journal d'une transition

1392

and it needed care. I worked this way for several weeks, pruning and clearing. M got into a fight at work and was given time off as a punishment, and so he joined me and we did enormous work together and the entire garden looked refreshed and reenergised when we were done. Those who now had a chance to grab at some position at Matrimandir, and had to somehow share the “spoils” between them, had one urge in common; to undo whatever we had done. In particular, there was a sort of rage in systematically destroying whatever I had personally cared for. So it was for the Banyan tree, the King of the area. For years I had tended it, and had to hollow out most of the original trunk so it would not rot away from age and vermin, and to train new roots to share the weight of the expanding canopy while pruning and directing the growth away from the sphere; this was a work that needed long term tending, and a quiet planning and much observation and attention. But now the main original actors of the play – Roger A and Narad – had for all intents and purposes fused their differences in a new-found realisation, and were of one mind as to the need to regain the upper hand; Narad had resurrected from many years spent in the US away from it all, and made a grand and timely re-entry filled with spiritual panache – a dosed mix of excellent humility and soulful, well- matured aspiration. Soon they had a plan of ‘execution’ as regards the Banyan tree, the reasons for which even the press was invited to hear and record in print and image: the Banyan, they said, had suffered for too long; it had been “forced” to develop too many roots and had all but lost its original character; it was crying for proper attention and strong measures had to be taken for its sake… They would chop off most of the roots, and control the growth so that it would be contained… And they would remove the grass from under its shade and remodel its immediate surroundings. This was to be a symbolic act, invoking the Mother’s Force. (I am merely quoting them!) I must say that more than any other action, this one gave me intense pain. I knew, absolutely, that we were in different realities altogether. The one in which these people functioned at the time was NOT aware of the tree, but only of its own terms. For many years, whoever happened to be my friend was submitted to either some malicious advice as to the misleading and treacherous character of any relationship with me, or a punishing and relentless disapproval. Kovalan, who was born in the village of Edayachavadi, had been educated in Udavi school before he went on to college in a nearby town and proceeded to get trained in informatics; he had been wanting to formally join Auroville for years, but had only entered the process two years previously, when he got the opportunity to start working at the Auronet service for Auroville. We had met at Matrimandir, where he had volunteered to take up regular duties receiving visitors. I had then offered him to stay in C’s house, so he could say to the “Entry Group” that he had a place to live in Auroville. But his association with me was a mixed blessing. End of October, he was called in to an “interview”; he returned from it rather shocked and told me what had been said. I wrote to the “Entry Group” – this is just an illustrating example of the kind of “dynamics” that somehow, for some reasons yet unclear to me, I have elicited throughout my life in Auroville: