By Cherime W R Sangma
I am an old man now, but I remember it clearly as it was yesterday. I’ve protected this tree more than my own life. I watched this place change rapidly, but this tree has not changed, much like me. This was once a deserted forest, but look at it now, remnants of a famous park. I made it famous protecting this tree. But I am dying now, what’s the point?
These people with their faces, and many questions, and recorders and cameras have kept coming. They bring me newspapers to show me pictures as if I don’t know what I look like. Faces, so many of them and each with their questions: why did you save this tree? What made you save this tree? What is special about this tree?
Is there a difference? This tree, that tree, it’s all the same. How does one know which tree to save and which one to cut? I refused to answer to some, and some I simply refused to see. It must have been some five years ago that I let these people pester me. But now I am dying, what’s the point? I asked them to leave the tree alone, and leave it they did by building this park around it and even named me the caretaker of the tree.
Thirty years ago, yes it was thirty years ago. They wanted to clear this area for something, for some building I think. I don’t clearly remember. But I didn’t want them to cut my tree you know. They bribed me with a large sum of money, and when that didn’t work they beat me, and almost even killed me. Yes, they almost killed me for this tree. They called me “tree-hugger”, “hippie”, things I didn’t understand, and which they explained it to me later. I was a poor man you see, hardly studied past class five. They said they will pay me lots of money but I refused.
It was this couple that did this. They came one day and told me that they would take my story to the world. Made me stand near the tree and took photos. They said I will get help, and I told them I didn’t need help but they kept coming. I asked them to leave me alone, but the more I tried, the more they came to sit beside the tree.
They stuck papers on the tree: ‘save the trees’, ‘save the environment’, ‘don’t cut me’. And there was this other couple who wanted to stick a poster of their missing daughter. They pleaded saying they wanted more people to know. Faces, so many faces and so many questions. And one day there was a celebration, they said we had won. They said that they would leave the tree alone, and in my honour would even build a park around it. I was petrified and I resisted, but they only said that nothing would change.
They kept telling me that my story needs to be told, and how more people ought to be like me. And they built the park, and there was a big celebration when they opened it. The Chief Minister was called for the occasion, and everyone seemed to have celebrated for something. The next day they brought me newspapers with a photo of the Chief Minister shaking my hands. The first two months was a horror, everyone wanted to see the park and the man who almost died protecting a tree.
Then people lost interest and I was at peace again. I took down the papers from the tree, even the poster of the little girl was still stuck there. It said ‘MISSING’, and they explained its meaning to me later. I was much sorry for the parents. They came to meet me after all of it was over, they said at least the tree didn’t go missing.
No. They never found her, nor the others who went missing during that time. Many children went missing, and many men had to pay for it. Men like us could not be trusted, they said, and we had to be questioned. Not me of course, they left me alone but all the others were questioned.
And it was difficult for those who were taken in for questioning. Some had bruises on their thighs, some on their backs; they hit in places where others wouldn’t see. Some were hung upside down and hit on their feet, and they begged and pleaded of their innocence but they didn’t listen. Then I think one or two of them died because they hit in the wrong place, and that’s when it stopped.
The tree means nothing to me. I was used to seeing it every day and the thought of not seeing it seemed difficult at that time. You can cut it down for all I care. I’m dying now, what’s the point?
You know, sometimes, I think that I knew that missing girl. I think she walked by the tree once in a while. But her little face is all faded now.I wanted to tell them a few times, tell them I was sorry but there were always others. I wanted to tell them that I saw her, with her pretty dresses and pretty smile.
I think she smiled at me a few times. I never understood why her parents would let her walk all by herself. Especially when children were disappearing, how could they be careless? I blame the parents! And you know she was an innocent little thing, she even took the sweets I offered her. I warned her not to talk to strangers, and she even thanked me for it. But I told her not to tell her parents about me.
I blame the parents you know. It’s their fault! They should have been more careful, they shouldn’t have let her walk alone. I even tried telling her that. Then one evening she came to me, she said she was afraid of the dark and asked me to take her to her parents. She said she was afraid of the strangers I told her about. You see, I blame the parents!
That tree used to be barren. I was planning on cutting it down but it was on that evening that it became important to me. I could not cut it down any more now. And that year it even began to bloom. That’s when they came and started talking about cutting the tree. What could I have done you see? I had to protect the tree, my life depended on it. But I’m dying now, what’s the point of saving this tree?
(The author is a lecturer at Department of English,
Loyola College, Williamnagar)