I

I have lived for a very long time. For many, many years. If I could count like a human, I would say that I have lived for many hundred years. Of course, I don’t know how many hundreds. For you see, I do not count. Counting does me no good. The sun rises everyday, just on time. As it always has, for as long as I have stood here, by the bank of this river. They call it Orugulara. I suppose it is as okay as a name can be. That is something else I don’t do – name things. I have no need to. Things are fine, even without names, as far as I am concerned. But then, I wouldn’t really know, would I? Because the humans have named everything already, making things easier for the likes of me. Anyway, names of things and counting, are both not among my favourite things in the world.

Poor, unsuspecting humans. They come and sit near me, every now and then, you know. Sometimes, they come in small groups, or pairs, and occasionally, one of them will come alone. And when they come, they talk. Boy, do they talk! Like I said, poor unsuspecting humans. They think I’m just a harmless old tree. Sedentary, lovely dense foliage to offer, and no feelings whatsoever, nothing to make me, me. Well, that’s what they think. So, I let them be.

I don’t let on, that I understand them. Hearing them as much as I have, for as long as I have – for years and years and years on end – will do that to the best of trees. As much as I may want to shut out the human chatter, I cannot. My leaves pick the chatter, and so do my blossoms and fruits. As fleeting as these pretty things are, they are mine. My leaves, flowers and fruits, as well as my branches, trunk, bark and roots – they are all me, I am all of them; we are one, as much as we are many.

And so, over the ages, I have become this sagely tree, and I understand what they say, the humans that come and sit under me. And so too, the elephants, squirrels, monkeys, ants, the pesky termites, and everything in between.

II

The dip at the far east corner where my shade reaches, wasn’t always there. There used to be a mid sized rock in its place, a long time ago. Perhaps many, many years. Who knows? I told you, counting isn’t my thing. Anyway, the last time I saw the rock was when Orugulara was in spate. And that was a long time ago. These days it doesn’t rain as much. Except the last few days. It rained like the skies could no longer hold years and years worth of rain anymore. Orugulara is starting to spill over its edges, just a little.

The squirrels and monkeys have held tight on to me, not letting go. For the first couple of days, it was endearing, but thereafter, I wished the rain would stop, so these little ones would stop running around all over me. They were noisy and restless, and while they could go on and hurry around me on their little legs, I couldn’t do anything quite like that, to shake off my restlessness. I needed the calm warmth of the sunrays on me, and I needed it fast!

Now while it rained, that dip by the far east corner of my shade overflowed. Just like Orugulara. The day after the rain abated, the water in the hole finally disappeared. And that’s when I saw, the cracked, muddy top of what looked to be a really large egg. I had never seen one as big as this one before, in all the many, many, many years I have stood here. The alligators in the river lay some fairly big eggs, but this one looked bigger. Much, much bigger than alligator eggs. What was I looking at, I wondered. And whatever hatchling that had lain within, where was it now? Or was it not out yet? It was hard for me to determine just how big the crack was. Maybe the crack was still doing its thing, of widening, and slowly revealing the hatchling to the world – and the world, to the hatchling.

How long had the egg been there? It was hard to tell. While the dip had been there for a fairly long time, I don’t believe I had seen the egg until that morning. But I couldn’t be sure. What if I hadn’t been paying attention? It is easy to get caught up listening to the many stories that unfold on my branches, leaves, trunk, and my vast shady region. It is part of who I am, and watching a hollow cannot replace this big part of me. Well, that was my excuse for my lack of curiosity.

But finally, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I decided to ask the owl that had taken up residence fairly recently, on one of my mid-tier branches.

“Well hello, owl. Fine morning, finally, isn’t it?”

If the owl was irritated, it didn’t show it. But not that it was overtly pleasant either. It responded true to its reserved nature.

“I suppose. I don’t tend to observe mornings.”

“Indeed. I quite forgot that.”

There was no point in extending this uncomfortable string of pleasantries, was there? I decided to plunge right into the matter.

“Say, have you noticed that big egg in the dip by the far east corner of my shady region?”

“What egg?” asked the owl, not too curiously. He did not even turn in the direction.

“Well, the egg that is in there,” I replied, a tad crossly. If only the owl would look, for goodness sake!

“Oh that. Yes, it does appear to be an egg. Time will reveal all”, said the owl, rather mysteriously.

“But where are the parents?”, I asked, rather exasperated. “How can a hatchling arrive, with nobody to welcome it?”

“Well, every hatchling arrives when it is ready for the world, and the world is ready for it,” said the owl with a deep sigh, masking a yawn.

I got the hint, and stopped talking to the reticent creature, which soon nodded off to sleep. So much for wise, nocturnal birds! Hmmph!

Every being needs a habitat. It is an important sounding name devised by humans that quite simply means, a place to belong. A place that will allow the being to thrive. Besides a healthy habitat, most beings also need a community to thrive. Or if they don’t as adults, at least they do as babies or hatchlings. The alligators that had lived near the banks of the Orugulara where I stand, many, many, many years ago, migrated long ago. I think it happened when their habitat here was threatened by receding water levels. When their habitat was at risk, their community made a move. I think they moved further down the river where its tributary Chenuhaka meets it. At least, that’s the news I heard from the family of cranes that stop by before the start of every winter, on their way to warmer lands.

I worried about the soon-to-be-hatchling. Where was its community? And without a community, how would it know how to survive in this habitat? The owl seemed nonplussed. Perhaps he did not care. I had to find a creature that did care.

III

The sun shone brightly in the sky, and it appeared as if it had never rained. Except for the odd patch of tiny puddle, everything else appeared as it had, before the rains. I kept an eye on the egg shell which was now definitely opening up, although it was taking way too long. Had the alligator eggs taken this long? I didn’t quite remember.

An elephant herd came to the river that day. While the young ones frolicked in the water, the matriarch and a few of the allomothers kept watch. It was an opportunity like none other.

I shook the branch where the owl sat, sleeping peacefully. He woke up with a start.

“Why are you doing that, you old tree? I know it’s you, so don’t pretend”.

“I won’t. Can you take a message to the elephants?”

“What makes you think I would? Or that they would listen?” the owl retorted.

“Well, I’ll not let you catch up on your sleep unless you do as I say”.

“You are a nuisance you know,” the owl mumbled. “Let me guess, is this about the egg?”

“Yes. Can you tell the mother elephant that I need to talk to her?”

“Have you ever done that before? Talk to her, I mean?” asked the owl, quite intrigued.

“A few times, over the ages; not to this one specifically. The elephants are good listeners.”

The owl seemed thoughtful. He ruffled his feathers some, and presently, took off in the direction of the elephants. He swooped down on to a rock near the river. If it surprised the elephants, they didn’t show it. They knew the river belonged to everyone. The young ones continued their play, oblivious of the bird watching them. The owl may have hooted, I don’t quite know. The river, whilst being my closest neighbour, is not exactly next door you know. It is perhaps two stone throws away from where I’m stood. A stone’s throw away from the dip that housed the egg. So anyway, as I was saying, the owl may have hooted. For a couple of the elephants looked in his direction and moved slowly towards him.

I could see that the owl maintained a safe distance from the massive creatures; he was a wise, old bird after all. Not that he needed to. The elephants would have done him no harm. In all my years of existing, observing, listening and conversing with all the creatures big and small, I have realised that animals and birds almost always harbour no malice. I mean sure, they kill for prey if they are born like that, but they wouldn’t kill for the sake of killing.

So yes, I knew the elephants would not harm my reluctant messenger. Not long after, I saw the owl flying back, and the matriarch and another elephant, perhaps her sister, gently approaching the far east corner of my shade, where the dip was located. The owl perched itself on a branch overlooking the dip.

“Well thank you, owl”.

“Can I go back to sleep now?”

“I doubt you really want to, owl. If you did, why did you perch yourself where you did?”

The owl puffed his chest out, clearly annoyed. Poor thing, I decided to stop the teasing.

“Let’s see what these ladies have to tell us, shall we?”

“Hmm. They are curious”, he replied, a little curtly.

I watched the pair as they walked towards the dip. There was no sense of hurry in their slow and deliberate steps. The owl spoke of their curiosity, but whereas curiosity in other creatures is often accompanied by eagerness and a heightened sense of activity towards satisfying that curiosity, these elephants remain unperturbed in their demeanour. Their gait belied their curiosity.

Once, very, very long ago, an old, now dead elephant friend had shared the secret with a much younger me.

“You see, little tree, we have to be careful. In our eagerness and excitement, we can cause much harm to lesser beings. It is not that we have no capacity for playfulness, we do. But we reserve it for our time in the water, or when we are truly alone. Or at least, we try to. The young ones can get carried away sometimes.”

These were such majestic, gentle beings. And I have always been so full of awe and admiration for them, although, every elephant I’ve had the pleasure of hosting, has been unassuming; almost unaware of its greatness!

IV

The soft earth squelched slightly, each time they took a step, a reminder of the heavy rains. The little creatures hurried off as they saw the gentle giants approaching. My upper and mid boughs tickled as the squirrels and the monkeys ran back to their safe places. No doubt they would watch the elephants with eager, wide eyed curiosity. The elephants approached the dip and stood at a small distance from it. They were respectful of the life that was trying to find its way out of the egg that had housed it. The matriarch looked up towards me and inclined her head ever so slightly, then said.

“I hear that you worry about the young one that will soon arrive.”

“I do. I don’t see the presence of a community to welcome the hatchling. And from the size of the egg, it appears to be a somewhat bigger creature.”

“I see. And so you thought maybe we knew something about bigger creatures, being so big ourselves, eh?” she asked with a slight chuckle.

“I have had the privilege to be friends with many of your ancestors. I know there is ancient wisdom running through your veins, elephant. I wondered if you could sift through it to find anything at all about this egg and its origins. It seems much bigger than the alligator eggs I have seen many, many, many years ago, when Orugulara was more abundant.”

“Indeed, this is no alligator egg, my friend. We have heard stories passed down to us by our mother. Stories passed down to us through generations of elephants that have roamed these lands. Stories of massive creatures, giant lizards of epic proportions, which laid eggs. But those were creatures of yesterday. They belonged to those times, too many years ago. It is quite strange that one of those giant lizard eggs should appear now, out of nowhere. It is even more strange that the egg has started to hatch!”

“You know how I mentioned the time when the river was abundant? That was also a time when this place was cooler. And now it is so hot, even when it is winter. Could this shift in how the river has depleted, and the sun has become warmer even in winters, have caused this? Strange things keep happening around here, you know. Only, it takes so long that you lot who run around on your legs and live and die like the passing of a tornado will never notice it. But I have seen some of it. So yes, I wonder… I really do, if this egg was kept alive all this time, because it was somehow lost to time.”

“If I may say so, you aren’t making much sense, old tree”, said the other elephant, teasingly.

“But you could be right,” interjected the matriarch, gravely.

“I don’t see why not,” said the owl, who had apparently been listening in, whilst pretending to sleep. Perhaps that was the secret to his wisdom – listening in and being aware, even while asleep.

“Weren’t you sleeping, owl?” asked a monkey from the neighbouring branch. The owl opened his eyes and scowled at his neighbour.

“Do you reckon it is the hatchling of a giant lizard then, elephant?” I asked hesitantly.

Even saying it aloud was frightening. You young ones may not understand why. But I have been alive for so many, many, many years now. I have seen and heard so many, many, many things. When things happen abruptly and disrupt the natural order of things, I feel scared. Sort of like a thunderclap on a pleasant morning – it is unexpected and no doubt scary, or at least, startling. This egg, and the soon-to-be-hatchling were like the thunderclap on a pleasant morning.

“It could be. I hope it is not. Only time will tell,” replied the matriarch, a touch sadly.

The wrinkles on her skin seemed to stand out, just like the bark on my trunk. She had lived a long time, although not quite as much as I had. It was hard to remember the playful little calf from long, long ago, on the banks of the Orugulara, when I saw this ageing matriarch.

“Meanwhile, what do we do of it?” asked the ever practical owl.

“Nothing. We keep watch over it. When the hatchling arrives, it will be small. We could enlist the monkeys and even perhaps yourself, owl, to watch over it, and be its family.”

“Always happy to help,” replied the monkey, no hint of playfulness or mischief his voice.

“And afterwards?” asked the other elephant, not without some trepidation.

“We will deal with it when we get there, shall we not?” said the matriarch gently yet assertively.

“Old tree, we are all in this together. We will become the hatchling’s community, for as long as it needs one. And let us hope this is its habitat.” she said.

We all fell silent after that, each lost in our own thoughts. Even the little ones were silent, the monkeys, squirrels and sparrows. The gravity of the moment and what was about to unfold in their lives was not lost on them. The only noise was the faint scratching from within the egg, as the hatchling inside fought to find its way out.

We were each at the cusp of a life altering event. We wondered how we would fare, in seeing ourselves through it. But most of all, I think all of our hearts, wooden and otherwise, went out to the soon-to-be-hatchling – and we wanted to be the best community a strange, possibly ancient hatchling could ever have.

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