It is also one of the most beautiful seasons in the hills. My mother in her generation spoke about it, how the bauhinia would flower in the fields and forests and usher in Springtime. The bauhinia was coming into bloom in our hills when the Japanese invasion reached us. It is one of the first flowers of Spring, and its beauty is subtle. There is something of velvet to the texture of it. The native name of Bauhinia is ‘teguo pou’, and locals are good at promoting how good it tastes in pork and bamboo shoot. The beauty it brings to the dry season is almost secondary. I remember trying to tell friends how beautiful it was and how it lent grace to the landscape. A typical Naga response was, ‘But have you tasted it?’ Tasted it! That we have a need to reduce every plant to its food value says something about us, doesn’t it? We need to do something about this, don’t we? Well, we are not the only ones. A friend from Sikkim sent pictures of a very familiar looking flower. There were photos of mauve and magenta Bauhinia blossoms and alongside the photos there was a turmeric covered bauhinia sabji in a green patterned porcelain bowl. I did not feel a philosophical response was expected by way of response to the message.
Yet, if we did not have a practical use for a plant, such as turning it into food, would we take less care of it? Would it soon become extinct if it is seen as not having much to contribute? Interesting questions for the Naga minded. Our precious forest cover will benefit from its people taking care of both edible and non-edible plants. In this century, we keep making inroads further into the forests and raising concrete monsters that give nothing back to the environment. Could not people build with eco friendly materials? I think a house with walls of cane and thatch roof could still turn out to be quite comfortable. Or? Do we have to build houses that will last forever? Perish the thought. We won’t be around forever, why build to last? I don’t feel safe in rcc houses. It is scary how people in an earthquake can get trapped under the rubble for days, and have to hope for delicate rescue. A grass roof and walls of bamboo sound like a much better bet. And what about maintenance? Probably change the thatch every five to ten years. The idea of a house that lets its walls breathe is rather glorious. Some other thing to consider is this: by pushing our way into the jungles, could we possibly be encroaching on territory that does not belong to us? I don’t mean tribal lands and border areas. But there is another border that we are probably expected to respect. I base this belief on a number of stories told about an area shunned by the villagers of the region. They had ‘seen things and been forewarned in their dreams’ to keep to their own side. A technical crew however, set up camp in the forbidden areas. Then on, there was no sleep to be had. One of the crew members was kept awake by a creature that wrestled him all night. The next night, another team member was troubled by a being that continuously pinched him through the mosquito net. These are not just stories; they are ways in which the other occupants of the forests are telling humans to keep away, and to stop encroaching on their areas, rightfully so. Encounters of this kind, when the spiritual meets the natural, are not amicable. The fault lies with us. When we approach nature with the spirit of greed, we should not be surprised when it reacts with aggression. No need to eat up every green plant, raze down forests and put up concrete jungles in the name of development, and truly it is not necessary to destroy the habitat of the other creatures of the forest who have as much right as humans to their woodland homes.
