Murder in the service of Man

It was dark summer night. The air was still and he heat was suspended in the air.
A man appeared from the darkness and approached a row of 50 trees.
He took out a brush, dipped it in the bucket of paint and marked a big cross on the trunk of a tree. He repeated this act 50 times till every tree in the row was marked for death by axing. The row of trees had come in the way of the progress of man.

The marked trees squeezed within, turned pale and there was a shudder and a cry. Some leaves fell in anguish. The man did not hear anything and did not see anything. His job accomplished, the man sat down, resting his back on the trunk of a marked tree and lit a cigarette. Between drags of smoke and drowsiness he mumbled curses against the summer heat, his job and growing poverty.

After the initial shock, the trees voiced discontent at the unending ill-treatment meted out to them by Man and conspired amongst themselves whether they should realiate by shedding all the leaves to deprive the Man of the shade from the scorching summer Sun and letting a heavy branch fall on this man’s head.
The thoughts were shunned, retaliation being a man’s trait.
But the silent agitation continued and all the trees joined in.
The trees decided to leave the Man and the intensity of the compulsion to leave
Man reached such a pitch that feet grew to the trees.

The trees started walking to leave the Man.
The jerk of their step woke up the man, who was leaning against the tree.
Fear ran though his body, for what he saw he could not believe.
He ran into the darkness shouting-----the trees have grown feet.
Some heard his shouts in the sleep----but could not believe it----and continued sleeping.
Morning edition of newspapers did not carry the news because the information reached them late. When the Man woke up in the morning, most of them realized only then,
the absence of trees amongst them.
Though the administration for progress of Man felt relieved of the problem,
They still fabricated and brought out all the defects of the trees in a note,
Proposing dire consequences to the criminals who escaped axing. Finance, too, joined
the administration to make their note convincing by exaggerating the expenditure on growing and maintaining trees.
They even suggested that in their stead, plastic trees should be erected for its obvious advantages.
Custodians of law were sent in all direction but the file could not be closed till the trees were caught and punishment administered. The administration again proposed with further justifications, the words tree and green to be deleted from the vocabulary of Man.
The solution was found implemented and the file was closed.
Man perished thereafter and the earth disintegrated soon after.

Sparkle of Light
“I am content choosing to walk, all alone in darkness, locating, building and carving my own path to walk on, towards the universe (Brahmand) of a floating volume of intense darkness hiding sparkles of light.

Sometimes, a sparkle of light comes out of the universe (Brahmand) of floating darkness, engulfs me and then leaves me rejuvenated, to continue, locating, building and carving my path, to walk on it, in the darkness towards the universe (Brahamand) of floating volume of intense blackness hiding sparkles of light”

Ved Nayar

Touch Stones

Yamuna, one of the holy rivers of India, enters plains from Himalayan mountains at Paonta Sahib.

Soon after the monsoon rains, while walking on the bank of the river, I discovered a stones- beach rising from the deep, cool flowing waters of the river, reflecting the changing colour of the sky. As the sun rose in the horizon, the first golden yellow rays fell on each of the millions of stones on the beach, defining the shape, size, volume, colour and the shadow of each stone. The play of sunlight revealed each stone’s contours and its identity also. The stones varied in size from as small as a sand particle to as big as me. Perhaps every stone is as old as our planet. Each carries energy, knowledge and secrets of our planet, of our universe. Sitting by the side of the water, they are linked with my inheritance and cultural identity. By the force of an intuitive compulsion, I started picking the stones that tingled my creative and visual instincts, some because of the shape, some for the colour, some for the texture and some, I do not why. Some had their fate lines carved on them. Some were cruelly treated by the river and some with tender care. Some had other stones embedded in them for a life long bond. The lines, the dents, the holes in the stones tell the story of the river’s journey. I placed one stone on a large stone lying around, then another on it. I continued placing them till the pillar (stambh) of selected stones balanced one on another. The pillar changed the personality of the stones- beach, of its surrounding universe, visibly and spiritually. And the change had an effect on me. It gave me comprehension of my total being- my past, my present and my future. I became alive and one of them in the land of Touch Stones. I made another pillar (stambh) in the vicinity, then another. I went on selecting stones and making pillars till the sun went down behind the hills. I became a medium for each selection. Each selected stone, I realised, had the capacity to change the world around me. I did not feel, I have changed the world. I felt the stones changed my world. The experience was sublime, one of participation in creation. I named my installation, Touch Stones after Rabindranath Tagore’s short story ‘ Parosh Moni’ I arrived at the ‘Touch Stones’ beach next day morning just before the sun rise and captured the experience in every changing light of the Sun in my camera, to share with others. I worked on selected images on my computer to add my creativity to the images.

Ved Nayar

Touch Stones-2, 2008