‘O Mother Earth! You are the world for us and we are but your children. Grant us the ability to overcome our differences and live peacefully and in harmony, and let us be cordial and gracious in our relationship with other beings.’
Atharva Veda (XI.1.16)
The Banyan tree can reach heights of over 30 metres. But a single tree can also cover over 1 km² of land. It starts with a single trunk and grows laterally deploying aerial roots that essentially become trunks, supporting the tree as it spreads wider and wider. The Banyan tree is a symbol of longevity. Its leaves are said to be the resting place of the deity Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu and god of protection, compassion, tenderness, and love. Some Banyan grow around other trees to the point of envelopment causing the other tree to die and decompose, leaving a hollow space inside.
Since arriving in India I have been grappling with the idea of contradictions: How can a society hold such beautiful and profound beliefs yet act in such a different way? I have realised that my discomfort is not with India, but rather with the contradictions I see in the entire world and in myself. So-called ‘first-world countries’ like New Zealand have labelled India a third-world country, but what gives us the right to decide? We struggle with many of the same issues India struggles with: climate change, socio-economic disparities, pollution, education etc. The only difference is that we hide our problems better. India is refreshingly upfront and honest. Once I was able to drop my Western standards and ideals, I was able to see what an amazing place this country is.
And because I am a geography nerd, I want to talk a little about the biodiversity and topography of the subcontinent that is India.
India is a peninsular country, surrounded by the Bay of Bengal in the east, the Indian Ocean in the south and the Arabian Sea in the west. We have travelled from the tropical coastal town of Puducherry with its estuaries full of brackish water, across the Western Ghats to Coimbatore, nestled in the Velliangiri hills. From there we left the state of Tamil Nadu for Karnataka. We climbed the notorious 27 hairpin bends in the Eastern Ghats up to the southern end of the Deccan Plateau and towards the city of Mysuru. Troops of bonnet macaque monkeys, herds of spotted deer and pairs of Indian ringneck parakeets triggered excited shouts from the bus. On our way from Mysuru to Bengaluru we encountered vast agricultural fields and travelled through small rural villages humming with life. From there we journeyed to Hampi which was a landscape unlike anything I have ever seen before. The land was flat and covered in rice paddies, but there were seemingly random piles of enormous granite boulders scattered around the area. These piles were once monolithic granite mountains, but millions of years of rain, sun and wind had reduced them to puzzling piles of rocks teetering upon one another in the most bizarre ways. During our flight to Mumbai, I was able to see India from 10,000 feet up and was amazed by the dry plains of north Karnataka contrasted with the jungles and greenery running along the Eastern Ghats through the states of Goa and Maharashtra. Mumbai used to be seven islands but through land reclamation processes it is now a peninsula and home to an estimated 21 million people. Within the Dharavi Slums, people from different religious groups live peacefully in close quarters despite the tensions existing in greater society. The train to Ahmedabad took us through the marshy plains of southeast Gujarat. You could always hear the chirps of squirrels playing in the trees, white-collared doves cooing from their branches and troops of rhesus macaque monkeys running across the corrugated iron roofs.
Contradictions live everywhere despite our discomfort with them. In the West, it seems that we hide behind a facade of gratefulness for our privilege, using it as an excuse to criticise or pity countries like India. And although India has many challenges to overcome it is undeniably beautiful. The people here are resilient, passionate and kind. I think that we could all learn a thing or two from this place.
The Banyan tree, in all its beauty, can still grow to the point where it envelops other trees and kills them. Much like the Banyan, we humans can become so obsessed with growth and progress that we don’t realise what we have destroyed until it is too late. In understanding the contradictory nature of humanity and the environment we can see where we have been and where we are going, hopefully changing our behaviour before creating irreversible damage.