Nothing Grows Under a Banyan Tree

There is a beautiful tree outside my gate. It is strangely human – it sleeps. As dusk approaches all its leaves droop and hang limp and drowsy. People here call it the ‘sleepy face’ tree.

After a long day at work I feel a special kinship with it. I’m frankly enchanted by its wide spreading branches which reach out umbrella like to provide an oasis of dappled shade; by the way its leaves are darkly outlined against the sky when I look up. Its furry pink flowers and even the dry leaves that crackle under my feet as I go up the cement walk before our house, please me.

I could find no fault with my tree until I saw what it was doing to my jasmine bush. The flowers of this particular plant are my favorite. They emanate a lush fragrance from their heavily petaled blooms.