Felled by a tree

Felled by a tree

They came on their bikes and they cut down my tree1.

Its branches couldn’t withstand the determined set of their jaw, thudding heavily to the ground as they lost the battle against the teeth of their saws.

The neighbors gathered below sounded like the Queen of Hearts shouting “off with their heads”, as they pointed at one branch and then another and said “chop it all off”.

I stood on the terrace and watched in horror, as the house in front of mine came slowly into view with every felled branch.

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I lost the battle to save my tree. They laid waste to its branches — calling them old, calling them ugly, calling them useless.

When I could take it no more, I went into the house and bawled at the top of my lungs. My tears made a river in the living room. My heart shattered like glass across the marble floor. The weight of my grief hung heavy like the loss of a lover, and I flung myself across the sofa and gave myself over the heartbreak of losing my tree.

In the midst of my anguish, these words floated into my head: “If my home is destroyed, I will rebuild its columns with my eyelashes.”

And I remembered the brave Gazan who spoke those words as he waited to go back to his shattered home after the ceasefire.

And I drew strength from his words, from his spirit, as I reminded myself of the resilience of our species, of the humans throughout history who have been ground down by war and have always risen again and rebuilt their broken, shattered lives.

Compared to that, what is the felling of a tree? It will regrow. It’s bare branches will sprout new leaves.

And by the time they came into my home, onto my balcony, to cut off some more branches from my tree, I was in control of my emotions once again.

And on my home turf, I was in control, and I said WAIT.

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I directed their saws to the branches that were dead, the branches that were rotting, but when they moved towards the ones that were strong and green and healthy I said STOP. I said NO. I said if it isn’t in danger of falling during a storm, the branch would stay.

And they just smiled at me, the mad lady who wants to save her tree, and they said OK. They said the branch won’t fall. The tree is strong. And with the rains, the branches will grow again.

And so it still stands, my tree. Missing a lot of its branches, but still lending me its shade, its protection, its vibration of peace and gentle perfection.

In happier times
  1. Not really, they were there for a seasonal tree trimming after a gap of almost 3 years, during which time my tree had become a bit overgrown but, to my eyes, was gorgeous. They did lop off more of its branches than was strictly necessary, and had I left the neighbors to their own devices, they would have butchered my tree.

    To say that emotions ran high that day would be an understatement — I spent most of the morning ugly crying, and every time I stepped out on to the balcony, the tears would flow again. In the midst of my breakdown, I remembered the words of the Gazan gentleman in the video above, and then all the videos of the Palestinians streaming back to their broken, shattered homes in North Gaza flashed in front of my eyes, and I drew strength from their desire to return to their homes, to sift through the rubble and rebuild their shattered lives.

    It’s trivial in comparison, the trimming of a tree. And I surprised myself with the depth of my emotion as I saw its leaf laden branches falling heavily onto the road. It felt like parts of me were being sawn off. Its difficult for me to explain my attachment to that tree, the feeling of peace that envelopes me every time I step out on to the balcony, the delight of listening to birdsong in an urban jungle every morning and evening, of seeing squirrels scampering across its branches and birds preening their feathers. For a little while, I can forget where I am as I let my mind wander as I gaze softly into its branches.

    I know the branches will grow back; the leaves will burst forth come monsoon; the tree will revive, just as all living things do. Death and rebirth — it’s like an ouroboros, a natural cycle of destruction and re-creation — is it not? ↩︎

Posted in Stories.

22 Comments

  1. Hugs, dear Shinjini! I can totally feel your pain and your anguish!
    This is getting to be an oft repeated tale in our urban jungles – so terribly sad and heartbreaking, to say the least. So much apathy and heartlessness towards Nature angers me as much as it hurts. I’m seeing this happening all over Bangalore as we are losing our 400 year old Rain trees to unplanned urbanisation.

    • Oh no! 400 year old trees!! They’re irreplaceable. Sometimes I wonder if this unchecked development is truly development or if we are going to live to regret it. (The latter, I think!)

  2. Hugs, Shinjini! I have felt the exact same way every time I witnessed a green beauty chopped off to make way for an ugly cement structure. I don’t know when man will realise his folly, make changes and learn to respect and love nature and leave it alone. 🙁

  4. Oh I identify so much with your post. I saw something similar in the housing complex across from ours, except they said they were trimming but in the evening when I got home from work the tree was all gone. It feels like such a loss and we still miss the parrots and bulbuls that would come to roost in that tree.

  5. I can empathise with the emotions you felt, Shinjini. And I love how you connected this to Gaza. I watched a reel of a little child going to their now destroyed home in Gaza and trying to say where their furniture, TV etc used to be. I can’t begin to imagine how it must feel, especially for a child!

  6. I’m so sorry they cut down your gorgeous tree. At least you were able to save a part of it. I just can’t understand how people can cut down trees and feel okay about it!

    • I don’t know, Vini! It was supposed to be a trimming, but to hear the neighbours talk, they would have been happy to simply uproot it! Thankfully that’s not an option!!

  8. I’m so sorry, Shinjini, that’s heartbreaking. Trees are so often overlooked, especially with urban development and monstrous buildings taking over our landscapes. The trees which are allowed to grow and flourish in the midst of our cities become such rarities, making their beauty and subsequent loss all the more pronounced. I hope the birds and squirrels return soon, and that your sanctuary is restored.

    • The birds and squirrels are back! Now I’m waiting for some of the branches to regrow. And yes, we are losing our connection with nature in the guise of development — a very sad state of affairs.

  9. I am so sorry you had to go through this, but also glad that you were able to save your side of the branches. It is frustrating when others aren’t at the same emotional level as you. With the way cities are going barren, these trees will be the only respite on a hot summer day.

  10. I understand completely. Not all trees grow back. We want to think of them as eternal, immortal, and somehow it’s reassuring to think that they were standing before us and will still be standing when we’re gone. There is a tree 1000 miles from me that I look in on from Google maps and Google earth from time to time, reassured that my childhood “climbing tree” still lives and thrives. There is a tree in my front yard that we planted so our children might have a “climbing tree” of their own, and I have a photo I will always treasure of my grandson standing in its branches looking like the conquering hero. I want “my” trees to be loved and appreciated and to live long after me. But who knows – as you say, it’s a cycle of birth, life, and death. The planet, at least, will outlast us all.

    • Yes…can you imagine the history some of the old trees have borne witness to? Every time I go back to my childhood home, I pay a visit to the trees in my neighbourhood. So many of them were cut down over the years in the name of development, but many still stand, and you can feel their ancient power pulsing when you walk beneath them.

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