ENVIRONMENT:

Death of a tree, personified

By Ranee Mohamed

Hundreds of trees are being cut down in the name of combating Dengue, yet the mosquitoes continue to swarm. Be it to widen or construct roads, build houses, erect offices - it is the tree that has to first lay down its life.

As the authorities fail to educate the public on the innocence of the green - and the need to clean clogged drains, nooks and crevices that hold water - man will always fall out with the trees. Sri Lanka's greenery is being devastated each day. Soon, it will become too late for perpetrators of these 'deaths' to make amends, as people begin to realise, there are no trees and more mosquitoes, and more buildings and no trees...

It was the fun city for the squirrels, this green strong 'jam tree.' As the branches and leaves swayed in unison, it fanned the whole neighbourhood. The cool air breezed through her branches causing the leaves to do a dazzling dance - a waft of fresh fruit filling the air.

The squirrels played games and paused only to wolf down a succulent red fruit, as the scorching sun beat on their bare bodies. Like we humans would go up from one floor to the other of our majestic malls, squirrels and birds would hop up, branch from branch, each offering a different array of fine fruit.

Mothers brought the young ones to train them to balance on her willowy branches and the thinnest of stems. It was the resting place of the kingfisher after a tired flight sans food and drink. Birds dressed in white, yellow, green, and birds one has never seen - come, dressed in hairdos and their fine feathers to enjoy the party that the tree gives during the day. What a hospitable living being was, this jam tree.

Up there, on the jam tree was a life that we humans never had the enthusiasm or interest to venture out into. As hundreds of ants made their own inroads to feast on the dribbling fruits, parrots came in their dozens and screeched atop to announce that the red-ripened fruits were ready to be squashed and lapped up. Their little ones, not stifled by table manners, shrieked from the tree-top as they tried to hold on to the swaying branches, and balance.

As If the fruit were not enough, there were other beings buzzing around its blossoms, while the tiny chipmunks claimed possession of the soft flowers and nibbled - already consumed by desire.

The tree welcomed them all with open arms - giving them spacious seating accommodation and a generous array of fruit, green and firm, some sun-ripened, some yet to offer the complete sweetness, yet others firm enough for the enterprising who did not want their food on a platter.

When the sun was unkind, the jam tree swayed and fanned its weary wings. To those without wings, it spread its branches wide in a generous green hug as if to say - come, rest on me. So kind was she, this jam tree. It was Hilton Hotel, or Cinnamon Grand to the birds, bees, the squirrels, and the crows. There was no food and beverage manager here, the tree did it all on her own, she bore her fruit, nurtured herself and served them all, as and when they liked. Yet, there was no one to water her, care for her or fend for her.

When dusk fell like a blanket, this mother tucked all the little ones and covered them with her leaves - drooping, hugging and hiding the weary little ones. When the rains came, they could only hear the sound of lashing waters, as this mother let herself be drenched, shielding all who sought her shade.

What a loving, beautiful living thing was she. We call her the jam tree. Its scientific name is recorded as Muntingia calabura, but to the birds the name did not matter, the fruit was just as sweet, the experience, the comfort, even sweeter.

For two long years it stood this way, this jam tree, in all its glory - supporting nature's creatures with all its strength. It helped a hundred off spring - to crawl, hide, rest, and take the first flying lesson; and to yet others, served as a launching pad for their flying lessons.

The party began as early as four in the morning, for the birds and squirrels, and as the day progressed, more birds and bees of different sorts, from different regions made their way here. Below, the iguanas rested and earth's other creatures lay below with their eyes closed - the greatest tribute they can pay to this mother.

Then, on that horrible morning came a strange creature and the good-natured tree swayed as if to welcome the yellow distorted form - its black greasy front making a murderous crackle. Its iron claw like contraptions lifted hideously in front.

As the tree readied to welcome this stranger, it came at a speed hitherto unseen and banged against this nature's wondrous being. It was akin to killing a mother, but the heap of noisy iron did not seem to hear the cries -of the birds, the squirrels, the tree itself, as it fell to the ground with a mournful, final thud.

A hundred birds fluttered away, wailing as the jam tree fell on the ground. A great weeping of all creatures atop the tree, and around the tree, filled the air. But the whirring of that great yellow greasy creature drowned the cries as it continued its mighty murder of a tender, green magnificence that did no harm, but only fed and fanned.

There it lay, breathing its last, its broken branches still reaching out attempting to wave weakly. The mourning beings cried around the dying tree, trying to swallow its last fruit, while choking in their misery as the jam tree lay there, gasping for breath, for days.

As the days passed, the jam tree lay there, no man lifted an eyelid to salute her for her great service to a thousand beings. She lay there, dying, drying till man came for her final rites - trampling her, crushing her and throwing kerosene on her. She seemed to ask no questions as the fire feasted on her - crackling and chuckling.

The next day, she was gone without a trace. Her ashes were taken away and scattered by the same breeze that she fanned. And it was not the ashes in the air that caused my tears to fall....

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