On the outskirts of the village, stood this huge banyan tree—more
than a thousand-years-old, its roots embedded deep under every home in the
village, its vast branches crisscrossing and stretched far and wide.
Once an imposing sentinel that provided shelter and shade,
the banyan tree was now forsaken by all. Women used to worship it, tie a scared
thread around it; men used to sit under its shade and smoke hookah; children
would swing from its branches; sages would mediate; soothsayers offered solace
to tormented souls; every leaf that fell was sacred. The villagers believed it
was the wind carrying a dream to its fruition. Now, in hushed tones, stories are
told, of voices calling out their names in the dark of the night, of cold
fingers running across their necks, of hands reaching out to snare them. The
tree was haunted, an abode for evil spirits; it was cursed, no longer worthy of
being worshipped!
How could a once-revered tree be abandoned thus? Its very
reverence was the cause—“I want my son to pass his examinations with great
marks. He needs to get that seat in college.” “I need to get married to her.
Make her love me, Lord!” “I want what she has! Make me as rich as her!” “Let my
husband stop drinking.” “Don’t let him win! That land is rightfully mine!”
“Make him leave his wife for me, I love him so much.” “Find my daughter that
heart she needs. You are our only solace.” “Help me find a job.” Whispered
yearnings of broken hearts, frenzied murmurings escaping despairing lips, a
deluge of wishes clashing with each other—success, wealth, revenge,
vindication, absolution! One man’s prayer, another man’s prison!
For centuries, the mighty banyan was weighed down by the
collective aspirations of people, by the negativity their hopelessness emitted.
Their despair latched on to its branches, poisoning its veins, till it no
longer brought forth hope that changed lives. It simply ceased to be the Tree
of Life.
A toxic energy now flowed through it, giving the tree a life
of its own. It attracted the worst of people, feeding on their greatest fears
and manifesting it. It still heard the fervent prayers of people but paid
attention to the festering, unbidden desires. What purpose would goodness serve
with its dried, bland, vanilla-like nature? Sin! Oh glorious sin! That
throbbing, beating, colourful spectrum that never died was a thousand times
worth rewarding!
Over time, the tree truly became a force of evil, calling on
to everything that was depraved and decayed with fear clinging to its bark and
misery rustling through its branches. Every leaf that fell burnt in its wake
hope. With nothing pure left in it anymore, the people slowly shunned it.
The mighty banyan still stands there—a leafy vault of
secrets, offering shade and solace for all those brave enough to venture
towards it. Abandoned and shunned it may be but never alone. Take a walk
beneath it on a moonless night and hear the shrieks of wishes trapped within,
if you dare.
