BENGALURU: Trees, the wise old inhabitants of Earth! Since aeons, countless trees have harboured life, offered refuge, and acted as a friend to the other beings that came to it. Trees have provided these beings with the necessities of life – food, shelter and clothing, and sought nothing in return. Birds, monkeys and squirrels have basked amongst their branches, while weary travellers took a nap in their shade. Trees have been playmates for children, who revel in climbing them.
Trees have also played a role in the philosophical and scientific accomplishments of mankind. The Buddha attained enlightenment under the Sacred Bodhi Tree, while an apple fell on Isaac Newton’s head as he sat under its tree, inspiring him on the path of discovery. Trees are among Mother Earth’s special children, and perhaps the oldest.
I love trees. I guess we all do. It’s frustratingly painful to watch a tree being cut, especially to accommodate some man-made eyesore. In 2010, I shifted to a location closer to Bengaluru’s international airport. Idyllic as the place was, its quietude was further enhanced by the thick lush wall of trees, mostly wild, that surrounded it.
Adding melody to all the enchantment were the chirps, hoots, cackles, and hisses that emanated from the wooded patch, which was home to families of birds, reptiles, insects, and some mammals. The centre stage was a Singapore cherry tree, standing majestically close to my house. Each day, across seasons, a drove of birds would arrive and perch on it, and make it their temporary home, if not a permanent nesting and resting place.
The Singapore cherries were a big draw for our feathered friends, and each morning, the berries that fell on the ground created a pale pink carpet of exotic beauty. My daughter was aged four then. The two of us, with our binoculars and Salim Ali’s The Book of Indian Birds in hand, would wait on the terrace, hoping to catch a glimpse of an exotic bird or two. Scaly-breasted munias, Asian bee-eaters, hoopoes, purple-rumped sunbirds, and Asian koels, were regular sightings.
The tree symbolised abundance, it reflected joy, it shared its shelter with love and warmth, and stood for harmony and the syncretic tryst that all natural beings have with Mother Nature. The everyday cacophony of the birds, the gentle breeze that brought an earthy blend of fresh and pure oxygen and fruity mist through the windows into my living space, enlivened it further. This tree shared its hallowed ground with a thousand others. There were eucalyptus, Gulmohar, neem and banyan trees. Mornings would envelop my property in a thick layer of haze, thanks to the eucalyptus grove, and for miles around, was an impression of paradise.
Botanists have discovered that underground, trees share water and nutrients through a network of their roots (called mycorrhizal networks), and use their roots to communicate among one another. Roots are also learnt to send distress signals about drought, disease, and insect and pest attacks. Based on this message, trees are observed to alter their behaviour. Unfortunately, however, these distress signals often go unheard by men.
One day, the Singapore cherry tree and several others that shared its divine ground suddenly disappeared. A rising Bengaluru’s concrete jungle had pushed away the jungle thriving on photosynthesis. Wooden branches suddenly looked like cement beams and tree trunks looked like iron pillars. The trees were gone, and the buildings had arrived. ‘Urban’ had evicted ‘Arboreal’. We got new homes and offices, but the birds came and were left homeless. Birdsongs have been muted by bulldozer sirens, and leaves seldom rustle anymore, being muzzled by the welders loud at work.
There is a ‘Tree of Souls’ in the Avatar film franchise, which plays a central role in the storyline. Incidentally, this fictitious tree is felled too, devastating the cycle of life on the planet ‘Pandora’.
But trees are wise. They will forgive and continue to provide us with whatever we need, despite them seeing us wielding a chainsaw. There are over three trillion trees on Earth. They will live on, having seen through all our adventures and misadventures. But it’s only honourable that we see life in them.