Part I
They call me the false Ashok. I cannot find it complimentary. I am as tall and beautiful and graceful as any tree in the world and no less attractive or opulent than my namesake. And yet they call me a fake. How cruel! It pains and hurts.
What’s in a Name?
I stand tall amidst lush greenery, an arboreal marvel captivating all who lay eyes upon me. Gracefulness is woven into my very essence. My majesty bears the marks of time and wisdom in the intricate patterns of my lissom frame, the stately elegance of my supple branches and the wavy elongation of my dainty leaves.
My evergreen frame grows over 20 meters in height exhibiting symmetrical pyramidal growth with willowy weeping pendulous branches and long narrow lanceolate leaves with undulate margins. When my young leaves issue forth, they have a coppery brown pigmentation; and as the leaves grow older, the colour becomes a light green and, finally, a dark green. I particularly feel delighted as the thick green curtain that I raise alleviating assailing noises from all around.
And my fruits, deep purple and black when ripe is enjoyed by a variety of birds including Koel, fruit bats, even flying foxes.
Originating from the tropical regions of Southeast Asia, particularly abundant in the dense rainforests of Indonesia and Malaysia, and the Caribbean islands of Trinidad and Tobago, I am today an integral part of the local ecosystem.
Like many other things, I was cultivated and gained popularity in British India for nostalgic reasons because I resembled the tall, towering Italian cypress.
I paint a vivid portrait of biodiversity by my presence, nurturing a multitude of flora and fauna within my welcoming embrace. Towering above the landscape, I play a vital role in providing shelter and sustenance to a diverse range of life, ranging from animalcule insects to resplendent birds. My leaves, for example, are larval food plant of the tailed jay and the kite swallowtail butterflies.
What good am I?
The purpose of my beautiful and stately body is as varied as it is fascinating. I am the focal point in gardens, pruned into various sizes and shapes. My flexible, straight, and light-weight trunks were once used in the making of masts for sailing ships. I was, therefore, also known as the Mast Tree. My wood is still used for manufacturing small articles such as pencils, boxes, and matchsticks. The oil extracted from my seeds has been confirmed to contain antioxidant, anti-lipoxygenase, and antimicrobial (against various microbe strains) agents. My Methanolic extracts have yielded 20 known and two new organic compounds, some of which possess cytotoxic properties.
And, not to forget, my leaves are used for ornamental decoration during festivals and religious ceremonies.
Ashok, Me and Tradition
Ashok, of course, enjoys a far hoarier tradition than me. It is a legend among trees.
Coming in at least three different varieties, the red (rakta), the blue (nīla) and the golden (suvarṇa), the red variety is evidently the standard Ashok. There is a reference to the golden one, hema-pushpa in Mālavikāgnimitra. Scholars, however, believe that it is more an idealised version of Ashok. Perhaps inspired by the golden lotus found in Ganga. But the Nīlāśoka, which sheltered Sita, finds mention at many places including in the Vṛkṣāyurveda by Śāraṅgadhara.
And since we are obsessed by names, let me also dwell on this aspect a little more. The Sanskrit dictionary Amarkosh gives just one synonym, van͂jula. But names like, rakta-pallava (‘of red flowers’), piṇḍīpushpa, vicitra (‘multicoloured’), aṅganā-priya (‘beloved of women’) and kankeli also find mention in literature. Viśoka, a variation on Ashok with the same meaning (‘griefless’), is also cited.
I may be condemned as false Ashok, but I too have other names as well. I am variously known as the Buddha tree, Indian mast tree, and Indian fir tree. My names in other languages include Ashoka in Sanskrit, Unboi or Debadaru in Assamese, Debdaru in Bengali and Hindi, Debadaru in odia, Asopalav (Gujarati), Glodogan tiang (Indonesian), Ashok in Marathi and Nettilinkara in Tamil, and Namaram (Malayalam), and Kambada mara in Kannada.
And Association with Women
It is true that I don’t enjoy the reputation of the romantic that my namesake so famously is known for. Young and beautiful women don’t come and embrace me so that I could blossom. I don’t have to be struck by the foot of a woman – preferably the lotus-like foot jingling with anklets. And poets have not sung paeans of my beauty and attraction that charms the women of all ages.
Rājaśekhara celebrates the flowering of Ashok in his immortal Kavirahasya thus,
नालिङ्गितः कुरबकस्तिलको न दृष्टो
नो ताडितश्च चरणैः सुदृशामशोकः।
सिक्तो न वक्त्रमधुना बकुलश्च चैत्रे
चित्रं तथापि भवति प्रसवावकीर्णः॥
N’ āliṅgitaḥ kurabakas tilako na dṛṣṭo
No tāḍitaś ca caraṇaiḥ sudṛśām aśokaḥ |
Sikto na vaktram adhunā bakulaś ca cater
Citraṃ tathāpi bhavati prasava-avakīrṇaḥ ||
(In Caitra at this time, no pretty girl has embraced the kurabaka, none has let shoot a glance at the tilaka, none has kicked the aśoka with her feet and none has sprinkled the bakula with wine from her mouth – how strange then that even so each tree is bestrewn with blossoms)
[8th Verse of chapter 18]
I don’t need the amorous kick of a beautiful foot ;or the tender and loving attention of beautiful girls to either bud or bloom, not like Tilak who needs a glance, the campaka who succumbs to her laugh, and kurabaka her embrace. I still flower and when I do, multitudes of young and comely damsels collect around my stately and handsome frame.
I am ever privileged to have the love and affection of women of all ages and beauty. And I also do not have to wait for the Spring or Vasant to arrive. Their loving amorous attention is available to me round the year, in all seasons.
(To Be Continued….)
scribo ad LX 