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Perfect Strangers- Under the Banyan Tree
(Five years ago…)
The newest addition to the place was- Mona. At first nobody seemed to have noticed her with her average-looking face and her average-looking locks as she innocuously started in a small rental property (which she would soon buy) on the cobblestone footpaths which knew each and every person living in that quaint small town called Blombridgeshire. In those days, the town indeed really small in comparison to the busting central city in the same state, a factor that continued to diminish the town’s personal business and which all residents of the town magnanimously continued to ignore since nobody in Blomsbridgeshire really wanted a tussle with the bigger city folks, and hence the law.
Mona was Indian by birth but this small town was more cosmopolitan than she could have believed upon hearsay. There were three small temples in the town and a local shivling under a banyan tree estimated to be at least five hundred years old. Every time she passed by the banyan tree with its huge roots, someone would be praying in front of the shivling or offering milk to the same. One day, she gathered the courage and went up to an Indian-looking passer-by who had stopped under the banyan tree.
“Good morning. How do you do?” she started politely, remembering the English traditions of greeting.
“Oh, good morning, lady.” The lady replied and Mona realized with a flip in her stomach, from her accent and tone that she was Indian herself too.
“I was wondering if you knew anything about this shivling. I pass by it every day and it seems to carry quite some meaning for the local folks here.”
“This one? I really don’t know but some say it was initiated there to curb the curse of the banyan tree. Apparently, some dark event happened many years ago in this town- by now- you must have known how peaceful this place is- and it was even more back then. People were very shook- it involved some kind of murder and the body was left hanging on this tree- you know, and everyone avoided this spot. A man seeing the events unfold, decided to bring back the holiness of the tree and started praying regularly in front of it. Gradually, his once-suspicious audience began warming up to his tapasya and began to pray with him on the ground beside him where the overarching roots of the banyan tree had penetrated into the soft muddy soil. In his ripe old age, the man now turned into a wise sage with a mind that had seen beyond the realms of this world decided to open up a private spiritual club. It was kinda his passion project in simple words, and all his devoted followers, or audience whatever you want to call them, made it happen, funding the beginnings of the club from their own pocket. The club still holds strong today, as you can guess, no self-initiated place stays up unless there are active willing individuals giving life to it. The sage passed away peacefully after a few years, knowing that his life was complete in the fullest sense of the word and this shivling was constructed under the tree, as per his last will, for his Lord Shiva whom he had prayed to all these years of his life. The curse of the banyan tree was no more and the secret Blomsbridgeshire club continued to be hosted through the years every weekend, in his memory.”
That was much more than what Mona had expected from a complete stranger. Not one used to overshare information while peculiarly being hardwired to do so, this stranger lady’s long talk seemed to be almost reminiscent of her own personal catharsis. Maybe the folks of this town didn’t operate like the supercilious people of her former city residence. Every place has its dynamics, in any case.
“Thank you so much. May I ask what your name is? Mine’s Mona, I’ve newly shifted here,” Mona smartly reached out and shook her hand, feeling a sense of belonging with the small lady in front of her. “Are you part of this club? What happens there on weekends? How can I join it?”
The lady laughed, a hint of nervousness in her tone. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose what happens- I told you it’s supposed to be a private club. Did you have a book reader’s club back in your schooldays? It’s a bit like that. I guess the only way you can find out is by being a part of it. A very random advice I can give you, as a writer in the club is, keep thinking. And keep writing whatever you think. That’s what he told his followers- Think. Because thinking keeps the Mind-eye open. The third eye, if you may. The sixth sense. The emotionally attuned being is one who thinks. And writes, whatsoever you may think of. Remember what Descartes said... “I think, therefore I am”.”
She paused. “Mona-was it? Your name? I’m Anisri by the way. Anglo-Indian.”
“And you came back to- like- your ancestral country?”
Anisri smiled. “I’m only here for an affordable stay while I work for my job in that big city. The one that’s two hours away from here. Thank god there are two buses along the route. Don’t you work anywhere? I mean you just moved in but you will eventually, right?”
“Yeah, I work in a café here. My shifts haven’t started yet, but it’s supposed to be like, a nice six months stretch followed by one month off, and then continue..”
“Is it enough though?” Anisri asked curiously. “I guess you have a lot of generational wealth. To be moving in for such a small job like that.”
“Maybe.”
“Sorry,” Anisri said quickly. “I mean, do whatever you want obviously.”
“Can you help me in the process?”
“Sure.”
© adrija.g
The newest addition to the place was- Mona. At first nobody seemed to have noticed her with her average-looking face and her average-looking locks as she innocuously started in a small rental property (which she would soon buy) on the cobblestone footpaths which knew each and every person living in that quaint small town called Blombridgeshire. In those days, the town indeed really small in comparison to the busting central city in the same state, a factor that continued to diminish the town’s personal business and which all residents of the town magnanimously continued to ignore since nobody in Blomsbridgeshire really wanted a tussle with the bigger city folks, and hence the law.
Mona was Indian by birth but this small town was more cosmopolitan than she could have believed upon hearsay. There were three small temples in the town and a local shivling under a banyan tree estimated to be at least five hundred years old. Every time she passed by the banyan tree with its huge roots, someone would be praying in front of the shivling or offering milk to the same. One day, she gathered the courage and went up to an Indian-looking passer-by who had stopped under the banyan tree.
“Good morning. How do you do?” she started politely, remembering the English traditions of greeting.
“Oh, good morning, lady.” The lady replied and Mona realized with a flip in her stomach, from her accent and tone that she was Indian herself too.
“I was wondering if you knew anything about this shivling. I pass by it every day and it seems to carry quite some meaning for the local folks here.”
“This one? I really don’t know but some say it was initiated there to curb the curse of the banyan tree. Apparently, some dark event happened many years ago in this town- by now- you must have known how peaceful this place is- and it was even more back then. People were very shook- it involved some kind of murder and the body was left hanging on this tree- you know, and everyone avoided this spot. A man seeing the events unfold, decided to bring back the holiness of the tree and started praying regularly in front of it. Gradually, his once-suspicious audience began warming up to his tapasya and began to pray with him on the ground beside him where the overarching roots of the banyan tree had penetrated into the soft muddy soil. In his ripe old age, the man now turned into a wise sage with a mind that had seen beyond the realms of this world decided to open up a private spiritual club. It was kinda his passion project in simple words, and all his devoted followers, or audience whatever you want to call them, made it happen, funding the beginnings of the club from their own pocket. The club still holds strong today, as you can guess, no self-initiated place stays up unless there are active willing individuals giving life to it. The sage passed away peacefully after a few years, knowing that his life was complete in the fullest sense of the word and this shivling was constructed under the tree, as per his last will, for his Lord Shiva whom he had prayed to all these years of his life. The curse of the banyan tree was no more and the secret Blomsbridgeshire club continued to be hosted through the years every weekend, in his memory.”
That was much more than what Mona had expected from a complete stranger. Not one used to overshare information while peculiarly being hardwired to do so, this stranger lady’s long talk seemed to be almost reminiscent of her own personal catharsis. Maybe the folks of this town didn’t operate like the supercilious people of her former city residence. Every place has its dynamics, in any case.
“Thank you so much. May I ask what your name is? Mine’s Mona, I’ve newly shifted here,” Mona smartly reached out and shook her hand, feeling a sense of belonging with the small lady in front of her. “Are you part of this club? What happens there on weekends? How can I join it?”
The lady laughed, a hint of nervousness in her tone. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose what happens- I told you it’s supposed to be a private club. Did you have a book reader’s club back in your schooldays? It’s a bit like that. I guess the only way you can find out is by being a part of it. A very random advice I can give you, as a writer in the club is, keep thinking. And keep writing whatever you think. That’s what he told his followers- Think. Because thinking keeps the Mind-eye open. The third eye, if you may. The sixth sense. The emotionally attuned being is one who thinks. And writes, whatsoever you may think of. Remember what Descartes said... “I think, therefore I am”.”
She paused. “Mona-was it? Your name? I’m Anisri by the way. Anglo-Indian.”
“And you came back to- like- your ancestral country?”
Anisri smiled. “I’m only here for an affordable stay while I work for my job in that big city. The one that’s two hours away from here. Thank god there are two buses along the route. Don’t you work anywhere? I mean you just moved in but you will eventually, right?”
“Yeah, I work in a café here. My shifts haven’t started yet, but it’s supposed to be like, a nice six months stretch followed by one month off, and then continue..”
“Is it enough though?” Anisri asked curiously. “I guess you have a lot of generational wealth. To be moving in for such a small job like that.”
“Maybe.”
“Sorry,” Anisri said quickly. “I mean, do whatever you want obviously.”
“Can you help me in the process?”
“Sure.”
© adrija.g
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