“Oh, wow!” Asan said irritably. “How does it matter when I tell you?” He rolled up his towel and lay down in a huff, resting his head on the makeshift pillow. We looked at each other, uneasy.

“But one thing simply must be said,” Joseph declared, loudly and wholeheartedly. “If Asan had not come up with his plan that day, the tree would have been cut down to its roots!”

But Asan showed no sign of having accepted the compliment. He had already closed his eyes.

One by one, we said our goodbyes to Joseph and headed home. I kept thinking about the story of Koplan. In losing a branch, the tamarind tree had ensured its survival. It was an excellent plan. Isn’t it the smartest thing to do—to give up something in exchange for self-preservation? Even a madman is basically someone who has given up his intelligence in order to protect himself, isn’t he? A lizard has its tail to lose, a woman her honor, a man his principles, and God His mask. Losing and gaining seems to be essential for survival. To lose a bit of yourself, to gain a bit of something else, and to absorb into oneself what was gained in order to protect oneself from destruction—to ensure one’s survival in times of crisis—hasn’t that always been what religions have done, what civilizations have done, what languages have done? It seems to be the law of nature.

The tamarind tree stood bereft of a branch. With the branch went its shadow. Even the wound at the spot where it’d been cut soon healed and turned into a scar. But after that, in time, the tamarind tree sent forth new branches. The branches extended out, the tree’s shadow grew bigger, and the crowds that arrived there for the shade grew bigger too. The tamarind tree seemed unperturbed by everything, offering its excellent shade to innumerable people.

Yet nothing grew at the spot where the branch had been cut. Not a single shoot, leaf, flower, or fruit. Nothing.

3

3.

Years had passed since Asan told us the story of Koplan’s revenge. I’d graduated from secondary school by then and even left town for a new job. I ended up being tangled in a love affair (love indeed!) that greatly humiliated me, and I had to come back to town without a job and my head bowed in shame. The less we say of it, the better. I met with so much mockery and ridicule wherever I went in town, I rarely left the house. Even men who covered their heads and loitered in the back alleys sniggered at me. Let them laugh, I told myself bitterly, it will do them good.