Short Story
The Tree-Man
1
The stretched grilled veranda along the bedroom was so narrow that one would only use it for dry clothes or mature pickles. Yet the young bride from the second floor would come to the veranda whenever she could. There would be only buildings to stare at though some covering the mighty sky; others reducing their distance with the sky with every opportunity, enforcing a chaotic surrounding. The only saving grace was the plot next to theirs, where no building was yet to be built. It had a long tin-shed house where several families lived. The place also contained three trees within its boundary a date-palm tree, a guava tree and a boroi tree. Three delightful trees and a piece of the sky that was all that would bring the girl to the veranda. Holding on to the grill, she would look like a bird inside a cage, or the way a prisoner in jail would look like. She had a bit more liking for the date-palm tree, just high enough to surpass the second floor maybe because it was closer to her. The tree had grown quite a bit in the past one year. She had never seen a date-palm tree so closely before she came to Dhaka. She would feel very close to the tree with so many thorns. How beautiful its greenish leaves were! People avoided the tree because of the thorns, but the birds never cared! They would just dance around its boughs all day long. At times she would turn off the bedroom lights and come to stand on the veranda holding the grill. Sometimes she used to lean against the wall and stare at the beauty of the sky, the stars and of the darkness beyond the tree. She would keep thinking keep talking her only listener being the date-palm tree. It would make her feel like the tree was listening to every word she said with endless interest; it also stirred its leaves in consent to whatever she had to say. It even would get agitated as tears rolled down her cheeks. The tree stirred its leaves as if to silently calm her, soothe her. She loved all these, because no one else used to talk to her that way. There was not a single person in the city with whom she could talk her heart out. She often wondered if there was anyone left in the whole world maybe not. But once there was. He had beautiful eyes just as Jasimuddin had pictured Saju. Yet, she had named her 'tree-man'! She had failed to hold on to that 'tree-man' of hers because she did not know how to hold on to someone much loved. Later she had come to know that he was lost forever as they could not be together. She also came to know where he had gone. But as time went along, she realized that someone's absence does not stop life from rolling on despite minor tumbles - it has its own pace. Nothing changed since the departure of the tree-man. Only the girl never again touched mangoes, her favorite fruit. Everyone would say that they had never seen a person, except her, who did not like mangoes. But they barely knew - it was not about dislike, it was the pangs, grumble and guilt that hurt her deep within. Since then she has loved the trees like her close ones. Of course the fact that she did not have many to call her own in the packed city did not give her much of an option. There was no one close to her. There were some relatives living here and there; but none of them she could call her very own. Her husband was no blood relation to her either. Often she wondered why no chemistry worked out between them. She brainstormed a lot of probable answers to that question as well, but she never ticked any of those to get to a conclusion. Once there was a grave probability of her being thrown out of her home when news of the tree-man's departure --- he had hanged himself by a mango tree --- had reached this city. But then it took a lot of convincing from her father to reassure her husband, which also included vows, such as none of her relatives would ever visit her again. That might have been one of the correct answers, but she could not be sure whether it was the right one or not. From then on, those trees had been everything to her friends, relatives and companions. She would speak to them throughout day. But her chatting days were about to end. One morning she found some people working with some long iron pipes in front of that tin-shed house which, she later came to know, was a soil test. That meant there would be yet another building. She feared the worst for the trees. Since that day she used to wake up and sleep with suffocating pain. She would talk even more with the trees. She used to observe them more closely. She would especially talk to the date-palm tree just as she used to with her tree-man years ago. The date-palm tree had become the epitome of the tree-man a silent but attentive listener, stirring its leaves at times as if to calm her down but no one ever knew that that used to be the most soothing time for the girl. A month passed. One day she found the dwellers of the tin-shed house leaving with all their possessions. The next day the labourers came and started bringing the house down. They cut down some boughs of the guava and boroi trees to make their job easier. The girl was clearly agitated. Terrible noise, dust, obscene jokes from the young labourers, nothing could stop her from coming to the veranda time and again. She could feel the date-palm tree trying to tell her, "Why are you so stressed? I'm fine, I'm still here, calm down, go inside." One day the girl asked the labour contractor, "Will you cut down the date-palm tree as well? Can't you spare this one?" The contractor had replied, "Might not be possible, but I'll try." The gentleman had tried. Though the tin-shed had vanished, the date-palm tree was still standing. Perhaps the tree could understand how relieved the girl had felt thinking she had been able to save it. It was as if she had saved her tree-man, never to lose him again. But her anxiety was back once the digging started for laying the foundation of the building. A drain was closing in towards the date-palm. The girl did not know what to do just as she could not several years back when she was being married off. She just gazed at the labourers working relentlessly. Once, when the contractor saw her, he said, "Sorry, we couldn't save the date-palm tree." The girl did not say a thing. She just came inside and closed the door. Next morning as her husband left, she opened the door and came to the veranda again, holding her breath. The date-palm was still standing there, but without half of its roots. The drain had crossed past it. The tree was now looking like a one-footed man trying to keep his balance without crutches. Its leaves were looking very pale. As the girl stood there, maybe the tree tried to soothe her with the same words she had been told a few years back, "Why are you sad? There is not much we can do. Try to be realistic, that will help. Just remember, everyone does not get what he wants." The girl came inside and shut the door. For the rest of the day she did her household chores like a flawless machine. In the late afternoon she opened the door again only to find the date-palm tree was not there. The place was full of emptiness. As she looked alongside the wall, there she found him. The tree was lying there, sliced into pieces. The leaves were kept nearby. From that day on, no one saw the girl opening that door again. Neither did the curtains move ever again. Even though her husband would tell her to open the door, she would answer, "The labourers speak dirty. Also a lot of dust comes in." 2.
Afterwards, the girl used to lie on her bed in between her household work every now and then. There was none to judge whether the sight of a grown-up girl's lying on the bed looked good or obscene. Actually there was someone - the ages-old long-worn 56 inches' National fan was there to watch her. They both used to watch each other. Truth is, the girl had fallen in love with the fan itself. Anyone who falls in love once might do so again. And looking at the surroundings, the only live object for the girl was the fan. It often seemed to her that actually the fan was in love with her. Because there was nothing else left in the entire universe that would soothe her with soft breeze or make terrible sounds, perhaps asking her to talk about her grief. That much virtue was good enough to be chosen as her lover. What else can one ask for in one lifetime? The girl used to feel full of life whenever she looked at the fan. For her the machine was no less than a man. A man has two arms to embrace his beloved, whereas the fan with its three arms spreads love and care incessantly. She knew that her husband and the rest of the things in the house were actually inert. The TV can only tire people talking all day, it has no interest or time to listen to what others have to say. It has no traits of a lover; rather at best it can be compared with a canvasser. She never liked this talkative machine; her three-armed fan was far better as a lover. She used to have various chats with the fan. As it happens to most lovers, their conversation never carried much of a meaning. For example, one day the girl was telling the fan, "You know, I had a tree-man who never came to me, neither allowed me to go to him. But he hanged himself by a mango tree! How cruel! Wouldn't I go with him if he had asked? But he went away alone! But know what? If you love someone, you must let the person know about it, respond to his call for love. Either you have to be responsive or you have to ask for it yourself. You see, you are not a mango-tree, you're a fan. Yet I love you, I can come to you any time you want. I can surrender myself to you. I have plenty of what is necessary to go to you sarees, ornas; there's a table in this room as well. What do you say, should I come to you?" Then one warm afternoon while enjoying the gentle breeze, the girl asked the fan, "Now tell me, will you come to me, or should I come to you?" She never knew when she was calmed by the touch of love and had fallen asleep. The fan perhaps was truly in love with the girl. That is why, unlike her human or tree lovers, it could not keep itself away from her. Announcing its immortal love, it had come down on her with a terrible sound, kept its head on her bosom like a true lover. And for the first time the girl could not deny the love that came her way; she accepted it with love in return. 3.
On that evening, when the landlord returned home, none opened the door for him. The neighbours told him of a dreadful sound which some of them had heard in the afternoon. Some of them had gone in, breaking down the door. They described the love scene. According to them, the fan was lying right by her side after thrashing her bosom. Still there was no expression of pain in her face. Though there were tear marks in the eyes, there was the joy of love deep inside her mind for sure. Otherwise how could there be such a divine smile all over her face?
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