In her house, there stood several trees – gulmohars, jamuns, jasmines, coconut, mango, jackfruit etc. Yet she was particularly fond of one – a type of gulmohar standing wearily at the edge of her neighbour’s house.
The tree stooped to kiss the earth beneath its feet. Its branches and leaflets penetrating the girl’s window sill. The tree escorted the morning sun and the evening moon – all through the year. A lonesome quiet bulbul separated from his partner, used to rest in its branches. The young lass conversed with him everyday. She woke up with the rustling of its leaves and went to sleep under its shadow.
Almost a decade later, it has grown old and feeble. Her branches are scantily clad with leaves. Her clothings have been blown away by the wind. A few days later, she was torn down – stripped of her honour one by one.
The girl started sinking day by day – until the last branch was left.
