[nukkad] Tree

["Homi Kaikobad" <>]

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[Copyright 2001. Dr. Homi Kaikobad]

TREE

If you ever visit Billimora, make certain you stay in the Parsi Dharamsala
where you will find marvelous food, hundred year old bell chandeliers which
still light, and a resident ghost who may visit you across the gable where
your 2 floor window will open.

If you are a sleepless wanderer like me you may venture out at 2 AM and walk
the empty streets, some of which are still cobbled. Tend towards the great
huzzing buzzing sound and you'll soon be walking towards the large, sullen,
muddy river which incredibly passes through the town's middle as though it
was a Bahden Strasse in Munich in the dead of the night on Michael Mas..

If you time it right you will find yourself entirely alone at the bank of
the river where a great vast Tree keeps court. The foliage is some 300 foot
is spread, the top is unseen even during the day, the trunk stand 12 foot
wide and the roots seem as old as Hind. Notice a marvelous smooth seat of
stone which girds the vast trunk, where 20 souls can comfortably sit. Note
the grain, even in the dark, it is Jodhpur redstone, the kind which graces
the Pink Palace on the lake and the Promenade in Karachi which leads to the
Arabian Sea which Sir Kothari made to please Lady Clifton in 1890 and died
before she could arrive by boat from England and kiss him.

3 AM. The town sleeps. The river gurgles, inviting you to step to the brink
so she will sweep you away and the town folk will rejoice because Jal Ma got
her sacrifice!

You are there, the waters are there, and the Tree is there, and the world is
asleep. Abate a little and it will begin to tell you things:

Of the great love which unfolded there 3 score years ago between Binti, of
bada gharana, [princely house] and Kumhar, potter. Both were haunted, warned
to behave, both came here one night just like this, and swore eternal love
at the Tree's Seat, embraced for a while, and walked into the mean, sullen
river.

Of the great mausikar, musician, who came from Hunza, which sits in
Himalayan's western embrace, with his hand hewn dilruba to play for Mahboob,
film director who lives just across the waters. Both sat there for nights
and the townsfolk watched and listened to melody crafted in heaven for
denizens of hell. At the third night at dawn, Mahboob, in full view of
hundreds watching from the shadows, bent to touch the man's feet, and said,
"Your strains are too pure for the dirt of my films." And the man, without
hesitation, turned, placed the dilruba at the Seat, and walked away, back to
where he came from. The instrument was placed in the high branches where it
rests to this day.

Many such tales thus were played out at the Seat. On my part I did nothing
more spectacular than listen to wisdom and raw humanity within ten paces of
slithering death. Which is life at it's fullest.

5 AM. The phulwali [flower woman] from the adjacent shop walks up to me and
hands me a bunch of jasmine and mogra, a kind of shorter equally white and
maddeningly fragrant perfume which snakes love, don't grow this at your
windowsill.. She is washed bathed enflowered, a brown powerful Dharti Ma,
ancient Mother Earth, masquerading as a flower woman. Without a word on my
part she replies, "Because you will go away."

I ask her, I have known her for lifetimes, "What is this Tree, this place
called?".

She replies, soft, kind, as though sensing I will wander far and maybe never
find this home again:

"It is called Nukkad."

Arya.

























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