The Banyan Tree

2009-04-11T10:03:00.000-07:00

Imagine the Banyan tree - tall, strong and enormous. My childhood cannot be complete without those endless afternoons swinging on its thick, dangling, entwined branches. For me, it has always been larger than life. The Banyan tree was my entire sky then, as I stood under it, craning my neck in awe to watch the web like sprawling branches, as they traced similar ornamental patterns of shade and light on the earth below.

I always sat at the corner of my grandfather's bed, watching him dress, with awe. It was his daily ritual, skillfully wrapping the yards of crispy white cotton across to form a gracefully pleated dhuti , and then swinging on a shining white creaseless kurta with bright gold buttons, and strapping on a Rolex watch with a rectangular dial onto his wrist. With a dash of some blissfully fragrant Tuhina cream, which was Bengal Chemical's most popular cream brand, during the winters, or some fresh Cuticurara powder in the summers, the walking stick was all he needed to complete the regal look, not to mention a pristine white ironed handkerchief in the other hand. Also tucked in his kurta was a tiny snuff box - its strong, sharp whiff is something that will stay with me forever.

Every year, we would go to Kolkatta and visit him. He was always full of life, brimming with excitement and he had a zest for everything that life had to offer. It was a trait very rare, for in our lives of full of deadlines, traffic jams, laptops and flight delays, 'Thakurda' was a true celebration of life, of the fact that life was about living , savoring every moment and taking in our stride the sad and glad moments.

Many of my winter evenings were spent cuddled up next to him like a squirrel in a tree hollow, listening to ghosts stories from his mama (maternal uncles) bari (home) in Shahpur, and from the various trips that his parents took him & his siblings to - to hill stations near Bengal during the summers.

Thakurda connected with ghosts. There were good ghosts, bad ones, funny ones, and the very deadly ones. He spoke about them like they were everywhere, one had to just reach out and see carefully. Thakurda's stories always had so many species of ghosts. One such ghost was kandho kata (the headless ghost), whose favourite haunts were the cemetries, and when they chose to visit you, it was always advisable not to take chances and to run for your life chanting gods name. Shagchunni and Petni both loved to eat fish, and often a young man walking home late in the evening, carrying fresh fish, in anticipation of eating his wife's fish curry and rice, could fall prey to their deceitful wiles.

Nishi bhoot was the deadliest. I have never answered to anyone calling out my name very early at dawn, as the Nishi bhoot roamed around with open coconuts in the night, especially at early dawn, and they knew everyone's names, and as soon as one answered to their call, they shut the coconut tight and walked away with your souls. And lo behold, you could then, find yourself walking off with them in a daze, lost to the mortal world forever. Often when I have been woken up by a voice early at dawn, I have refused to answer back, my eyes half-opened in dreaded anticipation of seeing Nishi Bhoot with coconuts, but it was only my mom coaxing me to get out of bed and get dressed for school.

Thakurda used to warn me about some people who fell prey to the Nishi bhoot and I always thanked him for keeping me informed wondering how parents never cared about such important things.

The Faraway Tree

The Banyan Tree