Chanakya and Me

The great Chanakya once wrote

About trees, straight and crooked both

"Trees that grow straight are the first ones to go

Quickly succumbing to the axe's blow

Crooked ones mostly survive

Age-old wisdom you cannot fight!"

"How weird?" I thought

And in my inner chamber,

My own wisdom I sought

"Crooked?"

No. I shall grow straight

Whatever be my fate!"

I grew towards the sky and stood erect

On my mind, Kautilya had little effect

Confident, I looked at the world

With a straight eye

"Why would anyone ever want to destroy

The straightforward and gentle me

A perfectly harmless flowering tree?"

But alas! Axed, I was, cut into two halves

Bleeding, I no longer knew who I was

"Chanakya", I lamented, "You were right!

Please guide me back into a new life!"

Chanakya's triumphant portrait

From the book of history smiled

"Aha! When I told you, straight trees are cut faster,

You thought I had lied?

I can see the injuries on your poor dwarfed trunk

Now to save yourself, develop a proper hunch

Grow crooked all the way, become difficult

And this time around, don't get diffident

As I told you, crooked trees easily survive

For they are difficult to slice!

And that my dear," said Kautilya, "is the truth

Follow my advice, life will become safe and good!"

I bowed to Chanakya, as I shut the book

Hanging my precious values on a rusted hook

I thanked him profusely for his timely help

Setting my heart aside,

I began to use my head

"Let me grow crooked, crooked

And more crooked," was all I said

To save myself from imminent death

Now the leaves on my awkward branches

Grew dull, lifeless, ready to fall

The birds, bees, squirrels

Did not respond to my call

Flowers and fruits refused to grow

And nothing but grief covered my brow

As I continued to become crooked

In excruciating pain

My inner being resented and cried out -

Shame, shame, shame!

Though safe, I no longer danced with the rains

Hard, poky branches became my eternal chains

Would depression seal my tragic fate

Would I want to live on at this rate?

The nucleus of my entire being

Like a volcano, erupted

And the fiery rebel in me reacted

I had to prove, cruelty I could survive

And on goodness alone I could thrive

I took a deep invigorating breath

Gathered all my strength, challenging death

Decided not to go against my grain

And began to grow straight again

Cornering Kautilya into unintended shame

Putting into jeopardy

His philosophy and name ...

Chanakya, though controlled but enraged

Re-emerged from an ancient history page

Pointing a finger at me, he said,

"Live not with your heart but with your head

It will stand you in real good stead

Foolish you, I warned you, didn't I?

For the rest of your life, would you want to cry?

Or else numbered are your days ...

Unless you give up on your senseless ways!

I will have to prove you wrong this one last time

Or else on your death warrant

I shall willingly sign!"

My pious soul I had relentlessly fought

Imagining I had become wise or so I thought!

The great Chanakya of course knew it all

Was I headed for a deadly fall?

Was it a sin to be straight and tall?

Would I want to live on feeling small?

Why rob myself of the elegance

Of a hunch-free, graceful tree?

Could survival be my only plea?

When my own goodness I could no longer see?

My branches had become fruitless

Entangled, no longer free!

I then realized, I just had to be

My natural, wonderful, sparkling me

Life is about living, not about loss or gain

"No," I thought, "I'll grow graceful again"

To have become crooked was all in vain

Despite all odds and all the pain

I will defy the good old Kautilya once again

Whether he mocks or punishes me, never mind

To the squirrels, butterflies, birds and bees,

I just had to be kind!

Yes, I will grow straight and embrace

All the skies blue!

And to my conscience