The King of Trees
The streets are bustling with activity by the time my morning walks in the neighborhood park end. Traffic is whizzing by, school children are rushing, bus-stops are full of people in a hurry to get to work, and construction activity on the metro has restarted: all of which combine to make my trip back a little more chaotic. It is hotter too, and the roadside trees have been trimmed too drastically to offer any shade. Fortunately, by now the gates on either side of the temple grounds are open, and offer me a short cut, and a tranquil haven away from the commotion outside. Both the temperature and the noise levels dip down as I step in through the gates. It is quiet, all that can be heard is the murmur of prayers by a few worshippers, and the path between the two temple structures is shaded by two large trees, one of which is a Peepal.
I catch myself with that sentence, for the Peepal is not separate from the temple; for what is a temple without a Peepal tree? It is as much the focus of worship as anything within the temple buildings. People light lamps below, tie strings around the massive girth of its trunk, and circle it in prayer. Sometimes these trees are planted in temples and monasteries, and sometimes temples and monasteries have sprung up around them.
The Peepal is a venerable tree, carrying the weight of so many religious associations, as implied in its Latin name, Ficus religiosa. It is sacred to Hindus. For when Krishna chooses to describe his splendor and magnificence, saying amongst other things, that he was Among immovable things, the Himalayas; Among words, the one syllable “OM,” he also chose to say, “Among all the trees, I am the Asvattha (another name for the Peepal),” thereby consecrating it as the most sacred of trees. In the language that I speak at home, Tamil, it is called Arasa Maram (King of Trees).
It is sacred to Buddhists, as the tree under which a Prince born to a life of privilege, meditated on the truths behind human suffering. His resolve to teach these Four Noble Truths to the world, and future generations of followers, took not only Buddhism all over Asia, but also the Peepal tree. While other monks are said to have attained enlightenment under other trees, it was that original Peepal in Bodh Gaya under which the Buddha meditated that came to be forever associated with Buddhism, and was named the Bodhi (enlightenment) tree. Saplings from that Bodhi made the trip to several countries, most famously to Sri Lanka, where one survives as the oldest living planted tree in the world, a couple of thousand years old.
And this giant among trees bears the weight of that sanctity so well. Its broad trunk can grow almost ten feet wide, and appears to be the result of numerous trunks fused together to create one, as if all the neighboring trees were somehow attracted to this spot and merged in their desire to create one perfect tree. That trunk flares as it reaches the ground, giving but a hint of the network below: a system of roots that can get quite aggressive, choking things that come their way. It is these roots that give credence to the superstition that it is bad luck to buy a house with a Peepal tree growing nearby. In their search for water, the roots have the capacity to clog drains, and crack the foundations of the house.
Just as the trunk flares at the ground, so it flares to reach the sky, creating a broad canopy, for a whole village to gather under: a canopy formed by the most perfectly formed leaves. The leaves start out in shades of yellow and pink, maturing to a glossy green, with clear white veins. Each leaf is heart-shaped with a long, slightly curved tip, that give it a look of elegance with just a touch of insouciance. It is in search of that flawless shape that I scan the grounds each morning, rushing off home to soak it in water each time I am lucky enough to find one, since it is one of the few leaves that skeletonize so well. Usually I am too late; the path has been swept clean. That gives me time to pause and look at the majesty of this tree, and wonder what came first, the little temple to one side, that has been here since my childhood, or the tree. Either way, it is capable of outliving the temple structures that now flank it, if only we let it be. It is said that one of the ancient Hindu texts, the Skanda Purana, predicts hell as the ultimate destination for someone who cuts the Peepal tree, and I hope that the message is passed on to whoever thinks of removing it.
Not just within the temple grounds, but almost wherever I go, I see these trees all around me. Some were planted years ago, and are still thriving. Others probably popped up on their own, for the Ficus is a famously opportunistic genus of plants; seeds lodging within other trees, setting out roots and finally strangling the host tree. Sacred, magnificent, and even somewhat scary: yet the Peepal that I am looking at today is none of these. It is growing within a crack in the curb that surrounds the park, possibly having started its life out as most Peepals do, a seed that found its way into and germinated within the minutest of cracks, a plant that survived as an epiphyte deriving nourishment from air, and now, waiting to spring forth and explore. It is small, with scraggly leaves, and clearly struggling.
It could very well crack the sidewalk and move on, destroying the road and even buildings that stand in its way. This little tree however, will probably not have that opportunity. Sooner or later, it will be pulled out before it has the chance to explore. I continue to stare at it each time I pass it by; for now, it is a gentle reminder that giants lurk everywhere; only some are allowed to set roots, and repay with shade; others are pulled out before they even have a chance to step out.
