MAGIC UNDER THE GULMOHAR TREE

“Wow!” The boy on skates suddenly stopped in front of the Gulmohar tree and exclaimed delightedly.

The lush lashed lass blinked her luxurious lashes and clutched the arm of the handsome hunk by her side more tightly, pointing an excited finger in the direction of the Gulmohar tree.

The group of bhajan singing ladies under another tree suddenly forgot their God, and peered in the direction of the tree, exchanging inquisitive looks.

The temple priest about to open the temple gates, stopped with the key in his hand, and deciding that the Gods could sleep for some more time, headed towards the tree, a small towel slung over his shoulder, curiosity spilling out of his eyes.

A man hobbling along the joggers’ track, with a listless air, leaning heavily on a walking stick, walked a little faster, no longer leaning on the walking stick, but leaning on sheer will power which he suddenly seemed to have in abundance. Willing himself to walk faster he stood transfixed near the tree, his walking stick now leaning uselessly against another tree as he peered closer at what the rest were looking at.

The laughter club members held their artificial laughs in abeyance, and looked towards the Gulmohar tree, wondering why all eyes seemed to be riveted in that direction. Some of them disengaged themselves from the group and steered themselves towards the tree.

The pup which had run away with a lady’s shoe just a couple of months back , and was, now, almost on the verge of doghood,wondered  with a bright eyed ardour  whether the Gulmohar tree offered some opportunities for playing practical pranks.

It stopped what it was doing- actually trying to turn around and catch its tail thinking that the weird thing belonged to someone else. Round and round it turned in a futile attempt to catch the elusive thing and then raced towards the tree, its beleaguered tail now wagging in great excitement.

 All those stories about the horrors of a dog’s life appeared a bundle of lies to him. On the contrary a dog’s life seemed quite exhilarating, he thought in fevered excitement.

Some distance away, an old woman, actually a hypochondriac, [I know this, because just a few days back, I had experienced the onslaughts of her hypochondriacally inclined personality when   she had told me about the ailments that were attacking her from all sides]  had cornered an unsuspecting woman.

Now she was giving her a blow by blow account of the extraction of her tooth, and opening her mouth in an effort to show the havoc that the dentist’s hammer had wrought to her mouth, when the unsuspecting victim suspected something, and with the dexterity of a cat slipped from her grasp.

And headed straight towards the Gulmohar tree.

The hypochondriac gaped for a moment, absolutely devastated. From where I was standing I felt that any moment tears would roll down her puckered face. But then she quickly closed her mouth, and wisely shaking the dream, and the incipient tears from her eyes she too hobbled forth.

Straight towards the Gulmohar tree.

Maybe another dream awaited her there.

A stockily built man, brutally ignoring the paunch that came in his way bent down to tie  his shoe laces, and seeing where the rest of the people were heading, stumbled on , his paunch jiggling all the way.

 Towards the Gulmohar tree.

 All tracks at the park seemed to lead towards the Gulmohar tree.

What hidden wealth was the Gulmohar tree offering? Free juices? Free medical check up? Free Diabetes test? Free blood pressure check up? Free breakfast?

It was none of these, but what had held the attention of some children, and later some adults too, were a lapwing couple which stood majestically under the tree, on a red carpet of Gulmohar flowers.

But, something about their behaviour struck me as odd. The couple appeared to be in throes of panic, every now and then craning their necks and emitting a series of chweets, and then running around on their fragile  yellow legs, as though on the lookout for something. What was wrong?

 And then the mystery was revealed to me in all its awe inspiring grandeur. There was some rustling in the bushes next to where the lapwings stood, and my ears pricked up.

The pup on the verge of doghood, the man with the bulging paunch, the laughter club members, the hypochondriac, the man with the skipping rope, the boy with the Frisbee, the girl with the cricket bat, the badminton player who had played an obnoxious shot, the skater, the temple priest who had brazenly made God wait, all stood mesmerised by the magicality of the moment. There was a collective gasp from the people around.

From under the bushes emerged four of the tiniest lapwing chicks skittering around on unsteady legs!

They scurried towards their mother, and while the onlookers looked on, awe struck, they poked and pried their way inside the maternal plumage and were lost to the world. The mother’s feathers had totally covered them, shielding them from the brutalities of life.

So thankful to be a witness to the celebration of a new life on the red carpet, absolutely enchanted by the free gift that nature had so magnanimously bestowed on me, my soul felt rejuvenated.

God could wait; the priest had found his God here-in the immensity of love in the folds of the mother lapwing’s feathers. So had the others. From up above, the sun smiled genially. It was time to head home.