The Talking Tree

Continued...

Tree: “Tell me merchant, why does it seem that all life has been drained out of your body? What makes you so disappointed in life?”

“My whole life”… I was born in 1955 in Peshawar. Coming from a family of merchants and clothiers, business was in our blood and we shared a fairly good reputation in the markets of the ‘City of Men’. My youth is full of good memories but as I grew older our fates turned on us. Times had changed; our country was facing political challenges and socio-economic issues, falling into despair day by day. And the same cloud of despair was upon our business now. Everything fell; our family shop was sold after my father got sick and left us in a great debt. Since we were unable to return the debt, our reputation in the market was lost.

There was nothing left for us in our own city so we finally decided to migrate to Lahore. With my mother, wife and children, moving to a new city seemed like a big challenge especially being a pathan in the heart and capital of Punjab. But to my surprise, life didn’t test me in this way; it targeted my support, my strength. Soon after settling in, I lost my mother followed by the death of my beloved wife. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that I died with them at least my soul did, yet I lived for the sake of my children. I have three children, two beautiful daughters and a son, who I loved dearly as a mother and a father. I raised them, cared for them, working both inside and outside the house so my children would never have an empty feeling or realization of growing up without a mother.

I married my elder daughter off just as she turned 16. But her marriage felt more like death as I bid her farewell from our house. I remember how I held her tightly in my arms for the last time… my little girl wasn’t mine anymore. My children were growing up so fast, where my daughters were my source of happiness; my son was my pride, the backbone and support of my old age. Oh the irony, my thoughts were only thoughts, life showed me that, rather threw it to my face, for my pride became nothing but a drug addict. In the start it seemed like common teenage rebellion but it was far worse. As time passed, our house became home to arguments, the walls were closing in and the air was filled with misconduct, disrespect and hatred for a father by his only son. I had lost another loved one but this time not to death, but drugs.

It was the darkest time of my life or so it seemed to be, only because I never imagined that the worst was yet to come. My son was soon arrested for theft. I worked hard, took debt and freed him from the prison bars only to get imprisoned under the curse of our final doom. After the prison episode, my son started to become a man, for he could use his physical strength against the old man that raised him. His tiny hands that held me with affection once were now thrashing and beating me up. So that’s what was left for an old man like me to live through. In between all this stress I fell sick; my grief had turned me into a heart patient, fortunately I had a bypass surgery with the help of my friends and a generous doctor. I was advised time and again to rest but never did I have that luxury in life. My younger daughter and my drug addict son were still my responsibility; I couldn’t have stopped being a father, for I loved them as a mother too.

Tree: “Go on; let it all out my friend. I might not be able to give you anything for I am only a tree, but I can surely share your burden.”

My eyes were full of tears, for my heart was crying. I couldn’t help but be miserable at myself, sitting here pouring my heart out to a tree…. Ahhh. I got up and hugged the tree. I am a clothier that sells all kinds of clothes on my bicycle door to door. I am a father that often takes a beating from his son for not being able to earn more money. A helpless being!

All these new brands have surely put out our small-scale businesses, but thank God I still manage to sell one or two pieces, or enough to take it home. I am Faizullah my dear friend, a poor old man that earns but not to feed his family, but to make sure his son can take drugs. I am Faizullah, a man who has lost all life.

Tree: Faizullah, my dear friend… you haven’t lost life, just yourself in the way. If you look at me, you will see that I am more than a tree that grows leaves. No matter how many branches or leaves grow on me; my roots will remain their core, the essence of life. If they die only then will I be a fallen tree. Similarly, your heart is what gives you life, so give it hope and a belief that you will make it this time.

Faizullah: Hope… you say? I have tried three times to put my son in a rehabilitation center and I have failed every time. I have failed in every walk of life then how can I find hope? I am like a shadow of death, it only brings sorrow so how can I be the essence of life?

Hours had passed as I cried my heart out to the tree, the sun was setting and it was time to head back home. My misery, disappointments and failures were my only companions, a burden no one could share even if they wished to. I stood up and said goodbye to my new friend in gratitude, promising to visit it soon.

Night fell and ended rather quickly, another day was upon us. However, this dawn felt different from the many others that had once shined down on me. I left home as per my routine, paddling my way street to street on my daily route. I was so lost in the thoughts of my conversation with the tree that I ended up in a new street. I stopped at the last and probably the biggest house on the lane and rang the bell.

A little girl came out the door, and went back inside… I felt sad at how callous people had become, leaving without replying or just shutting the door on my face rudely. I reached my bicycle and was about to leave when I heard “wait”, I turned around and saw a young girl at the gate with a smile. She apologized for the delay and handed me some fruits with a bottle of water. I refused but she insisted so I took them. I thanked her and offered her to show some prints. She refused politely and said next time maybe.

I praised her kindness and prayed out loud for her as I reached for my bicycle. I started my journey again, but not to get back to work but go visit my friend, the old tree. When I reached it, the tree was already expecting me and was pleased to see me again. I couldn’t wait to share what had happened with my new friend, but before I could say anything the tree said “You seem to be happy today, your face is full of hope my friend.”

I smiled and replied “I have found life in kindness, hope in small gestures and faith in a smile.” The tree reached out one of its branches to me and patted my shoulder, “So you are finally awake… alive.”

From that day on I visited my new friend and my second home every week. Every Saturday I would go meet my new daughter, chat with her, at times leave her a gift, make dua for her and leave her with my blessings. She always asked about my health, brought something for me to eat and asked me to rest for as long as I wanted. But little did she know that I was there only to cherish our newly created bond of hope.

"I am Faizullah, an old man that lost everything and all life only to find the beginning of a new hope with the luck of a tree and kindness of a stranger."