The garden next to my house

Assalamu Alaikum

I hope everyone is well. I am also well, Alhamdulillah. Today I want to share with you an experience that makes my mind sad on one hand, and on the other hand, it has taught me to think in a new way. There is a garden next to my house. Since my marriage, I have been looking at this garden every day. Actually, it would be wrong to call it just a garden. It has become a part of my mind. There are many mango trees in the garden. And with them, there are some huge Akashmani trees.

These trees used to stand very tall and touch the sky. When seen from a distance, it seemed like a green wall surrounded our house. When I first started living here after my marriage, I realized on hot days how much these trees had benefited us. Our house was always cool. Our house never felt unbearable heat where the ground in the surrounding area cracked in the strong sun. It seemed as if the trees had poured all their shade and peace for us.

To be honest, the trees were not just piles of wood to me, they became living friends. Again, this garden had a different look in every season. When summer came, the mango trees would be filled with unripe mangoes. The smell of mango pulp would waft through the air. During the monsoon, raindrops would fall on the leaves. That sound would give me a kind of peace, and in winter, these trees would give the yard a completely new look with their fallen leaves. But all good things come to an end one day.

A few days ago, our Akashmoni trees were sold. In total, about 91 thousand taka was received. Although I was sad to hear that the trees were being sold, I thought that maybe it was the need of the hour. Everyone needs money. This morning, I suddenly saw the cutters coming and starting the work of cutting the trees. First, they were cutting small trees and branches. I was standing on the balcony watching the scene. It seemed like my beloved companion of many years was leaving before my eyes. With each cut branch, something inside me felt broken. I felt especially sad when I saw the mango trees. It seemed as if the trees were suffering. The shade of which I had found solace, the branches of which bore fruit in season, were now saying goodbye one by one.

The courtyard was suddenly empty. An invisible void was being created, but strangely enough, after the trees were cut, when the sunlight fearlessly entered the courtyard of the house, the house took on a completely new look. It seemed that our house, which had been covered in thick shadow for so long, was a little dark. Today, everything was illuminated, every corner of the house was visible from all sides. It was as if I had rediscovered our house.

My mind was filled with two feelings. On the one hand, the pain of losing my beloved trees, and on the other hand, the joy of seeing the house beautiful in a new way. I understood that nothing is permanent in life, sometimes you have to say goodbye, sometimes you have to come back in a new form. In the evening, I was sitting in the yard and looking at the place where these trees were cut. Looking at the tree trunks and branches lying there, I thought that these trees might be useful for building someone else's house now.

Maybe it will fulfill someone's life's need. Although the trees will no longer be here, their benefits will spread elsewhere. In this way, every loss in life actually becomes a benefit for someone else. And I consoled myself with the thought that the trees will be useful not only to us but also to many others. Nature teaches us that there is a time for everything. Sometimes flowers bloom, bear fruit, and sometimes they fall. But within them lies the possibility of a new form. The garden next to my house is taking on a new form today. And I am learning to accept new light even from the depths of farewell.