Chapter 14 - A Lonely Tree

 

14

 

            The bus had entered that strange part of a state where the road becomes thinner, the villages disappear for long stretches, and the earth begins speaking in silence instead of sound.

 

            Outside the dusty window, fields spread endlessly like unfinished thoughts. Wheat had already been harvested. Dry stubble remained standing under the pale morning sun like soldiers abandoned after war. The land looked tired but patient…the way old fathers sit quietly outside village homes after everyone has gone inside.

 

            For miles there was nothing.  No shop.  No tea stall.  No electric pole nearby.  No human movement.

 

            Only one large tree stood in the middle of those endless fields.

 

            A single tree.  Far away from every house.  Far away from every road.  Far away from every other tree.

 

            The bus moved ahead, but my eyes remained fixed on it.

 

            Some things do not attract attention because they are beautiful.  They attract attention because they are lonely.

 

            The tree stood there like a forgotten saint.

 

            Its branches spread wide as if still expecting visitors. Birds sat upon it without permission. Tired farmers probably rested beneath it during summer afternoons. Shepherds must have tied their cattle there. Travellers may have eaten lunch in its shade. Children may have climbed it once and laughed loudly before growing old and leaving.

 

            The tree belonged to everyone.  Yet it stood alone.

 

            That is the strange destiny of certain souls in this world.  They become shade for others while burning silently inside themselves.

 

            The bus window rattled softly as hot wind entered through the broken frame. Somewhere behind me, two passengers argued over seat space. Someone’s mobile phone played a loud song. A child cried for ice cream that the lonely roadside could not provide.. Life continued in ordinary noise.

 

            But my thoughts had already gone far away toward that lonely tree.

 

            There are people exactly like that tree.  People who spend their entire lives giving comfort.  They listen to everyone.  Support everyone.  Protect everyone.  Forgive everyone.  But when night falls, they return to their own loneliness.  No one asks them where they hide their exhaustion.  No one notices the storms they survive quietly.

 

            The world has a strange habit:  It sits under someone’s shade but rarely asks how much sunlight that person endured to create it.

 

            I remembered many faces from life.  Teachers who encouraged weak students while carrying broken homes inside themselves.  Mothers who fed entire families while silently swallowing their own hunger.  Fathers who became walls against difficulties while slowly collapsing from within.  Friends who kept making others laugh because they were afraid of their own silence.      And soldiers…Especially soldiers.

 

            Perhaps that lonely tree awakened an old memory buried somewhere beneath years of dust.

 

            During my army days, we once went for a large war exercise in the desert during the month of June.  June in the desert is not weather.  It is punishment.

 

            The sun does not merely shine there…it attacks. 

 

            The sand burns through shoes. Hot winds slap the face like invisible enemies. Water becomes more valuable than sleep. Even breathing feels like work.  For miles around us there was nothing except endless sand dunes and shimmering heat. The horizon looked melted. The earth itself appeared thirsty.

 

            And in that entire desert area, there was only one tree.

 

            Just one.  Standing alone under the blazing sky.  Every vehicle stopped near it automatically, as if human beings are instinctively pulled toward mercy.

 

            It was decided that the Commanding Officer’s tent should be erected beneath that tree. Naturally, people thought senior officers deserved better arrangements. Orders were passed quickly. The tent was erected there before evening.

 

            The rest of the soldiers pitched their tents out in the open heat.  Nobody questioned it.  In the army, rank often decides distance from suffering.

 

            By evening, the Commanding Officer arrived.  He stepped out of his vehicle, looked at the tent beneath the tree, and immediately became angry.  His face hardened.

 

            “Who ordered this?” he asked.

 

            Nobody answered confidently.

 

            A Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) explained respectfully that the only shade in the entire area was reserved for him.  The Commanding Officer looked around at the soldiers’ tents standing under the naked desert sky.  Then he gave an order that I still remember after so many years.

 

            “Shift this tent immediately. My tent will stand where the soldiers’ tents stand. No special benefits for myself.”

 

            And the tent was removed. 

 

            That evening something changed inside many soldiers.  Respect cannot be forced by rank.  It rises naturally from fairness.

 

            The desert remained hot.  The exercise remained difficult.  The sandstorms still came.  But that officer’s decision created invisible shade around him forever.  Real leadership is strange.  It does not stand under the tree alone.  It stands in sunlight with everyone else.

 

            Even today, after retirement, that incident returns to me whenever I see lonely trees, old wells, roadside shrines, or tired men sitting quietly outside village shops.  Because some people are born with the nature of shelter.  Others rest beneath them without ever understanding the cost.

 

            The bus moved closer to the tree now.

 

            Its trunk looked thick and ancient. Half its bark had darkened with age. Some branches were broken, perhaps by storms long forgotten by the world. Yet the tree continued standing with dignity.

 

            That is another truth about lonely people:  Storms do not make them dramatic.  Storms make them deeper.  The strongest humans rarely announce their pain.   A river makes noise where it is shallow.

Depth usually remains silent.

 

            I sometimes feel villages understand loneliness better than cities.

 

            In cities, people hide loneliness with lights, traffic, shopping malls, and endless conversations.  Villages cannot hide anything.  A lonely tree stands openly alone.  An old man sits openly alone.  An abandoned house remains openly abandoned.  Nothing pretends there.  Perhaps that is why village silence feels more honest.

 

            The bus crossed a narrow canal. Beyond it, the same tree remained visible from another angle. Sunlight fell through its branches upon the dry ground below, creating scattered shadows like broken memories.

 

            For a moment, I imagined how many seasons that tree must have witnessed.  Summer heat.  Winter fog.  Monsoon storms.  Lonely nights filled with barking dogs and distant tractor sounds.

 

            Yet it stayed rooted.

 

            Human beings often leave after small disappointments.  Trees endure entire climates.  There is wisdom in that.  Modern life teaches movement.  Nature teaches endurance.  Maybe that is why old people love sitting beneath trees. Somewhere they recognize themselves there.

 

            A tree never eats its own fruit.  A river never drinks its own water.  Clouds never rain for themselves.  Perhaps the greatest things in existence are designed mainly for others.  And maybe that is why they appear lonely from a distance.

 

            The conductor shouted the name of a nearby village. Two passengers got down carrying sacks of vegetables. Dust rose briefly around the bus before settling again.

 

            Still my eyes searched for that tree.

 

            I wondered whether it ever desired companionship.  Does a lone tree ever miss a forest?  Or does greatness itself require loneliness?  Every person who carries responsibility eventually stands alone in some manner.

 

            A father hides his worries from children.  A mother hides her tears from family.  A commander hides fear from soldiers.  A teacher hides disappointment from students.

 

            Strength often demands private suffering.  That is why people lean upon strong individuals endlessly…forgetting that even pillars crack silently one day.

 

            There is another cruelty in human nature.  We remember shade only when the sun becomes unbearable.  Otherwise, we walk past trees without gratitude.

 

            How many people spend entire lives being emotionally available for others, only to discover nobody notices their own loneliness?  Some men become lifelong providers but die without hearing a single heartfelt “How are you?”  Some women become emotional homes for entire families while remaining homeless inside themselves.  Some officers protect hundreds of soldiers but carry their own burdens quietly to the grave. 

 

            The world celebrates fruit more than roots.  But roots suffer the deepest darkness.

 

            The bus had almost left the tree behind now.

 

            Yet strangely, it appeared larger from a distance.  Perhaps certain things grow bigger only after we pass them.  Sacrifices.  Memories.  Loneliness.  Respect.  And people too.

 

            Many individuals are not fully understood while they stand near us.  Only distance reveals their true size.

 

            I remembered that desert officer again.

 

            At that time we simply obeyed his order and shifted the tent. Nobody made speeches about leadership. Nobody clapped. Nobody posted motivational quotes.

 

            But years later, I still remember him.  Not because he was powerful.  Because he refused unnecessary comfort while others suffered.

 

            Human hearts never permanently remember authority.  They remember fairness.

 

            Outside, the lonely tree had finally become a small shape against the horizon.  Soon even that disappeared.  Only empty fields remained again. 

 

            But something stayed behind inside me.

 

            Perhaps every traveller secretly searches for such symbols during journeys…a tree, an old man, a railway station, a broken bridge, a woman waiting at a bus stop. 

 

            Ordinary things become mirrors for hidden thoughts.  And perhaps life itself is nothing more than this:  A long road where passing scenes quietly explain our own souls to us.

 

            The bus continued forward through the endless fields.  Inside, conversations continued.  Outside, the wind moved through harvested land.  And somewhere far behind us, that lonely tree still stood beneath the open sky…giving shade to strangers, asking nothing in return, carrying storms in silence, rooted deeply in its duty.

 

            Alone.

 

            Yet necessary.

 

            Like some human beings.