My tree on the Border

It was years before they captured me roaming around the border.


“Hey! What are you doing here? Don’t you know, this is supposed to be a no-man’s land?”
“I just planted a few seeds here, right on the border. The rainy season is around. The heavens will water the seeds, and I am sure, some day one of them will grow up into a huge tree, offering shade and shelter to people on both sides of the border in this arid land.”
“Borders are supposed to have barbed wire fencing, and not trees; fencing so high that, not even birds can fly across.”

They arrested me and dispatched me to the jail, but not before digging up along the border, a couple of miles both ways, to throw out the seeds. They could not.
I laughed, and they tortured me. I laughed more.

Years passed by. They kept me rotting in the jail, which really did not make any difference to me. It was same for me on this side of the border, or the other. I had nothing to lose or to hate on either side. It was the same sky above, the same earth below, the same wind around, and the same seasons caressed me.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw my tree on the border growing day by day, shoot by shoot, season by season. I saw the tree swallowing up the border. I saw it uprooting the barbed fencing. I saw birds nesting in its dense expanse. I saw travelers resting in its cool shade.

Years passed by. Nobody noticed the tree growing. The cold war, the perpetual stalemate in the peace talks, and the arms-race assured both nations of peace. No nation would attack each other, none would dare. No one needed to patrol the border any more. Anyway, it was a long border, and those who would infiltrate, would do it anyway: this was a matter of the great mutual understanding.

The jail authorities forgot why was i there. They even forgot who was I. Back home, there was nobody who would remember. And, this made no difference to me.

Years passed by. I was an old man now.
The international situation changed. Nations got bored with peace, and started toying openly with the idea of a war game.
The war idea rejuvenated everyone. Guys suddenly became alert along the border. It was alive and happening again. This excited and entertained all concerned. Patriotism got rabid.
And then someone noticed the huge tree on the border. It was blatant violation of the international protocol of war-mongering. Birds of diverse feathers, ignorant of nationalism, flocked together, and the huge tree sheltered all. That took out the fun out of the killer game.
They traced out the culprit.
The international court had a novel punishment for me.
I was to be hanged till death from one of the branches of the same tree, with great ceremony.

Somebody appealed against the decision. Hanging me would be mercy, they said.
Finally, I was made to cut down the tree on the border, amidst the same great ceremony.