Un-weeping Willow
Is it a willow
An ash or hemlock?
I do not know
How could I?
I’ve been always in the car
Going at almost fifty en route
Between Dewitt and Fayetteville
Maybe one day I will
Take its photo or go near
Just to touch it and see up close
What tree it is
But even without knowing its name
I know it well, so I think
I know it instinctively somehow
Because
I have seen fallen trees
Even in our backyard, we’ve tornado ripped
Maple and walnut, majestic veteran trees
Yes, really I have witnessed
Many, in fact
I’d seen them in my native land
In Vijayawada, an almond tree in our compound
In Cocanada countless banyan and other trees
Some times, a whole field of flattened bananas
I was in college then, in that seaport
A furious cyclonic storm
Hit us suddenly in the evening
Everything turned pitch dark
It was as though, the sea
From
The Bay of Bengal got
Its soul stirred, it roared mightily
All lights were out
Our mess closed down
We walked to the Udipi restaurant
On the Main Road
No water in the tap, only well water
Nothing for us – the stranded hostel students
No water, no electricity, no food
We were
Only an insignificant minuscule compared to
The thousands of fishermen
They lost everything
Housing, boats, clothes
And their folks, sadly even little children too
Next day, or after couple of days
I went out for a walk
To see our Pithapuram Rajah College
The roads, town, and shops
The whole neighborhood lost its identity
Nothing was recognizable
Everywhere, the downed electric poles, naked wires
Old trees, must be older to me by several decades
Uprooted, branches sliced off
Limbs hanging barely
Tin rooftops, bamboo poles
Clay tiles, shabby sign boards
All sorts of debris thrown out
On to the well planned grid of roads
Barely we could
Make our way to the college
There too
In the sprawling campus
A few stately green deciduous trees
Torn mercilessly, begging for attention
With fresh sap on the wounded limbs
Outstretched hanging branches
But who felt the most empathy
For all the trees and flora in Cocanada?
Who else would it be?
Our Professor Chacko, of the Botany department
I saw him standing next to his children
In the college botanical collection
With a frown on his face
Still, he was a bit happy
But for the Hope Island
The storm damage could’ve been much worse.
This fallen willow tree
Is exceptionally lucky
To be able to survive, to gently lean on to
The Mother Earth’s bosom
But for a little bruise
On its feet and maybe on its trunk
A little strained root system perhaps
But, such little aches and pains -
Which we all grownups get accustomed
Sooner or later in life
It happens to us all
Man, animal, or tree.
Yet this leaning, more like a reclining tree
(The image of Ranganayaka,
Of Nellore flashes through mind)
Showed no worries
No record, no visible memory of its terrible accident
Accident born of a strong gale
Or wind shear
Such winds visit us during late summer
Or fall
It withstood the onslaught like a sturdy big oak
As a fearless yogi
The PWD workers too loved it
They never disturbed it
Never entertained the thought of uprooting it
Why?
They just go around it
Going about their business of
Lawn mowing, fall clearing
As I pass by this semi-uprooted Salix
Everyday while driving on route 5
I have only one thought
How many of us will be that lucky?
Like this gently reposed tree
How many of us can move on?
In life, late into old age
Without a care, without a scar
Of ill health, accident, bodily neglect, or social scorn
How many of us will be looked after
By those around us
Like this fallen tree?
Would our earthly brethren
Show us the same dignity
As accorded to this fortunate willow
Who knows answer to these troubling
Questions?
In these hard scrappy times
For us mortals, nothing is certain
Neither loving care in old age
Nor material security, nor emotional warmth
Here or anywhere. How sad!
Copyright 2021 by the author
