The Monk Palash

 The flame-of-the-forest, palash  brushing against the balcony of my second floor flat has turned orange-red. Its the usual time for it to shed green and go monk. 

Little sunbirds - simply clad ones and those in royal-satin, blue, green and purple flit around the blossom laden branches since daybreak. The tree is alive with the tweets of the little birdies and  chirping and squawking mynas. To keep them company are the frolicking, squeaking squirrels. Screeching parrots are the largest visitors on the tree.

 Its a delight to follow the swift birds taking in the nectar from the blooms. The sunbirds, called shakkarkhora (literally, sugar-devourer)  sip the nectar in the flowers with their tiny long beaks, often hanging upside-down to reach the carpals. I often wonder if they 'drink to the lees'. Little red-brown bees become visible when the ruckus and flurry of movements created by the birds subsides with the climbing sun. 

Until a few years ago, there used to be a few takers of the fleshy flowers to make coloured water during the Holi festival. Neighbours would also occasionally come to us to pluck a few leaves to make patraavalis  to offer food to their departed ancestors during pitru paksha.

           I think the parrots and squirrels  are very wasteful. The squirrels nudge at the flowers and even buds seemingly for the fun of it, snipping them off the tan rough branches to fall to the ground. The tree will fast lose its saffron cover. 

Soon however, the pollinators' work will bring fruition. The tree will turn fresh green, with long hanging flat beans, which eventually will dry to a dark brown. Its always fun to watch the parrots hard at work to get the seeds from the beans. A parrot perches on a branch with one foot and holds a large bean between its beak and claw of the other foot. Then, with its beak, slices lengthwise, the edges of the bean  and fetches a seed. More often than not,  to the screeching bird's disapproval, the bean falls away before it can get all the seeds in it. It jumps to another branch and resumes the acrobatics. 

You wish the orange stayed!... and you could behold the beauty forever!

The tree, saffron clad for a couple of months, radiant; in all its petaled glory and honour of hosting birds and bees, will resume it's normal pallor: green! Calling the fresh or dark green of the leaves, pallor is incorrect. However, it is pale compared to the burst of colour the tree wears in spring. And as I gaze on at the birds' activity, I wonder where they go away. This seasonal phenomenon brings to my mind the empty nests of the elderly and the pining for our loved ones. 

The tree however, seems stoic! Howsoever I may miss the tree's flaming palette, I do like its simplicity and detachment - solitude, rest, peace!