that of a bride, it was dull.

Crow’s studio was located under a beautiful Peepal tree. There was a pond nearby, where Crow could wash his palette and brushes. He set to work. He had a promising idea; he could work wonders on those eyespots on the feathers.

When he was done with his task, he asked Peacock to make a nice costume for him in return. He too wished to look pretty.

“Of course”, said Peacock and perhaps meant it too.

It was a bright sunny day, and he painstakingly worked on each eyespot, yellow, blue, green, gold, orange, black, and it all took an inordinately long time. The sun had reached its peak and begun its descent. Peacock’s feathers dried up well with nothing smudged. It looked picture perfect!

It was Crow’s turn next. He waited for Peacock to begin. Peacock went to the pond for a drink. After he quenched his thirst, something bright glinted. He looked again. The colours were reflecting from his body. He lifted his feathers up, twirled around, fluttered his wings, did a loop the loop, and he could not believe what he saw!

Why, those must be the most beautiful feathers of all! Vanity clouded his thinking.

He grabbed the colour palette and mixed up all the colours. The result looked like gobbledygook of some messy colour, possessing no distinguishable colour. He rushed to where Crow was waiting and streaked Crow with layer after layer of paint. Every inch of Crow was painted. With the strong sun beating down, the paint dried up fast. One could not distinguish body from feathers, feet from beak.

Finally, Peacock declared that he had completed his artwork and needed to rush home. Crow thanked Peacock and then went to have a drink of water to soothe his parched throat. His reflection was not to be seen. He turned around and saw nothing. That is when he learnt about the mischief his good friend Peacock had played on him. There was a small puddle of water, and Crow tried washing up, but all he managed was lightening the colour around the inner part of his body, feet, and beak to a lighter shade of gobbledygook. 

Ever since crows have lived with the colours. 

 Initially, Crow was incredibly sad and angry. He wished revenge for a time, but then learnt to let go. All of us come with our blessings. In some places crows are scavengers, a vital role in the food chain. In some cultures, crows are revered. Food is offered to them before the others partake of the food. Crows are considered ancestors.

We must learn to let go, and not dwell over sadness for too long. Pinpricks are part of life.

Every time Crow feels sad, he remembers these lines spoken by the Tree, “Be the nice one.” 

“Some are smarter than you, some have cooler feathers than you, some are better at foraging for food than you. It does not matter! All have their own things. Be the one that can get along, be the one who is generous, be the one who is happy for others, be the one that does the right thing. Be the nice one.” (Adapted fromWallquotes.com)

 

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth.” – Herman Hesse