She stood gazing at his strong trunk, the rain was beating down on them both. The wind that was blowing made her sway ever so slowly and she was brushing against him subtly with measured regularity.
She recollected the first time she had popped out from her secure home, and had seen him standing there out in the open exactly where he stood now, looking fresh and strong, although much leaner, standing tall, he had seemed unaffected by the sunlight while she was wilting in the heat on that day. How she had longed to reach out and touch him.
After all these years, she still remembered the first rituals of their marriage, the turmeric powder, the vermilion and the scent of the rose water that was sprayed on her was still fresh in her mind, the sound of the prayers and hymns recited by women in colourful sarees seemed to be hanging in the air to date.
On that day, she had no idea that she would have these rituals performed every year by couples who wanted to have a child. She enjoyed the faces kids made while plucking her leaves and chewing it. She never saw anyone plucking anything off him, although he was much bigger. When a saint who was sitting in his shade one day said that this Pipal tree was sacred, she felt so proud of him. Every few years a few couples brought their children to be blessed by them. She was happy just being his Neem tree, looking forward to their wedding once more.
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