The Nervous Banyan tree

Thabir was nervous like a little mouse hiding behind the cupboard to escape at the first opportunity of the prying eyes. Thabir’s problem was that he was asked by his teacher to meet him in the staff room during tea break. “What did I do now? Only last week I was spanked for breaking three pencils of the skinny pencil thin fellow Phanish. Well ! it was not my fault. He called me names, teased me for stammering in the class and all others joined him. And now what! Is the revenge not over yet”, thought poor Thabir, an orphan taken care by his poor grandmother. Only Father Paul was kind to him and charged no fees as well as provided a little room in the school compound to stay along with the school watchman Zakir Bhai.

Mr. Mani, his class teacher came out of the staff room with a cup in one hand , a thin biscuit and glasses as big as owl eyes dangling  precariously on his  nose. He sized Tabhir from top to bottom, and with his usual nervous cough spoke to Thabir. “Hello Young man I want you to play a role on School Foundation Day play”.

“ Did I hear right! Play … role… Foundation day… Na I am dreaming", thought Thabir. In entire school he was famous for his stammer which appeared more in front of teachers, girls and of course heartless classmates like Phanish. He gave a quizzical look and immediately the wise owl Mr. Mani reiterated that indeed he wanted Thabir to participate in the school Play. 

“ No dialogues, no action, all you have to do is  stand in a corner”, said Mr. Mani. 

Thabir was puzzled again. Before he could struggle to say ,the teacher lifted his palm like a traffic policeman indicating to stop and spoke “ You have to be a big banyan tree. See you are tall, plump, strong hands and legs … so I feel this role would suit you the best.

Thabir was confident of his energy levels. He was used to standing outside the class many a times for either not doing the homework or failing to answer a question.  This role was a God sent opportunity for him. At least for some time he need not worry about completing his homework or be embarrassed while answering in the class and others giggling behind his back and teacher pretending to be patient to hear his answer.

Thabir belonged to the eight grade. The entire class was under the misconception of being actors worthy of nothing less than an Oscar, singers so melodious that only insensitive ears could tolerate the noise and  poets, would leave any one wondering how to correlate the images. The greatest tragedy of humans is the misconception each one of us suffers from. “Each feels that he or she is the only beautiful, intelligent, and talented in the sea of people. The mirror always compliments for being the fairest in the universe. No one thinks he or she is ugly, dumb or good for nothing. Of course the good Lord created everyone and he cannot be wrong. Well the same philosophy ran through class eight students.

Some of the classic examples of Thabir’s classmates was Mira, the dusky looking girl with big fawn eyes. She had the such a dramatic side to her personality that even the most emotional less  Math’s teacher was more than willing to do her homework and the Science teacher would draw all the diagrams for her. But the reality was, Mira would spend all her time standing in front of the Mirror and practice dialogue after dialogue from the most popular movies. When all time  was wasted,  the only option was to act a pathetic role of how she had to take care of her ailing mother, or how she risked her life trying to save the neighbors’ dog( in reality she always loved to kick the poor beast). The height of her acting skill was how she sacrificed her lunch for the sake of her classmate for the last three days.

 Now, the next student of this grand Class  was Bipin.  music was his passion. Like a bee in action he would always hum. In the restrooms or while taking a shower, he would be transformed into his favorite singer and when the singing started and reached a crescendo it  always ended with doors banging and classmates waiting to kick him the moment he stepped out. The voice was so good that even the inanimate restroom fixtures refused to work on hearing the songs.  

The bard poet and writer, Fudun believed in composing poetry and no rules followed. Imagery like abstract painting was very difficult to comprehend.

One of his poem titled “ My teacher’s chair” 

 “Molded plastic, truly VIP,

 Sags under the weight of Maths,

Wish I could dance on it or stomp,

 As protest to terrible homework….”

The poems were only for special friends to read and enjoy. He knew showing his composition to any teacher would be signing his death warrant before he planned to quit the beautiful world.

But they were special since they didn’t halt while speaking !

 Thabir would practice hours together standing inside the school compound with hands stretched like an Indian Yogi. He imagined himself like the wily crane near his village pond standing on one leg patiently for the silly proud fish to show off and jump upwards and to be caught in the thin razor sharp beak. Zakir would wonder why this chit of a boy tortured himself standing long hours. Thabir would also reminisce life in his village. How he could stand long hours in the jungle where is old grandmother would gather firewood for the family, how he would stand in the long hours to get a pot of portable water from the city water tanker which visited weekly once to the village and of course the happy moments were standing under the mango tree with a friend on the shoulder to pluck the ripe mangoes. His strength was his patience and stamina which he felt helped him to get that prestigious role in the play.

Lot of rehearsals started in the school. There was a festive mood everywhere. No classes, no homework and no punishments. Teams practiced wherever they got a place. Dining hall, gym , Music room , computer lab and even the staff room became temporary stage to accommodate the artists. Music and dialogues echoed everyday in the entire campus. If anyone suffered most was the poor Banyan tree alias Thabir. He would stand in the center stage and other actors would take their sweet time to deliver their dialogues. Other actors could sit or move between the scenes but not the banyan tree. Hours of rehearsal he had to stand with outstretched hands.

No mosquito, insect or a house fly would distract his attention. Every day after rehearsal, he would massage his legs with a homemade herbal oil given by his grandma. Some nights he would be so nervous that would stand and sleep like a horse, elephant or a flamingo.

“I have to be the best banyan tree. I should prove to Mr. Mani he was right in giving me the role”, felt poor Thabir.  People now forgot his name . “Hey call the tree for rehearsal, tree stretch your hands further, come on!  tree you can’t smile, Oh tree! you better have manure let me eat the biscuits…” were some familiar taunts which Thabir happily heard every day.  

   The D day arrived. The school auditorium was brightly lit and seating arrangements were done. In the evening the parents and their guests arrived and the chief guest almost came in time. Welcome speech, introduction of guests, prize distribution and speech by all the dignitaries ended and students were anxiously waiting for the cultural events to start.

The play started. The backdrop and stage setting was like out of movies. A complete village scene and every detail was taken care like thatched roof, mud walls hut, cow dung cakes on the walls, a fodder cutting machine, a Well , earthen pots , cut outs of cows as if grazing and of course the classic live banyan tree Thabir. Other than his two hands which he lifted up, he was given additional branches made up of cardboard and attached to his waist. Laden with paper leaves and small red fruits made up of pebbles wrapped in red paper. With little finches, parrots and crows made up of cardboard sitting on the branches. Thabir’s face was covered with a mask with two holes to see and two little holes to breathe.

Acting and dialogues were appreciated. Loud applause now and then for the actors was heard. But Thabir didn’t move an inch. A funny insect crept creeping on his leg and how badly he wanted to shoo and scratch himself. But he restrained. His eyes searched for the famous person in the audience from his cardboard mask holes.

“ Please lord let me be steady and not move till I see the person. I can see Mr. Mani mumbling the dialogues, music teacher playing the back score, look at Mira , her beautiful fingers caressing my branches. But let me be still. I can’t disappoint my favorite person.

The play was almost coming to an end. Standing twenty minutes motionless was worth when he saw through the chinks his old grandmother, who walked around ten miles to witness her grandchild’s play. She was proud that after all he had  inherited her qualities like the way she spent hours together standing in the  rice field to shoo away the sparrows during harvest time. Fetch water from the far away stream, collect huge bundle of dry firewood for cooking. Squat long hours on her bony legs to cut grass for her goat Misri and Radha, her brown cow. She boldly walked on the stage before the curtain dropped and hugged the tree kissing the cardboard face with tears flowing out of the chinks of the holes like rains flowing on to the branches to reach the parched earth.