Fiction

The Construction Plot

by Shefali Poojary

I

 

On a hot summer morning, the builders came to the plot bearing their excavators and hydraulic hammers.

 

The plot, a serene piece of land where flowers grew wild, the long grass swayed in the breeze and the fertile ground nursed the trees. Every time the rain drizzled and wet the soil, the wind carried the scent of earth far and wide and interrupted actions and conversations for a few seconds. The plot was home to dusty faded and unretrievable tennis balls that the children used to play cricket. It was home to plastic wrappers of chocolates and biscuits and green, yellow and blue polyethene bags that people threw out of their windows and fancy cars.

 

This plot was home to stray cats and dogs, and frogs that croaked throughout the monsoon and then suddenly stopped like someone had unplugged their seasonal music. The plot was home to the mad beggar who thought this plot was his land. He thought the tarpaulin sheet supported by the branches of the trees that created a dome was his home. He nagged people for money so he could feed his kingdom of cats and dogs while he gorged on leftovers. He, who while being beaten up at the builders’ command on the plot called out, “My children! My Children… they will die.” to his cats and dogs. He, who was driven away like the cats and dogs before the construction began on the plot.

                                                                                                                     II

On a hot summer morning, the builders came to the plot bearing their excavators and hydraulic hammers. They dug till they deafened the earth. They dug till the earth shook, till the earth tore, till the earth bled and then kept digging. Gone were the colourful wildflowers that smiled at the harsh sun. Defeated was the grass that was not cut blade by blade as it had grown. The excavator uprooted its presence from the land, deleting all history of its existence.

 

The young trees, oh! How the earth had protected and nurtured them as seeds and saplings! The young trees were merely seven to ten years old. The young trees that had battled storm, lightning and sweltering heat, today, lost the war to the powerful chainsaws. Each of their annual growth rings indelibly etched on the trunk was sliced off in a second. Seven years of life put to seven seconds of death. And when the tree fell with a swoosh and a thud on the ground, the earth covered it with a layer of dust as if to protect it one last time. They took axes, spades and shovels to the roots to extract the stump.

 

The earth wept as each root that like umbilical cords connected her to her offsprings was mercilessly cut so that she could never nourish them again. Part by part the earth was moved. And where the earth was moved there was no sign of life. There was just a pile of sand that mocked nature and reminded the earth of her state of destitution. But the hammers and excavators moved forward destroying whatever life came in their way till they almost reached the end and then they stopped. They stopped because the night had fallen on this ghastly day.

 

III

 

On a hot summer morning, the builders came to the plot bearing their excavators and hydraulic hammers. They came to finish the unfinished lot. Between them and the flat plot was the lone old tree whose roots ran deep into the heart of the earth. But as they neared to destroy the tree the workers felt an unnatural chill. They saw the boughs and the trunk of the tree expand before their eyes. The canopy, the tree cast widened and a voice from within ordered, “Cease!” The tree blazed with a green flame. Life peered through its textured bark with a thousand eyes. Indra was awake within the tree. The builders took a step back as Indra sounded the thunder and commanded Vayu to storm.

 

Vayu raised a wave of dust and dried leaves. Indra threw his noose around a cloud and released torrential rains. The clouds poured with all their might. It rained so hard, the workers lost all sight. The ground turned to a swamp for no roots held the soil. The people on the plot started to trudge so they wouldn’t submerge. Each step pulled them further in. Still, they dragged their feet and fled the plot. Their leave did not calm Indra’s anger. Nature’s violence only grew stronger. He made it storm and rain the whole day and whole night. But with the morning light, he did repose and sanctioned a relieved Vayu’s return. The old tree shrunk to its normal size because Indra had made the builders pay their price.

 

IV

 

On a hot summer morning, the builders came to the plot to recover their excavators and hydraulic hammers. Only to discover them gone. Devoured whole by the earth. The plot had the lone tree standing mighty and tenacious and a tiny weed raising its delicate stem under the tree’s canopy.

 

Indra – The Hindu God of lightning, thunder, storms, rains, river flows and war who sustains life. He is also a God of justice.

Vayu – The Hindu God of wind.

 

About the Author:

Shefali Poojary is professionally an educator and passionately a writer and a poet. Her poems have been published in Poetry for the Thoughtful Young, Narrow Road magazine and the Indian Periodical magazine. She regularly posts her work on her website Yours Curiously. 

2 Comments

  1. Hi Shefali
    I really liked your story
    The description of the man who lived on the plot with his cats and dogs was especially affecting . Thanks for sharing :)

  2. well written and interesting
    that’s how nature punishes Man