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She didn’t know how she came to be there. Perhaps as a seed she was blown there by a wayward wind. Perhaps a bird had dropped her accidentally. Or maybe she had just drifted there in the flow of some monsoon torrent.
The earth was moist. The rains had come and were on their way out in the endless journey of changing seasons. There was a stirring in the seed. A feathery root took tentative hold in the loamy soil. A tiny shoot poked hesitantly out – Into a world of giants.
The Tamarind stood sinister on her right, in her knotted branches nested cawing crows. To her left a spreading Banyan put down her tentacles, where her daughter trees took root. In front grew a Sool Babool, tall and straight, where Mynah families tended their growing chicks crying cheep-cheep from dawn to dusk. A vast Neem rustled behind, the wind caught in its bitter leaves. And she was just a tiny shoot in this frightening world of giants, the dark forest, which was to be her home.
But as the days went by she grew. From a little sapling, turning into a treeling. The tender green skin on her stem hardening into a trunk covered with tough bark. Her branches growing spreading into feathery fronds. A cuckoo bird, glossy black, nestled in her branches calling – Coo-oo Coo-oo – And still she grew until –
Bedecked like a shy bride she stood. Her ornaments flaming blood red blooms. Wearing her new dress of lush green leaves. The Gulmohar stirred her flowering boughs. Youthful sap coursing through her veins. Awakening strange urgings. A gentle breeze whispering through her lacy leaves. Her branches swaying in a sensuous dance, rustling with a longing sigh.
A passing cloud dark and heavy with moist seed, seeing the beauteous Gulmohar, her fiery flowers flaming in the dark forest, is smitten by her lovely charms. Bewitched by her swaying dance he comes to her and clasps her in his misty arms. Entwining himself within her waving fronds.
The Gulmohar, her twigs crackling, shining in green delight, clasps her dark moist lover to her heaving breast. Grasps him within her trembling limbs. And together they play the game of love. Day passes into night, night into day. And still together they play the game of love. Oblivious to every other. Insensible to passing time.
But soon, too soon, the time comes. For her love the Dark Cloud to leave for other lands. The season of love is over. Here, where his lovely Gulmohar lives. With heavy heart, unwilling limbs, he pulls himself free from her pliant cling. It is time for him to leave he pleads.
His Gulmohar sobs into the blowing winds. To her Dark Cloud she says, ‘Do not forsake me my love – Stay here forever in my arms – I’ll whisper tender words in your ears – With gentle fingers I’ll soothe your brow’
The Dark Cloud calls to her instead. ‘My lovely Gulmohar – Come with me – We’ll travel over mountains, oceans, fields together – Together we’ll soar where the eagle flies – Together we will glide over forest glades – Come with me!’
The Gulmohar besotted by her love’s dark passion, sighs and sways and says, ‘Oh Beloved – That cannot be – For I am rooted to my mother the Earth – From whom I cannot break free – So Beloved – Come down here to me – And I will hold you forever in my verdant arms – And together forever we will play the game of love’
And her branches spread heavy with yearning towards her lover the Dark Cloud. And her flowers flamed deep blood red with longing.
The Dark Cloud rumbling with black thunder, flashing blue lightning anger said, ‘To the Earth I bestow life fertile – But belong I to the sky – And in the sky I must stay free – If with me you long to be – In the sky you must come and be free – Like me’
To which the Gulmohar made no reply. For she could not break free to be by her lover’s side. So without a backward glance the Dark Cloud sped away from the sorrowing face of his lovely Gulmohar. And the sun rose high and the skies were an empty blue once more. For the Dark Cloud, he was no more. Without a backward glance he had sped away from her sorrowing face.
And the Gulmohar in her grief, sighed and moaned and cried, a dry wind swept through her restless pain. And the plaintive call of the Cuckoo hidden in her branches rent the silent forest with its mournful cry – Coo-oo Coo-oo – To her mother the Earth the Gulmohar beseeched, ‘O Mother – Let go of me – Set me free – For with my love the Dark Cloud – I must be’
The Earth, her mother replied, ‘Daughter – That cannot be – For you belong here to me – Your roots hold me together – And keep my moisture within me – If you should leave me – My daughter – Barren and lifeless I will be’
The Gulmohar was deaf to her mother’s plea. With her love the Dark Cloud she had to be. But try as she might, straining her branches towards the empty sky, her leaves trembling fluttering, from her mother the Earth she could not break free.
In despair she threw her blood red ornaments to the Earth and said, ‘Take these O Mother – They are of no more use to me – For my love has gone away from me’
Her mother sorrowing at her daughter’s grieving, consoled, ‘Fret not dear daughter – Fear not – Soon my brother the Monsoon Wind – Will bring your love back to you – The Dark Cloud – He will return soon’
So the Gulmohar waited – And the Cuckoo hidden in her branches called – Coo-oo Coo-oo – Autumn, Winter, Spring – One by one they came and to the Gulmohar’s heart laid claim. But to each in turn she said, ‘To my love the Dark Cloud – Only to him do I belong’
And then the mighty Summer arrived. He saw the lovely Gulmohar, her ornaments flaming red, her dress tender green. Burning molten golden heat, with imperious voice he said to the Gulmohar that to him she must belong. But she spurned his advances with her angry branches – ‘To my love the Dark Cloud – Only to him do I belong’ – She cried.
But he laughed a cruel laugh and said no puny cloud could withstand his summer heat. ‘Come ignorant girl’ – He said, ‘Be mine’.
She ignored him. She rebuffed him. He burned hot rage. Red fire he blazed. He lashed her with choking dust-laden winds. Tore into her with his searing power. Possessed her against her will.
She cried and she tried to break free from the cruel tyrant’s scorching grip. Her lovely limbs tearing, breaking, flying in the hot winds. But he held her fast in his relentless grasp and there she lay sobbing bitter tears. Her leaves shedding. Her flowers withering.
To the Earth, her mother, she cried, ‘O Mother – All is lost – My beauty the Summer has shorn’
Her mother replied, ‘Fret not dear daughter – Fear not – For strong you must be – And withstand the Summer’s heat – Soon the Dark Cloud – He will come – And set you free – And again beautiful you will be – Be strong’
So the Gulmohar, she blazed blood red again, and defied she the Summer’s smouldering heat.
And she waited – And the Cuckoo hidden in her branches called – Coo-oo Coo-oo – In the dry forest air. Day passed into night. Night into day. But her love the Dark Cloud, he did not return.
The Dark Cloud, he roamed, he roved. He drifted, circled, soared. Over mountain over river. Across seas over fields. In alien lands he sought alien loves. He blew his moisture
laden breath through other green leaves. And intertwined he lay in the arms of other branches. But to no avail. The Gulmohar shimmering green, her ornaments flaming red, he could not forget.
To his friend the Monsoon Wind he said, ‘Weary am I of wandering – Disenchanted am I of drifting – Through these foreign skies – And alien lands – No other has the flaming splendour – Of my lovely Gulmohar – Will you my friend – To her take me back?’
So he returned to the land where dwelt his Gulmohar. To see the Earth prostrate under the cruel Sun. Her fertile soil scorched in his fearsome heat. And his lovely Gulmohar silent in his burning grip. Her flowers blazing defiant blood red. The Cuckoo hidden in her branches calling plaintively – Coo-oo Coo-oo –
The Cloud, rumbling black thunder. Flashing blue lightning anger. Swirling billowing storming. Tearing into the Summer. Wrenching him away from his love. Pouring sheets of torrential rain. Forcing him to flee.
Then great rejoicing was there in the land where the Gulmohar dwelt. The Dark Cloud had brought back life and rain to the arid plains. Rivers swelled and flowed swift and fast. And the drenched Earth burst forth again fertile and green.
And the Gulmohar erupted in passionate flames. Swinging her branches to and fro in joyful gladness. Bursting with love’s madness. Clasping her thundering rumbling Dark Cloud flashing blue lightning close to her heaving breast. Together they played the game of love.
(The beautiful Gulmohar, also called the "Flame of the Forest", is a common tree that grows all over India. It’s distinct red flowers blaze almost all year round. And of course who hasn’t heard of the famous monsoon season of our part of the world)
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