The Bench, Under the Banyan Tree
Photo credit: ecerroni from morguefile.com
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne’er returned again!
— Emily Bronte
13th May 2004
There it stood, the giant Banyan tree, staunch and audacious with its extensive branches that spread out in every direction and underneath them were the aerial roots, twining towards the ground, adorned in a grace that seemed as bewitching as it was ancient. The leaves rippling in the light breeze as if dancing to the tune of its silent melody, green creating a delightful hue adorned in the afternoon sunlight.
Under the tree was the old withered wooden bench, my bench. From the distance they seemed like eternal companions, prudent spectators. The vast tree protecting and the benign bench seating the worldly wounded. I was amazed at my customary spellbound state at the perfection of this setting.
I sat down on the bench, staring at the children’s park across the road, their sparkling joyousness alien to my solitary disposition. I came here out of an unfathomable need, a habit of sorts. I wasn’t searching for peace or happiness.
I came here to unlock the gates, gates to the countless emotions inundating my mind’s space with a mayhem that I was now familiar with, and I waited for her…
Here she was, it never took her long to appear. Her image burning through every other thought in my mind, oblivious to my surroundings that were frozen in that moment. Those wide laughing hazel eyes the green in them more profound due to the sunlight. Her dark brown hair reaching slightly below her shoulders twirling around the edges, and a few strands caught in the slight wind across her face. Her beautiful face, her perfect snowy satin skin, and that little dimple sitting delicately on her cheek as she smiled lightly. She held the hand of a little 5 year old boy. He had the same hazel eyes, only his were filled with childish innocence and eagerness. That was a 5 year old me, a long lost me.
Suddenly I was transported to a different memory. She lay motionless, sprawled on the bed. Her eyes blank, staring fixedly at nothing, white foam at the end of her lips. I screamed, I don’t remember for how long.
I was 6 at that time. It took me months to understand the absence and years to accept that my mother was gone. They say it was cocaine that took her, an elevation in pulse rate due to excessive intoxication leading to a respiratory failure, dismissing her death with simplistic medical jargon. If only it was that simple…
Coming back to my senses I realized I had company for staring at the park today. Standing near my bench was a little girl, 6-7 year old. She had big brown eyes an expression of longing in them. She was wearing an old dirty frock a bit torn at the ends. Dirt smudges covered her face. It were her large expressive eyes that had me intrigued.
I got up and went to where she stood…
“Why don’t you go, play with them?” I couldn’t help but ask her.
“They don’t play with us, Ma told me park was not for children like me.”
I turned to look at the children inside, well groomed obviously from refined households. They weren’t anything like this little girl standing next to me. It was a public park, it excluded certain public apparently.
“Where do you live?”
She pointed her finger towards the right, the slum area at the end of the street.
“Would you like to have an ice-cream with me?”, I offered. She nodded with an acute delight that I reciprocated, surprisingly…
“What is your name little one?”
“Mala..” ,
“I am Varun, would you like to be my friend Mala?”
“Yes!” , she said smiling.
That night, before drifting off to sleep my thoughts were filled with images of Mala.
She had the most enchanting smile, it reached up to her amazing eyes and they twinkled with the purest emotion of joy. Despite of her ragged appearance she was beautiful.
I was confounded with the reaction the little child had brought in me. I couldn’t understand, how she could smile so genuinely? She had nothing to smile about, she was nothing like those kids in the park she longed to play with and yet she managed to find happiness at having made a new friend.
I have everything, more than everything and yet I don’t have what she has. My world was shredded to pieces after I lost my mother, I longed for my father who never could spare a moment from his business and relentless womanizing for his only son. My financial status ensured that I could never enjoy a true companionship with anyone. I have nothing except money that can survive till many more generations.
Rinse away in shower of light
This cover of dirt I hide myself with!
Awaken that which lies in deep slumber within me
With a gentle touch of thy golden morning Sun!
— Rabindranath Tagore
13th June, 2004
It was exactly a month since I had met Mala. Here I was, sitting at the bench under the banyan tree waiting for her. This place held a new meaning now.
I began reminiscing all the moments I have shared with her in this past month. All the ice creams we have licked together. Her euphoric squeals when I took her for a ride in my car. The time I took her to my house and she told me she could easily get lost in a place this big. I had asked one of the female maids to give her a good bath. She came out, dressed in a new pink frock I had bought for her. She danced around me her pigtails bouncing. It was one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen.
It’s been 2 hours now, I was worried, Mala was never late. I decided to search for her. I went towards the end of the street, where she had said she lived.
The living conditions in the slum were pitiable. The first person I saw, I asked for Mala. He pointed towards the hut nearby. I went inside, I wondered how one could ever live here. There was no door, nothing solid in Mala’s home. There was a woman cooking on a stove who I presumed was Mala’s mother. She looked up at me questioningly.
“I am Mala’s friend Varun, where is she?”, I asked.
At this she began to cry loudly and I was alarmed, not prepared for what I was about to be told…
I came back home badly drunk. I still couldn’t accept it. She was so little…
Mala’s mother told me, one night Mala went strolling outside and didn’t return home the entire night. Her mother did not notice her absence until the next morning. She along with her neighbours found her in a pit, a little far from the slum. She was dead, and raped. No one knew who did it. No one cared who did it. She had registered it with the police but nothing was to come out of it. It was reported, 4th page of the newspaper, a little paragraph. That was the end of it. End of her. The assault meant nothing, her torment meant nothing. I pictured what the beasts might have done to her. I wanted to kill them. I pictured her in a pool of blood. I heard her desperate cries…
In my state of drunken intoxication, I saw her, she was wearing the pink frock I had gifted her. She looked so beautiful, so tiny, such sheer joy on her face, she always made me smile and even now I was smiling.
“Where did you go Mala? I kept waiting for you…”
“I’m so sorry Varun Bhaiya, I couldn’t come today”
“Where did you go? Why did you go?” I was crying by now.
“I had to go. But I am happy here. There are so many friends to play with.”
“Please come back…”
“I cannot come back…”
Her face now bore a serious expression, much too serious for her young face. And she continued…
“You have to understand, this world has torment for all of us but we cannot make our lives meaningless. You have to find yourself. You know where you are. Find your path, I’m always with you, and so is your mother.”
I woke up with a start in an empty bedroom. There was no Mala. That was a dream…
But little by little, as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn, through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly, recognized as your own, that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper, into the world,
determined to do, the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
— Mary Oliver
13th May 2012
It’s funny, the value this place holds in my life. Little has changed, the banyan tree is as grand as ever, the bench looks older but just as comforting as it was before.
So much has passed in all these years. So much this place alone has changed. So much that Mala has changed…
Seven years ago, I did what I was told. I found myself. I gave up everything I despised, the mansion, my father, the things that held nothing but darkness for me.
I started a new life. I opened facilities for poor kids, orphanages, Rehabilitation centres, I was rich enough to help them. As a social activist, I fought for girls like Mala, and I found my peace there. My days were spent with the little kids, in their laughter, in their tears. In their innocence and simplicity, I found myself, just as Mala had asked me to…
I got up from my bench and started to walk away. I stopped in the middle and turned back to get another look and I saw Mala, in the same attire as I had first seen her, merrily licking her ice cream sitting on our bench, under the banyan tree.
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