They say The Tree gave whatever you wanted. All you need to do is ask.
"Yeah, they say a lot of things", you say.
Sigh, sometimes words are just inadequate. Sometimes, in order to simplify things, we just make them even difficult to comprehend. Maybe you will understand when you hear the story of the The Tree. The story that is incomplete without the story of Nirajita:
Dawn. The Sun, with His mighty, burning face, peeks over the horizon. Warm hues of yellow and orange spread through the sky as they chase away the inky darkness of the night. The moon's white glory fades as he retreats to rule over some other part of the world. The moist smell of mud and fresh dung wafts through the air.
Mud. Dung. Everywhere you look in the village of Geraimgaon, you will find them: Paths of mud littered with cow dung and pea-sized pellets of goat dung; Houses built of mud painted with a fresh coat of diluted dung everyday; Verandas made through the amalgamation of mud and dung; Mud pots waiting to be baked; Dung piles waiting to be burnt...
As the solitary bullock cart made its way into Geraimgaon on the mud path, the villagers were waking up to begin their day. Some of them, mostly young children, were already out frolicking. Upon hearing the bullock cart, they ran towards it wanting to see what Ardhara had brought back for them from the village fair, but stopped. Who was that girl with Ardhara?
"Mother, this is my wife, Nirajita. We met at the fair 3 days ago. We married yesterday evening."
There was no surprise on Ardhara's mother's face. This was how Ardhara was. The mats he wove did not follow any traditions. He would just weave designs out of his head. When asked where he got his ideas from, he would simply say they appeared inside in his head. The really observing, however, knew the answer from the way Ardhara would look at the sky, or at the flowers or at the pebbles in the gravel. Nirajita was one of them. Ardhara's mother welcomed her to the house.
The villagers, however, thought he had gone too far this time, because when they asked the jaat of the girl - "Achoot! He married a damn untouchable! Brought her to soil his home! Him and his mother! They'll ruin the name of this village. Well, I don't care, let him do whatever he wants to do with his home, but I don't want her in my house, I don't want her drinking from our well, and I don't want my children going near her."
Ardhara didn't care; he wouldn't have visited their houses in the first place. As for water, Ardhara and Nirajita would fetch it from a far-off stream every morning. Ardhara would then begin his work and Nirajita would assist him. They worked on the designs together, each with a deep understanding and respect for the other's mind. Nothing else could make them happier.
Days passed; Worry dethroned happiness. It had been almost six months they had been married; Nirajita wasn't yet pregnant. There was something wrong. Ardhara had taken her to the village vaid but he refused to treat her. The doctor didn't help much either. That was when they heard of The Tree.
The Tree, the villagers said, could fulfil anyone's wishes. All you needed to do was to visit it everyday and ask for your wish. Many said, few believed, nobody dared to go that deep into the forest everyday. To Nirajita, however, this seemed to be the only hope. Accompanied by Ardhara, she would leave home every evening, into the deeper recesses of the forest. She would then ask The Tree for a child, and then they headed back home.
***
Another six months had gone by; Nirajita didn't conceive. The village, however, was pregnant with malevolent strains of Cholera. It spread itself amongst the households, growing in size everyday. And one day, Ardhara caught it too. Nirajita tended to him with all her strength, attending to all his needs and continuing the weaving work that was left incomplete. She made sure he ate proper food and medicine everyday.
Ardhara, however, grew weaker everyday. The medicines seemed to have no effect on him. His face began losing colour; His eyes began losing their shine. Each day would begin with news of more children dying. Nirajita began losing hope. She began preparing herself for Ardhara's death. Many felt shocked at her loss of tears when it finally happened. Ardhara's mother, however, knew that Nirajita had already exhausted all of them.
***
"There she goes, that chudail," whispered Sarita.
"I wonder why she goes there still," replied Apoorba, "Does she expect to find a baby left there?"
"I knew that achoot witch was mentally retarded all along," added Neeta.
"Serves her right. That widowed bitch brought along the damned Cholera to the village with her. My tender 5 year old son died because of her," replied Sarita.
Through it all, Nirajita had never stopped visiting The Tree. After her husband's death, she had taken hold of his business, and she carried it along well. Every evening however, she would leave her home and enter the forest. The residents of Geraimgaon were divided in opinion about it. Most believed she had grown mad due to her husband's death. Some, like Sarita, believed she went in there to perform her witchcraft. Only a few, like the woodcutter Shyamendra knew the truth.
Evening. Like dawn, hues of yellow and orange glowed along the horizon. This time, however, they were retreating to the cool deepness of the night's blue. The moon had already assumed his throne, his white robes not yet in their full glory. The children were running back to their homes; the chickens had left the roads; Cows were returning back to their sheds.
Nirajita headed towards the forest. The path she took had been the same for the past year and a half, yet it never ceased to be magical. The forest always seemed to grow upon her with every step. The trees seemed wider and thicker, the birds grew louder, the bushes seemed to lean upon her more. Every minute, the sounds from the village would die, only to be replaced by mystical silence. Occasionally a deer would peek at her from the side, but that would be all. The animals had grown accustomed to her presence.
And then she arrived at The Tree. It was a magnificent Banyan - it would need at least fifteen people to span it's trunk with their arms wide open. Innumerable branches spread like arms towards the sky, and countless "roots" hung from them, seeking firm ground. Nirajita wondered how The Tree remained so young. Its bark was veined and its branches were flaking. Yet, it remained plush green all round the year. She stopped for a few moments before The Tree, and then continued with her exploration into the forest.
This evening, however, she was interrupted by a distant, angry growl. She turned towards it to find out its source. As she came closer, the sound grew into a rumble. And then she saw them - a couple of bulldozers, all ready to plough through the trees, surrounded by men giving directions to the operators.
Nirajita ran back to the village as fast as she could and called upon the house of Shyamendra. She explained to him her plan. Within a few minutes Shyamendra assembled about twenty young men and headed towards the forest with them after Nirajita. They confronted the bulldozers and lay in front of them, refusing to budge. The bulldozers had to retreat soon.
As word of what happened reached the village, some thought Shyamendra had fallen under Nirajita's evil spells. Some, however, believed them and joined them in their battle.
As the days passed, more people joined in. Soon, the forest uprooters knew they were powerless, and the bulldozers stopped returning.
They say The Tree granted you your wishes. Nirajita had asked for a child. She received not one, but many, all across the forest.