The love tree of Hibiscus rose…

The incidence I am going to relate is somewhat of an old period of time. But it seems to me, as if, it,s an incidence that can occur at any time. The story goes back to the time, when I happened to construct my house, in a newly developing  sub urban area of the town. As it often happens, with the construction of a new house, as a fresh owner of the house, a surge to ornate the lawn or small garden of the house with various species of flowery plants takes you in the grip. So infested with the same feeling,  I bought  some some plants from the local nursery. Further, the rest of the supply of plants as per the common tendency of middle class dwellers of Indian society, I adhered to the old habit.

                                     The habit of we Indians

For that, I got inclined  to borrow some plants or twigs of flowery plants from other people in the vicinity, be they in my acquaintance or stranger to me. This kind of habit is innate in us Indians. Apart from this , the colony where I erected the house was a small colony. Hardly, it contained about twenty five small pieces of plot for the purpose. Still, the good number of them were still vacant, and, waiting to get houses raised upon them. Hence, I used to be on my routine evening walk for collection of plants as freebie. Along with, the another purpose to take round of adjoining colonies, so I may be acquainted properly with passages of the neighboring colonies.

                       Curiosity about a specific shrub

 These colonies were somewhat old settlement, than my colony. This was obvious, by glancing at grown up trees and plants stood inside lawns or boundary walls. There in one colony, god knows why a shrub like tree  of hibiscus rose that stood just beside the gate. This tree had its location, out of the house near the boundary wall. This hibiscus rode tree, ever attracted my attention and it had some reasons as well. As far as, my background of village life experiences suggested me, often the tree of hibiscus rose does not survive for such a long time. It hardly got a life span of ten to fifteen years at the utmost, after that it withers and fell down.

By looking at the plant, on one side of the main stem a hollowness in decaying form was ostensible. But despite of that, it blossomed with paucity of flowers. Tilted to one side, it stood silently as if looking around and on passers by, and releasing some goodwill massages of bygone era. The house that owned it,  too looked about thirty years older, and hibiscus tree seemed to witness that all. From inside the house wall, the prankish and marry noises of little children, engaged in gambol often filtered out onto the lane of the colony. Whenever I used to pass through this lane, a wish I cherished to meet the owner of the house, and of this old tree of hibiscus rose.

                                        The unique old man

 My this inquisitiveness may sound foolish one, but it often happens when in life something begins to look mysterious. On one evening, when I was walking past the same hibiscus rose tree, I occasioned to find an old man. He was with absolute grey hair thatched on his head. The old man, stood under the same tree, with his head upward watching absently  the tree. He watched, with a look saturated with disappointment and low spirit, at the tree. This made me stopped at once. It seemed to me that my inquisitive drive regard the tree was about to be unraveled.

I extended my pleasantries to the old man. I asked him,  for the sake of breaking the ice, ” Sir, it seems this hibiscus rose tree too fascinates you, as it fascinates me! It seems that from the beginning it has become the witness of many events?” The old gentleman gave a lugubrious smile and said, ” I had planted this tree either. I own this house son; with unbound cherishes I had planted this tree here only.” He said with a heave of sigh. His expression sounded, as if, this old gentleman has suffered from some deep tragedy. The tragedy akin to demise of some beloved one and that incidence was deeply related to this tree.

                                          The spell extricated

 This rose my inquisitiveness to newer and greater height. Perhaps, my that anxiousness old man read, as clearly written on my face. He ably grasped my inquisitiveness and said, ” it seems you are on your evening walk. I too would come along with you and narrate the story of this tree.” Then on that evening stroll he narrated the story related to the tree of Hibiscus rose tree. And then he began…….

“I constructed this house about twenty eight years ago. I was in government job and  got espoused with  a girl, I was in love with. My wife had had a deep liking for hibiscus rose. She ever said that hibiscus rose is the flower, that is wore as a sign of love. Besides, this is a pure flower offered to deities. So, just after I finished the construction of the house, I happened to plant various kinds of hibiscus rose shrubs, only this survived for so long. I feel now an affinity with it. It is in semblance with me so deeply…..lone, dejected and hopeless ….” he exhaled a long painful breath.

                                    The shocking revelations

 I was shocked, for I read his agony in sad mood, ” Oh! It seems sir, your better half is no more now?”” I tried to commiserate him. For, the echo of his narration forced me to draw such kind of sad conclusion. My this consoling  remarks made him angry, and he retorted loudly, ” Err…. that hussy !! how she can die?”  In a contemptuous tone, he continued ,” She is there alive in the house in buxom health!” This made me shrunk back in humiliation. What was all this?

But old man, in his offended mood kept on ejaculating his virulent invective, ” You see, all these women are of one and same type. They are infatuated in love till the day you get married to them. No sooner, a woman gives birth to a child and then to the next and so on. They are prone to generate and pour all love and affection to their children. You are left aside like a trash, merely you are  an earning hand of the house. Gradually, children grow up with the passing of time, and get married, and comes the next generation of grand children. This makes woman to forget everything. She gets en wrapped in the affection for the grand children. The man who is the husband, is left to stay in the asshole….”

Old man  burst out in frustration, and kept on using abusive epithets. These abusive epithets were not merely for his own woman, rather all women kind were on his radar now. Though after sometimes he concluded soberly, ” You see!  a love story is not a love story, if it transforms into a wedlock. The love theme of Legendary romantic heroes of past  are remembered only, since that reached no end. A love affair taking shape of a marriage is no love story either.”

And by going through his successful ending of love story, I was contemplating, it was rather propitious for me that my love story of bachelor life was a failure one.  further, I knew not, whether to the woman whom I married now, I was in love or not….. Penned by– Vinay Pharasi…..