BY PEER MOHAMMAD AMIR QURESHI
As I lay in repose, besieged by the ailment that had plagued me for days, my ruminations were abruptly interrupted by the plaintive creak of the door. It was my jubilant younger sister, exuberantly proclaiming, “Behold, dear brother, the bounteous harvest of nature’s jewels!” She presented before me a cornucopia of luscious mulberries, plucked fresh from the tree that adorned our abode. With eager anticipation, she implored me to indulge in their succulence. As I partook of the vibrant red and black berries, a flood of nostalgia swept over me, transporting me to the halcyon days of my youth.
I regaled my sister with tales of yore, recounting our fervent pursuit of ripe mulberries during our school days. Along the path to our scholastic endeavors stood three majestic mulberry trees, one of colossal proportions, too daunting to ascend, while the other two provided ample bounty. Accompanied by my younger brother and two cousins, Sahil and Aabiroo, we would entrust our burdensome schoolbags to Aabiroo, stationed below, while Sahil, my brother Aqib, and I ascended the branches in search of nature’s treasure. Amidst laughter and camaraderie, we would pluck the juiciest mulberries, teasing Aabiroo with promises of a share, only to relent and shower her with the fruits of our labor, as she gleefully savored their succulence, standing guard over our belongings below. Balanced precariously on the branches, it became clear, as it often does in the human experience, that the richness of ripe berries was unevenly distributed. In our search for the juiciest mulberries, we found ourselves darting from branch to branch, seeking nature’s tastiest presents. Despite our ardent rummaging, a lingering fear gnawed at our minds: the looming punishment for our late return home. We developed stratagems to avoid detection, planning to quickly change clothes and dump our belongings before our mothers noticed our protracted absence. However, upon our return, our well-intentioned plans were welcomed with a bombardment of inquiry. Our mothers’ voices, rising in a chorus of concern and curiosity, demanded explanations for our extended absences. Our tongues, coated with the dark color of those mulberries, betrayed our mischievous deeds, catching us red-handed.
In the past, parental fear loomed large, as the danger of falling from great arboreal heights shadowed our every step. Thus, with stealth and guile, we set out on expeditions to find delicious mulberries hidden in nature’s bosom, safe from parental monitoring.
We used to make the trek to the mulberry trees on idyllic Sundays, searching for the berries’ elusive sweetness. Fortunately, droves of nightingales and sparrows adorned those branches in plenty. But, unfortunately, their presence has ebbed to naught, and we are now saddened by the disappearing chorus of these bird minstrels, which ornithologists and academics attribute to the intrusion of network towers and other contemporary hazards. Once taken for granted, their absence now leaves a lasting impression on our souls and serves as a sobering reminder of the frailty of nature’s symphony. As the season of mulberries drew to a close, the ethereal, creamy-hued mulberries would tenderly mature a fortnight following the sowing of paddy seedlings. Dubbed the “Doodi Tuil” by us, this arboreal marvel signaled the end of mulberry season. Enthusiastically, we flocked to its boughs, often encountering novices from neighboring domains amidst the gathering.
Currently, as I traverse the thoroughfare, it is disheartening to see that the electric cable is being attached to the luscious mulberry tree. Unfortunately, the mulberries languish upon the pavement, their vibrant hues staining the path, bereft of the merry laughter of children or the whimsical chirping of birds, save for the scarce mynas resilient enough to withstand the deleterious emissions of the ubiquitous network towers. The progeny, ensconced in the digital allure, eschew the tangible joys of foraging for nature’s bounty, preferring instead the ephemeral delights of virtual realms, thus forsaking the enchantment of authentic engagement with the world around them. May the progeny of today revel in the abundant wonders of nature, just as we once savored its earthly delights.
The writer is a Ganderbal-based columnist who holds a master’s degree.
