Banyans

Sun had not got up. Morning asleep. There were no street lights; lorry, bike, car lamps. Walkers, men and women, ghosted Link Road on their ways to LIC Colony. Could not make out trees and birds. In a coat of pleasant chill, Ajoba stumbled along; hugged the rather bare silk cotton; paused long before clutches of pink bougainvillea fronting Chancellor housing society; recent days appreciates the shrub though for reasons, he does not know; he holds the flowers, pats them, let goes; and then the up and down of Karuna Road with nuns hurrying to and from prayers at IC Church. They are into gods not trees and flowers though the Missionaries of Ajmer has something of a garden; wonder who many high rises on Link Road have gardens; perhaps none as architects provide for ever insufficient car parking spaces. A halt at a call from the banyan outside Karuna Hospital: 'I am feeling alone; good that you have come along', said the banyan who should be Ajoba age, if not more; 'I have fruited', the banyan, named Karuna, said; and there were the red berries to prove the point; 'but no birds; I am a banyan without birds,' said Karuna and there was no karuna in the tone. At that moment, two or three koyals hurried out of the banyan calling chased by cawing crows; the fruit bats at the nearby rain trees were not keen on the red offerings or so it seemed. A municipal employee had cleared the base of the banyan of gods and saints; it looked neat as Ajoba familiarly patted Karuna. Ficus Bengalensis. The English gave it the name Banyan as traders or banias used to assemble under the tree for business and worship, write Marselin Almeida and Naresh Chaturvedi in The Trees of Mumbai. There are many in LIC Colony and Karuna looks somewhat ancient. 'Am here before Karuna Hospital got built; not sure how long I will be around,' wondered the banyan and then landed a left hook; 'at the Karuna Hospital oxygen is fed by pipes to patients even as the public cuts trees in the world outside,' remarked the banyan; Ajoba rushed for his heart; it was beating okay. 'Yes' you have a point, a major point, said Ajoba and the entire banyan nodded. 'If birds dont come, I will not fruit again; will wait and go away before they cut me to pieces; you wont see me again; others in LIC Colony have agreed on the idea,' explained the banyan. 'We cant live without company; you, Ajoba, run away in cars; birds are absent; why be around unwanted.' Ajoba clutched at a hanging root as he could not do anything better. After an upsetting morning, Ajoba slid into a reading of First Garden of The Republic: Nature in the President's Estate; Rashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi. A history of India's famous garden glues Ajoba. It may be not the oldest garden but surely is the grandest piece of brick and stone set in green. And it has birds, animals, insects.