Bani's Tree

Code 278.43A. That’s where ‘Lady Grace’ was, right behind the stunted tree that hit the ceiling and hid an owl in its hollow. In a ladylike fashion, Bani hopped on the plastic rocks to cross the fake river in the middle of the library. So as to not catch a whiff of stubbed cigarettes hidden in pockets of grey-lipped men in the room, Bani held her breath as she performed the difficult crossing manoeuvre.

Despite her greatest efforts, Bani never made it across to the other side. Later, on the flight, she reasoned that she was stopped so that her grandmother, Yamini Paati, could make it to the other side, the afterlife. But ‘Lady Grace’ was an English book, and Paati’s only association with English were the British colonists who owned the company her husband worked in. So, Bani couldn’t make sense of the phone call Amma (her mother) received a few hours ago when guiding her across the rocks. She didn’t understand why Amma’s footsteps stopped, why her knees convulsed, and why she looked as though a dagger had been put through her heart. 

Bani’s elder sister, Meera, was a figure of consolation. She kept hugging Amma the entire taxi ride, telling her to stay strong and know that Paati is in a better place now. But everything she said stung with guilt. Meera was the reason they didn’t go to India earlier in the summer when Paati was still alive. ‘Oh, they will ask me about how my exams went. I can’t face them,’ Meera would say dramatically. While the judgemental nature of relatives was a universally accepted truth, Meera was still the villain of the story in Bani’s mind.

Bani would never admit to herself that the real reason she wanted to go to India was not to see Paati, but that she wanted a vacation from hot and humid Singapore. She missed the trips they used to go on together as a family before their father had moved to the States to become a higher-ranked manager. He was on a flight from the States now to India and would reach the country a few hours after them.

Oh, how those few hours made Bani sweat. She had to see the icebox holding her dead grandmother’s body for longer. And while she was not in the living room, she knew her grandmother was still physically in the house, in that icebox. Bani imagined Paati’s ghost seeing all of the grief-stricken family members. She wondered if the ghost would feel any pity and jump back into the body in an attempt to make Yamini Paati come back to life again. 

But even three shocks from the medic’s defibrillator couldn’t bring Paati back to life. Her eyes had rolled to her head in her last moments as she took in her final sights from the world in this life and looked to God to take care of the afterlife that would follow. Meera explained to Bani how, as per Hindu scriptures, the body dies but the soul never dies. The soul goes on to find another body to enter and come back into this world, or it would become one with the Almighty. Bani liked the word soul a lot more than ghost – it stripped the dead of their fear-invoking natures. More scriptural information came from Bani’s cousin, Geeta, who said that there will be a ritual proceeding of thirteen days to mourn the death, with the thirteenth day being the day the soul is released for reincarnation.

‘Do you know Paati always wanted to become a cow in her next birth,’ said Bani’s Appa (father) as he tucked her into bed that night, just as neatly as he would pack a parcel to ship to the States. While Bani, Meera, and Amma had arrived at Bangalore in the wee hours of the morning, Appa had just made it before midday. The cremation rites were done soon after and Yamini Paati, who had been dressed in the most beautiful red sari and plastered in turmeric, was now just ashes of grey floating in the sea. To Bani, the whole ritual of dressing up the dead and performing ceremonial tasks on them while insects fluttered in their vicinity was a scarring reminder of how one’s awareness of life disappears with their death. She feared the day she would die - she prayed it wouldn't happen as she tried to fall asleep. 

‘Appa, have you ever been afraid of dead bodies?’ asked Bani as she cautiously investigated the darkness behind her, worried that Paati’s soul might be eavesdropping on their conversation.

‘Don’t say “dead bodies”. Say someone who is “no more”. But no, I’m not afraid anymore. I woke up next to my dead aunt one morning.’

Bani was shocked at this revelation from Appa. It seemed cruel to one day wake up, try desperately to shake someone up from their sleep, and realise they will never wake up. She turned her head one last time in the direction of the dark kitchen behind her, searching for a glimpse of Paati’s soul walking around in her tube top towel wrap just as she used to appear after her night shower.

The next morning, more rituals were performed. Bani learnt that they couldn’t cook their own food during these thirteen days, so they had an Ajji (a granny) cook it for them. They also couldn’t enter the shrine in their house. While it was customary to be in the house for the most part during these thirteen days, the solemn yet confused stares of the three children in the household as they tried to grieve a person they hardly knew was reason enough to send them out. Some distance away was a park that they were instructed by Bhargav Mama (Bani’s uncle) to go to and spend some time in. Geeta, as the eldest, was declared leader of the pack and thrust with the responsibility of the two clueless NRIs. 

'Going out alone as a group of girls in India is a mission. Do you know how many people get raped?' said Meera softly to Bani as they stepped out of the gates onto the crumbling road. Bani's eyes opened wide, filled with terror. She didn't know what rape was except that it was something horrible and wrong, and she prayed to Yamini Paati's soul to protect them on their park escapade. As they kicked the gravel, flapped away thick grey exhausts of carbon monoxide, and shooed dogs, Bani could feel Paati treading lightly behind them, directing the dust, exhausts, and dogs towards the pervert men on the streets who were gloating at the small bodies of three unarmed children.

Soon enough, the park came into view. With destination reached and everyone safe, Bani thanked Paati's soul silently. The park had a beautiful stone-pivoted seesaw emerging from the ground like newfound ruins belonging to the Chola dynasty. Behind it were swings that barefooted children swayed in while kicking sand into the air. A roundabout sat on the other end with teenagers tottering away as they tried to recover from the dizziness contracted after spinning. 

No longer having to live their NRI dreams of barefeet paradise vicariously through Geeta's pictures, Meera and Bani threw their chappals away and ran into the park, momentarily forgetting the events of yesterday. Geeta followed suit, and they all were children once again, not having to worry about age, death, or rape.

‘Come and push me Geeta!’ shouted Bani as she got on the swings first. She wanted to feel the wind in her face, pretend to touch the sky with her toes, and blur its blue with sand. Instead she saw green skies, with pockets of white and brown footpaths, just like the intricate, wide-angled view you would get of a city from an aeroplane preparing to land. On the way down, the illusion was broken when she found a big tree blocking the sky. Immediately stopping her feet before she could gain any more potential energy, Bani got off the swing and left surprised children in her wake.

Bani walked to the edge of the playground, gawking at what she later learned was a Banyan tree. Her captivation by the tree and the special connection she felt she had with it was later explained by Geeta: ‘Paati named you “Bani” after the Banyan tree.’

This was news to Bani. She had been oblivious to the larger than life tree for all of her eleven years when it had been the reason for her name; her identity. When Bani tried to get closer to the tree, she was told by Geeta to back off as the sun was setting, which was when ghosts inhabited the Banyan tree. And so, Bani learnt that she had been named after not just a majestic lioness-like tree that held the first tangible links between herself and Paati, but also that the tree housed souls who have not been paying their rents (since in Bani’s head, she was obviously the owner of the eponymous tree). 

When the three musketeers got back home, Bani was bubbling with questions to ask her parents, except that both had gone out to run some ceremony-related errands. So she slept hungry that night, with a plate full of unanswered questions that she had to cast aside for the morning.

Unfortunately for Bani, there was an onslaught of relatives in the morning, and in the hustle and bustle of condolences, Bani couldn’t find time alone with either of her parents. Apparently they weren’t allowed to go to anyone else’s house during the thirteen days, but relatives and friends could visit them, as if her family’s impurity wasn’t contagious then. But being aware of the sensitive situation she was in, Bani waited. Her patience was rewarded later in the afternoon when Amma was asked to meet the milkman near the park to settle some finances. Followed by a loud declaration of “I’ll come with you!” came Bani, running to the front door and nimbly slipping on her chappals to follow Amma. Meera and Geeta giggled, well aware of Bani’s real reason for following her mother to the park. 

Bani remained silent for the entirety of the walk to the park, wondering which question to ask first. At the sight of the Banyan tree, she forgot all her questions. It looked grander today than it did yesterday, with the sun shedding light on it in the perfect spots to give it a rose-coloured tint and a touch of wistfulness. She also noticed a small congregation at the bottom of the tree who had decided to become part of its intricate design. Bani had found a starting point to what would be the “Banyan tree and Bani” conversation.

‘Amma, who are those people under that big tree over there?’ Bani asked in a pretentiously innocent voice.

‘I think it’s the Panchayat,’ replied Amma, handing over the last few paisas to the milkman.

‘Who is the Panchayat?’

‘A council that takes care of the village. They must be from the one  just a few kilometers away.’

‘And they always hold their meetings under the Banyan tree?’

‘Yes, they usually hold their meetings under such trees. It is a very sacred tree, which is why there is a temple just around the corner. It was also a Banyan tree under which Buddha attained enlightenment.’

This was a wave of information that Bani hadn’t seen coming. She was more enamoured than ever with the idea of the Banyan tree. She proceeded to start making the links with herself. ‘Geeta was telling me that I was named after the Banyan tree?’

‘Yes, you were. Paati and I spent a lot of time under the tree and when you were born, she wanted to remember all our times there by naming you after it,’ replied Amma, her eyes slowly welling with tears.

‘Why was Meera Akka not named Bani? Since she was born first.’

‘That is because Paati liked Meerabai a lot, so she decided to name her Meera.’

In Bani’s head, the information translated to her being the chosen one. The one who would share a name with a Banyan tree. A big, majestic tree. An office for meetings in the mornings. A hotel for tired souls in the evenings. 

‘Can we go closer to the tree?’ asked Bani, her pretentious innocence returning.

‘Not now, it is getting dark - you should not be under a Banyan tree after sunset. Maybe tomorrow.’

So, Amma knew the “Do not go under a Banyan tree after sunset” rule. But tomorrow meant hope. Bani wondered whether she could catch Paati’s soul if she timed her visits to the Banyan tree just at the turning of the hot afternoon sun to the glowing, setting sun. 

And so an entire sequence was schemed and put into action during the next couple of days. Bani would get Geeta and Meera to accompany her to the park just before sunset. While they were too engrossed being grown-ups and mingling with other kids in the park, Bani would sneak off to the Banyan tree and walk around it as she did some soul-searching. She had many questions to ask Paati - How was the afterlife? Did she see all of them at her cremation? Did she try jumping back into the body? Does she miss all of them just as much as they miss her? Does she really want to reincarnate as a cow?

Bani had memorised Yamini Paati’s funeral portrait - her dimmed eyes, elephant-like nose, wrinkly chin, neatly oiled and pulled-back grey hair, and the gently positioned diamond jewellery on her nose and ears. But no Yamini Paati appeared under the Banyan tree. There were only juice junkies and middle-aged temple visitors resting in its shade.

When Geeta got her periods, no one was allowed to go near her for three days, which meant that Bani wasn’t able to go to the Banyan tree for three days. According to Bhargav Mama, Geeta was impure during this time, which made no sense to Bani since the entire family was considered impure during these thirteen days anyway. 

On the twelfth day, Geeta was finally declared pure, but the house was busy  again with the visit of a family friend. The sun had already set, and Bani knew there was no one she could convince to come along with her to the park at this hour. Desperate to talk to Paati at least once and make up for all the missed conversations of the past eleven years, Bani mustered all the courage she had to go on a solo mission, thrusting the faith of her safety in Paati’s lingering soul. Masked by the tears and sheer amount of people in the house, Bani managed to get away unnoticed.

She reached the Banyan tree, which towered in the darkness, the fluorescent light cast on it by the street lamps giving it a murky aura and hinting at the presence of wandering souls. Bani would have been scared, but the urgency of needing to meet Paati filled the hollow in her stomach and made her do three full revolutions around the Banyan tree.

There was still no Yamini Paati. In fact, there was nobody under the Banyan tree. Exhausted and devastated, Bani sat down in the spot where the Panchayat meeting was held and began to incessantly sob. With her eyes blurred by tears, Bani didn’t sense the impending doom approaching her way.

‘Bani, what on earth are you doing over here alone?’

Bani could recognise that voice anywhere. She frantically rubbed the tears and tried to fix her contorted face.

‘If you wanted to cry, you could have gone to the terrace and cried. I told you not to come here after sunset, and you go and do exactly that,’ Amma screamed. Bani would have defended herself, but the lump in her throat didn’t allow any words to come out. 

‘Thank God Meera told me about your new-found obsession with the Banyan tree, so I had some idea where to go to find you. Just because it is where you got your name from doesn’t mean you go to it in your hour of distress. Do you know what could have happened if I didn’t follow you soon enough? I can’t lose any more people I love.’

The last words came out in such a rush that Amma couldn’t catch herself before she said it. It wasn’t like Amma to show a gaping wound of loss, one that Bani realised wouldn’t heal for a long time. As Amma stood panting and trying to recover from what she had just said, a tense silence resounded off the barks of the banyan tree and into the dark night. 

‘I only came because you all said there were ghosts here after sunset, and so Paati’s soul might have been here. I wanted to speak to her Amma - I have never spoken to her properly before,’ said Bani, finally finding her tongue.

The raw honesty in Bani’s words was the antibiotic Amma knew she never needed. ‘I’m sorry kanna,’ she said before sitting down and hugging Bani, who also managed to squeeze out an “I’m sorry too” back to Amma while flooded in tears. Yamini Paati’s soul sat on the highest branch of the tree, close to the stars, looking down at mother and daughter lovingly. In her death, she had taught the importance of life.

The following year was an exciting one. Bani’s adopted cow, named Yamini of course, was going to be giving birth soon, and Bani couldn’t wait to meet both the mother and child. ‘Since the cow is Paati, the newborn calf is going to be your sibling Amma,’ said a thrilled Bani. Amma chuckled. On the taxi ride to the goshala, Bani waved a big hello to the present-day residing souls on the Banyan tree. They all waved back.