I grew up in a remote village called Kargwan in the Hamirpur district of Bundelkhand. I cherish the memories of two trees—one, the Pakhad; the other, the Allauva. I don’t know what they are called in English*. Allauva is a very small tree and the branches are quite sturdy and don’t break easily. Its flowers have a very sweet fragrance, as good as Raat ki Rani.

These two trees, one small, and the other very big, were our playground. The maximum number of hours of my childhood have been spent on these trees. When there were lots of friends we would play ‘slow-danda’ on the Pakhad and when there were only a few friends (three or four) we would play it  on the Allauva.

‘Slow-danda’ is a very common game in the villages of our area. All you need to play the game is a small stick and a tree. One person is the den and he has to catch the others. First, everyone gathers under the tree. Then someone throws the stick from under their leg, so it can’t go very far, you see. The den fetches the stick and, in the meantime, everyone climbs the tree. The den has to place the stick in a circle drawn under the tree. Now, his task is to climb the tree, touch someone and then quickly get down and kiss the stick. Even while kissing it he has to bring the stick from under his leg. While he is catching people, the others have to try and get down and kiss the stick in the same manner. If someone manages to do that, then the game starts all over again. It is an absorbing game and we kept playing it throughout the summer afternoons.

The Pakhad was a huge tree, not like the ones you find planted on avenues in the cities. The branches were so thick that you could run on them. Once, a cousin of mine arrived at the village. He was a spoiled brat and had been sent to my father for some ‘disciplining’. The day he arrived, he wanted to play slow-danda with us. In the course of the game, he jumped from a height and fractured his arm. He didn’t cry, though, and that impressed me. I still remember what he said, “Damn, my right arm fractures all the time!” He was promptly sent back home. I never got to know if he was disciplined.

The Allauva on which I used to play died its own death. But the roots gave off a stem and we managed to plant it right outside the gate of our house in the village. So, the son, or daughter (I don’t know which) of the original tree is still around. At night it gives such a wonderful fragrance. I am very attached to that tree. I can’t play slow-danda anymore at my age, but now I sit under the tree and play cards with the villagers.

(*Pakhad is Ficus virens; Allauva is Morinda citrifolia).

Col Prem Pratap Singh is retired from the Guards Battalion of The Indian Army. He now resides in his village and takes care of his ancestral farmland.