That Banyan Tree

The village where my father was born. After many years Still has not changed Except that electricity has arrived , The road blacktopped has deteriorated, And thatched-roof houses are hardly seen. Yet what I wonder is As I saw in my childhood long ago, The village road today is still lonesome, Cactus and wild bush plants ,in that quietness Are still growing here and there by the roadside. And the sprawling paddy fields are as calm And beautiful as they were seen from the road long ago. The aged banyan tree standing in the meadow At the roadside is still in its grandeur. Under it, I saw my grandfather cremated, Consigned to flames When I was a boy of about 10 years old. My grandfather during his youthful days Sometimes might have been resting Under that banyan tree Tired of wayfaring or working in the paddy field. Sometimes he might have been waiting For somebody he loved beneath it Wearing kurta ,dhoti,and clogs . My father died six years ago And I today am an old man Yet whenever I visited the village And see the lonely old banyan tree I remember the days I spent there during my childhood Particularly the day my grandfather died And cremated beneath it. The old peepal tree , Growing at the gate of my residence By the busy road , Often I collect its fallen leaves with a broom In the winter mornings and burn them. Yet never ponder about its long past. 12th August 2012