I was told we are going to witness an old, huge sacred tree by the river.
Sitting in the bus, I could not think of anything else but the tree.
How big would it be?
At the spot, will there be someone glorifying its past to us?
Will I believe it?
What will others say about it?
Other than the tree, I remember eating so many oranges that day.
Peeling one after another.
A bus was rented for the day to Mathura, Uttar Pradesh. The people in the bus, all in the middle of old age, were familiar to me because of my mother. While I was thinking about the tree and eating oranges, everyone else was chanting aloud. They did so, because they believed it to be one’s duty as they approached the land of their beloved Krishna.
The image of the big tree is missing. After enquiring about its whereabouts a few times, I forgot about it.
It became easier to forget about it, since other things there had my attention. I wondered if the tree actually existed. I also wondered if my mother had not bought up the big tree, would I have agreed to be on the bus with people carrying their beliefs? Or amidst this spiritual voyage we forgot all about reaching where it rests.
