My Banana Tree

A few months ago I was going through some thannngs. My sister wrote me this story to remind me of where I had been, where I was at, and where I was going. Thank you to the Pilgrim for her beautiful story dedicated to me:

One bright day, a pilgrim was traveling down a dusty path when she chanced upon a young

woman digging on the side of the road. Upon greeting, the beautiful young woman stopped working and, perceiving the haggard clothes and parched smile of the dusty pilgrim, welcomed the traveler to sit under a banana tree and partake of the cool, clear water from her small gourd. Humbled and grateful, the pilgrim sat with the

young woman and they began to talk. Upon inquirying on her fields, the young woman laughed a rueful laugh and told the pilgrim she was not preparing her fields at the moment, but building a wall around them to safeguard the few seeds she sowed. A terrible wind had devasted her crops and by the harvest moon, she had been

near famine. She had almost lost everything, so the little she did have, she had invested in a kiln for making bricks, and courageously decided to sow again. It had taken almost all her savings, and as she was alone, she had had to depend on herself for spiritual and physical support. While she talked, she absent-mindledly caressed her hands hardened with callouses and blackened with dirt - but made beautiful by work. Saddened by the story and encouraging the young woman in her tenacity, the pilgrim promised to travel back on the same path upon completing her pilgrimage, and visit the young woman. As they bid each other fond farewells, the pilgrim sadly wondered on the nature of tragedy, and why It befell the kindest, most vulnerable souls.

...........

One bright day, when the thunderclouds of the season had rolled on to other climes, a pilgrim walked down a dusty path searching for a familiar face. However, something had changed and the pilgrim, suddenly unsure of where she was, stopped and sat on a hilltop under a greying banana tree to ponder her bearings. The country around her was lush with crop and a bright, beautifully-muraled wall ran along one side of the dusty path, enclosing the greenest field the pilgrim had ever seen around these parts. Olive groves and colorful orchards stood heavy with fruit, whilst happy bumbling bees skipped drunkenly from nectar to nectar and tall jade rice stood serene and cool in their dark waters. Suddenly, a figure appeared on the dusty path, and the pilgrim smiled with joy and recognition at the beautiful young woman she had befriended so many moons past. The woman - radiant with the glow of a quiet strenght - joined the pilgrim under the banana tree, and over a delicious meal she had prepared for noontime, recounted her adventures. The winds had come again every year since the pilgrim had first sat with her under the banana tree, but each year it had torn less and less from her earth as her wall grew taller and taller. She had worked through monsoon rains and equatorial heat, through the frost of winter and the ridicule of Man- her kinsfolk kept telling her to stop wasting her time, to find a husband before it was too late, before her skin smelt like soil and she grew darker under the sun - but she had never stopped building, knowing her fields was all she had to sustain her through life. Such was her dedication at preserving the little that she had, to loving what she had, that she worked with love, binding herself to herself and to God. Ridicule, marriage proposals, wind, rain, hard work, all stung less as every day she awoke to find a new flower, a new fruit, a batch of sweet rice. Soon, she stopped surviving and to everybody's surprise (including herself) she began to prosper. Now she had the most beautiful fields in the country and everywhere she was heralded with praise and recognition. A young man had even approached her of late, desiring to marry her, to love her, to take care of her. But he had suggested to take down her wall so they could merge their fields on either side of the path.

"And did you accept?"

"No," she answered with sadness.

Upon seeing this, the pilgrim gently asked why she had not accepted an offer that appeared the culmination of a long-progressing joy. The beautiful young woman gazed at her fields across the path in silence. "Because every morning I sit under this banana tree on the hill and look out to these fields and every morning I wonder upon the goodness of Life, of the Divine. When I gaze upon these fields, I cannot believe they are what I sowed, for I have reaped far more than I ever imagined. My fields are the fruits of Self-love, and that no one can give to another, we can only share it. I want to share of myself, but I cannot give myself. For, how can another know of the labor, sweat, tears, love that you felt with each brick you built from mud, earth, water, air?"

The pilgrim and woman sat, pondering the words still heavy in the soft evening air.

"My peace is under this banana tree, dear friend, gazing upon my Heaven. I want my husband to share this seat under my banana tree, that he may find peace and beauty in my Solace, but he cannot work in its Fields for I alone know how to nurture it."

Bidding farewell to her friend, the pilgrim walked away in joy with the dusky sun. 'Tragedy', she thought, 'is only a brick. It can shatter your life or it can build your monument. What you do with it is - that is Divine Will."