Saving the banyan, getting to the root of the problem
I was shocked to see the banyan tree at my native village being cut down. Tears welled up and I felt like running away from the place without attending the function. It felt as if an ancestor was being chopped off limb by limb.
The tree was nearly 200 years old, witness to the pains and pleasures and mirth and mourning of at least six generations. It was the oldest member of the ‘triveni’, the beauty of our village. Triveni is a triumvirate of the banyan, peepal and neem trees at one place.
Neem, a natural herb, was our veritable ‘hakeem’ at a time when there was no doctor in the hamlet. Having medicinal qualities, it served as a home remedy for many an ailment. Its boiled leaves and fruit were useful, and we chewed its bitter twigs to cleanse our teeth. The tree finally aged, dried up and died.
Peepal, a sacred fig, used to be worshipped as it emitted oxygen 24 hours and due to its medicinal/religious considerations, was sold off. I cursed myself for not being around to save it from the axe as I visited the village occasionally.
But when I saw the banyan being felled, I was distraught. Somehow, I sat through the function. At the end, some villagers asked me to say a few words on the occasion. Grabbing the opportunity, I decided to use the religious platform for a pragmatic purpose of saving the remaining part of the banyan.
In our area, the banyan is called ‘bohar’. The banyan is said to have originated from the Indian word ‘bania’ used for a trading community. It is said that in olden days, trading activities were done under the shade of the gigantic banyan. The Portuguese, who called it ‘banean’, gave the word to the British and it gained currency in English for the trader or for trading.
Striking an emotional chord, I reminded villagers how they were guilty of amputating the limbs of our national tree. I told them how we enjoyed its shade and the cool breeze when there was no electricity in the village. It was “rabb da AC (God’s air-conditioner)”. It served as a “sath (a common meeting place)”. Elders spent the summer afternoons gossiping, playing cards and ‘chaupar’, while children enjoyed their own games. Girls celebrated ‘teej’ festival in the month of ‘saavan’ by putting up swings (‘peenghs’).
I reminded them how it was home to myriad birds, including our national bird, the peacock. Some people tethered their buffaloes under its sprawling shade.
It was considered sacred as women tied red threads around it and made a wish.
Part of Punjabi folklore, it’s a symbol of strength, sturdiness, spaciousness and longevity of life as this large fig tree (Ficus benghalensis) has long spreading branches that send roots down to the ground, forming secondary trunks. In local parlance, these roots are called “bohar di dahdi (the banyan’s beard)”.
I mentioned how every religion teaches us to respect nature. Sikhism in particular preserves trees hallowed by or having association with the Gurus. Some gurdwaras such as Ber Sahib are named after them. Gurbani preaches pervasive presence of the Almighty in everything: “Balihari kudrat vasiya (Sacrifice am I unto thee who abides in His creation)”.
Having hit the nail on the head, I warned them that if we go against nature, she will go against us. I persuaded them to pledge that the remaining portion of the banyan will be left uncut. The tree was saved! Not only that, the villagers, realising their blunder, re-planted neem and peepal saplings also to revive the ‘triveni’, the landmark of my village.
THE TREE WAS NEARLY 200 YEARS OLD, WITNESS TO THE PAINS AND PLEASURES, MIRTH AND MOURNING OF SIX GENERATIONS