64 The Mango Grove
as l sat still this morn
uninvited, unexpected,
a ray of darkness
passed by overhead:
the mind moved not
but the body exulted.
I opened my eyes and
it was all so clear:
the branches and leaves,
the light and shadow,
the warmth and the breeze,
and the distant birdsong.
and I found to my surprise
– after a long time away –
I was living again
in communion with all,
and my heart was lifted
in joy and thanksgiving.
In this incarnation my kutir, and thereby my life, overlooks a mango grove, in the centre of which stands an ancient tree whose huge branches reach out to the sky and provide shade to a great distance on all sides. This august creature has not reached its present stature without surviving some setbacks, and the stumps of branches now decaying and ant-ridden testify to some calamitous events in its life, and it seems, like a mighty monarch long used to battle, to have earned its right to dominion over his kingdom.
Lightning has struck this grove recently and the mango trees in particular have suffered as a result. One of them has undergone a direct hit and although it still stands there is not a leaf left on it for the life has been blasted out at the roots. Another, perhaps in the same storm, has been verily sundered in two, and one half of it lies on the ground, while the other, still standing, is busy producing fresh leaves. That a number of the trees here are stunted or crippled is a peculiarity of this grove – one of the trees, evidently in love, leans awkwardly to the side and drapes its branches around the knees of another, while the receiver of this fond embrace stands tall and straight, aloof from the other’s seeming affection.
There are cotton and neem and banyan trees here also, the latter sending down a myriad strands from its branches to the ground in an attempt to put down further roots, and up these climb some creepers making their way up in the search for light and nourishment. Sunbeams penetrate the foliage lending a magical touch to the scene.
Within the precincts of this sacred woodland many creatures have found a home, and during the day squirrels chase each other round and round and up and down the trunks of the trees, and through the interweaving branches that create a network of highways and by-ways in the sky. They go so fast in their play that occasionally one is seen to fall from the heights, but like a cat they always manage to land on all fours, before scurrying off back up a tree trunk.
Amid the unkempt foliage below butterflies flutter around intent on relieving the wild flowers that grow here of their treasure; and as evening falls a pair of red-capped woodpeckers appear and tap-tap-tap their way beneath the scaly bark of the mango trees, uncovering termites and other insects which serve as supper. The sky turns pink and blue as the marvellous sunset brings in the night, and the king adds one more day to the thousands that have gone before. He abides in this place in great silence and majesty, and one feels that one knows both time and eternity in his presence.
Is this not a sacred place
a sacred time
a sacred way of being?
O how our hearts do yearn
for to learn
more of this sacred living.
Give but one more hour
to bring to flower
the blossom of devotion,
and when I come to end
I pray you send
an angel these words to deliver:
‘All that you sacred found
was written down
and shall be yours forever.’