SABITRI Jana Shannigrahi
Medinipur, West Bengal
I was growing
with dreams of a long life,
by the roadside, a couple had planted me.
In the burning summer mornings,
they would bring a little bottle of water
and pour it at my feet.
I shimmered and grew,
with slender arms and widening limbs,
I swayed with joy.
Passers-by waited,
“When will she grow tall?”
They stroked my body with care.
I must have been around two years old,
my body grew heavier—
ignoring the cruel sun, I stood strong.
I turned colourful—every limb.
Bees and butterflies circled round,
feeding themselves from my blooms.
At noon, women with sickles—
would sit on my lap, dozing.
What peace!! I was their shelter.
One day, a vehicle came,
stopped beside me, brought out tape
and measured the road.
By then, I was in full youth,
on my branches—round and full—
countless children waited to be born.
I was filled with joy,
swaying in the breeze,
bathed by the rain-washed dawn.
I didn’t realize,
this joy had just a few days left,
a beastly trunk had arrived.
With its claw,
it tore me from the ground
and I was laid down.
On the soil
my countless children spilled
what wrong had I done?
Just one foot of space,
and my children
would’ve seen the light.
I was unfortunate—
a jarul tree, once blooming
with purple flowers.
The road had to be widened.
There was no space for me
yet so many feet they need for man.
They uprooted me,
built a broad platform—
I still lay there, alive.
The speeches began,
It was June 5th—
World Environment Day.
“Plant trees—save lives!”
And I still breathed— half-dead,
a mother without her children.
My right to live
was snatched as they shouted aloud:
“Plant trees—save lives!”
I won’t remain.
Dryness slowly takes me.
I am no more—
I was a pregnant jarul tree.