A Circle of Life
EmPower Research
July 26, 2007
By A Geeta
A tender shoot breaks open the hard earth and reaches out to the warm skies—luxuriating in its new-found freedom after a tough struggle—hopeful and expectant. The moment it takes its first breath of free air, it is in danger. Its tender leaves are nibbled away by wandering cows. The careful gardener protects it by building a small fence of thorny twigs around it. As the shoot flourishes and breaks into a flower, it is in greater danger of being destroyed by passers by who break its branches and leaves and snatch its flowers without a second thought. The fence is made stronger. But the young tree is growing faster.
Hopeful hands tie threads around its slim trunk and put bangles on its stems praying for wishes to be granted. They worship the tree hoping it will somehow reach beyond the clouds and make the Gods yield to the prayers of mortals existing on the earth.
The still young tree bears fruit for the first time. Eager hands snatch and grab all it can give. The fence is now a brick wall around the tree—so it is safe and protected from wandering cows, passers by and outsiders. The tree keeps growing.
Then one day, insensible hands wield an axe and rip off its trunk leaving a stunted stump of what was going to be a haven of shade and cool breezes. The wall is broken down. It is no longer required.
Still, they tie threads around the stunted stump because the old ones were left in place. Still, they worship it in hopes of wishes to be granted. There is no gardener to water the stump now. Still, it survives, grows out new branches. More bangles are put on those branches. And since they cannot support the weight of those bangles, the branches are tied with ropes to other trees.
A season of drought comes. Unseen ants eat at the tree roots and weaken its hold on the earth. The worship goes on. At times, people look at the stump curiously and wonder.
Then one day, the stump is uprooted completely in a storm and falls. The ropes were tight. The branches break and are left hanging with the ropes. If something is left of it that is not rotten, it will be used for firewood.
This is the life of a woman in India—the land that worships mothers and goddesses.
Satya looked at the words she had typed on her computer screen. Her mind was blank. Where had these words come from?
Inevitably, she retreated deep within her grieving self seeking shelter from the raging firestorm that was threatening to burn the life out of her very soul. Her mind flew back to those years of her childhood—a time she didn’t really want to live again. She had always wanted to grow up and be free. She never had been given the chance. Now, she was on the brink of a gaping hole in time. She was soon going to lose what little freedom she had been given till now.
Why was she thinking like this? Had she gone nuts or something? Those other women at her office thought her writing was sad, depressing. They said women were not what they were a decade ago. They were always urging her to put out those silly thoughts from her head. Times had changed a lot. This was the twenty first century. No more satis now. No more dowry deaths. Women lived as they liked these days.
Is it true?” Satya wondered. “Are women really living the way they want to? I am not. My life is still like that tree—and so was my mother’s, my sister’s. God only knows how many other women live like me and never speak about it. God only knows how many women willingly accept whatever life gives them. God only knows how many fight for what they want—how many can—how many get the luxury to choose.”
I don’t have a choice.”
Satya.” That was Chand calling out to her. Chand was her boss. A small curly haired, dark-eyed young lady of 30 who was as wise as an old lady of 90. “Satya, you’ve got some work. Check your mail.”
A tender shoot breaks open the hard earth and reaches out to the warm skies—luxuriating in its new-found freedom after a tough struggle—hopeful and expectant. The moment it takes its first breath of free air, it is in danger. Its tender leaves are nibbled away by wandering cows. The careful gardener protects it by building a small fence of thorny twigs around it. As the shoot flourishes and breaks into a flower, it is in greater danger of being destroyed by passers by who break its branches and leaves and snatch its flowers without a second thought. The fence is made stronger. But the young tree is growing faster.
Hopeful hands tie threads around its slim trunk and put bangles on its stems praying for wishes to be granted. They worship the tree hoping it will somehow reach beyond the clouds and make the Gods yield to the prayers of mortals existing on the earth.
The still young tree bears fruit for the first time. Eager hands snatch and grab all it can give. The fence is now a brick wall around the tree—so it is safe and protected from wandering cows, passers by and outsiders. The tree keeps growing.
Then one day, insensible hands wield an axe and rip off its trunk leaving a stunted stump of what was going to be a haven of shade and cool breezes. The wall is broken down. It is no longer required.
Still, they tie threads around the stunted stump because the old ones were left in place. Still, they worship it in hopes of wishes to be granted. There is no gardener to water the stump now. Still, it survives, grows out new branches. More bangles are put on those branches. And since they cannot support the weight of those bangles, the branches are tied with ropes to other trees.
A season of drought comes. Unseen ants eat at the tree roots and weaken its hold on the earth. The worship goes on. At times, people look at the stump curiously and wonder.
Then one day, the stump is uprooted completely in a storm and falls. The ropes were tight. The branches break and are left hanging with the ropes. If something is left of it that is not rotten, it will be used for firewood.
This is the life of a woman in India—the land that worships mothers and goddesses.
Satya looked at the words she had typed on her computer screen. Her mind was blank. Where had these words come from?
Inevitably, she retreated deep within her grieving self seeking shelter from the raging firestorm that was threatening to burn the life out of her very soul. Her mind flew back to those years of her childhood—a time she didn’t really want to live again. She had always wanted to grow up and be free. She never had been given the chance. Now, she was on the brink of a gaping hole in time. She was soon going to lose what little freedom she had been given till now.
Why was she thinking like this? Had she gone nuts or something? Those other women at her office thought her writing was sad, depressing. They said women were not what they were a decade ago. They were always urging her to put out those silly thoughts from her head. Times had changed a lot. This was the twenty first century. No more satis now. No more dowry deaths. Women lived as they liked these days.
Is it true?” Satya wondered. “Are women really living the way they want to? I am not. My life is still like that tree—and so was my mother’s, my sister’s. God only knows how many other women live like me and never speak about it. God only knows how many women willingly accept whatever life gives them. God only knows how many fight for what they want—how many can—how many get the luxury to choose.”
I don’t have a choice.”
Satya.” That was Chand calling out to her. Chand was her boss. A small curly haired, dark-eyed young lady of 30 who was as wise as an old lady of 90. “Satya, you’ve got some work. Check your mail.”
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