The lonely last in my memoir Annyatha Mulyaheena.

The lonely last Dt.24.08.2014.                                                

      This is an obituary to a small Tendu(Kendu) tree, the leftover of the lost woods at the western side of my village Tulati. The tree stood for decades as if a guard at the end of the revenue demarcation of the village and a huge playground. The length of the playground was about two kilometers and it had a spread of about one kilometer.At the end stood this Tendu tree and there after we believed the area of village Khaira started. There was no dispute over the tree`s right it was ours and was at times an active functionary of our village customs

      Our elders always told stories about Tigers, jackals, trees. We too believed  domeoneso occult power converted a man into an animal, to be more specific a tiger, with the splash of turmeric water on him who thereafter was free to enter the woods to befriend a tigress and when he returned his wife threw the special water chanting the mantra to get back to human shape. Fantasy prevailed in our mind for long. 
Such a huge field was there but no one told about any sporting activity. Surprisingly there was no name to this huge field which we called after the name of a pond Nuagadia. So it was Nuagadia Padia means the field of the new pond. This pond is a huge pond at the end of the western most sahi. It was called new pond obviously because there was an old pond in the village the most famous Majestic pond Kastura.

Why there is no name to such a huge field in a village that loved to name small tiny piece of land such as Kusumadiha, Manduli muhana, Tumunia, Mahulia, and so on, this puzzled me throughout my life. I believed, might be this piece of land did not exist earlier and it was woods of Sal, Piasal, Kendu, Asana, Kuruma, Kasi, Mahula, Mango, Kusuma, Bamboo and so on, how could my forefathers name a field which never existed was a logical conclusion to my turbulent mind, and this tendu tree stood to witness my logic. 
When as a child one learnt to ride a bicycle it was the pleasure to ride to the tree as if one`s first expedition of one`s upcoming life. There was absolutely no Jungle in my village when we were born, we had no nostalgic attachment to any tree except the one that each family planted as a village culture, to water it from a holed pot hanged at some elevation on the Mahabisuva Sankranti the starting day of our Odiya calendar, the Baisakh, this was usually a peepal or a banyan tree.

     This lonely last of the lost woods was a tree of many contrast, nobody knew why it was saved from human axe even if no story of any God or ghost was attached to this tree, no villager cared this tree, it was a small tree that never grew, there was no yield of the sweet Kendu fruit on it in the springs that also puzzled me too much in my childhood. Might be there was an explanation. Yes it was very much attached to the customs of my village especially to the girls, all unmarried girls.

     On the last day of Raja, the three days festival of monsoon the boys played a customary game of Bagudi, a Kabadi variant at the beginning of the field where is the Pitha of Maa Hingula . The drum beaters Udia, Ferta, and others played their instrument Dhol at the loudest free of cost, to give their contribution in the celebration. 
So sad they could not play with the higher caste and we could not play their drums.
 All the girls of the village travelled by the side with their beautiful Raja wears so colorful. They would bid adieu Raja the festival of (start of) monsoon that made mother earth fertile for a season to yield crops like the Raja (menstruation) of a girl foresaw her future fertility. The girls were not allowed to walk on the mother earth to celebrate its tenderness on such periods but how they travelled, there was no air car. To make it symbolic they tied a paddy straw around big toe so that it separated them from direct contact with the tender earth.

     They would reach the Tendu tree where they embraced each other as if they embraced their mother before a separation for a long year, they made merry of their collective friendship, their feminine power, their specially gifted ability to be mothers in future. They wept, they wept to think that some of them must not be there in next year as proposals of their marriage was being discussed. 
Other villages must have many similar beautiful customs. These otherwise meaningless (ଅନ୍ୟଥା ମୂଲ୍ୟହୀନ) customs remained as signature of a village.  
The girls did many promises to each other keeping the Tendu tree a witness of their resolves in many.
This was not the only function there; they had to locate their spots of buried kaudis (Skeleton of small marine animal with a smooth concave surface and a surface with a grove with corrugated margin, that once was used as Odia currency) and tried to reinforce the identifying symbol that would withstand the monsoon shower till Gamha Purnami the festival of Rakshyabandhan when the tree would be revisited. Then they returned after the light faded, many a time they had to withstand a shower to see off the festival at the western end where the lonely last stood far away from the village proper.

     It was then forgotten till the date of Gamha, on which day the sisters tied a decorated thread around the wrist of their brothers to remind their responsibility of protection and love to a sister like Lord Jagannath and Balavadra had their rakshi from sister Subhadra in the grand temple. 
Ours was a different village, our eves were not given a sense of helplessness that they needed a protection from younger brothers, the logic was elder brother had a responsibility to protect his sister, younger brother is to be protected and girls had enough courage to protect the young one, I always loved the differences in customs and their reasons assigned, but was unfortunate and fortunate that my two sisters were elder to me, but all my siblings loved me more than others as I felt.

     On this day our girls not only wanted Baravaya from elder brothers but also started another festival KHUDUARANKUNI that is dedicated to brother`s protection and wellbeing. 
During these monsoons the male folks in past travelled the river and then the sea to places as far as Bali, Java, Sumatra and many east Asian countries for trade and fortune. The seven sadhaba brothers went for trade leaving the dear sister Ta-a-poi at home to be tortured by the six sisters in law except the youngest Nilendri. But with all difficulties the girl did the Puja of the Deity Khudarankuni (one who loved broken waste of raw de husked rice) for the safety of her brothers and they returned safe to save Ta-a-poi. 
So our girls started the month long festival from Gahma onwards. They went to the kendu tree with a Kaudi each. They would spot the buried Kaudi that they dug out and collected soil to be used to make the idol of the deity and rebury a new Kaudi for the next year. They carried the soil in a basket and returned together.

      At times they falsely located the spot and went on digging but the Kaudi was not recovered, she became extremely disturbed as she had to connect it to her brother`s safety. They cursed the tree as it was given the responsibility to be a witness and to remind her, the location. Sadly year after year the Tendu tree was cursed by one or the other so it never grew and a day came it vanished. 
How? I never liked to ask any villager. One may laugh at me that I am not worried for the vast woods of my village already lost and cried for the lonely last, the kendu tree at the border security force of my village at its wagha.

     The soil is now swampy, erosion had to come. Last I went far on a bike to reach the spot of cremation of my friend Ashisha Sahoo a lightening casualty and my bike was halted by sticky mud, in our time even in the heavy rain it remained hard to play soccer that the present day children may not believe. There is not the lonely last to witness my claim, Oh God save this green earth.