At the Prabodhini Gurukula in Hariharapura, there stood a huge jackfruit tree — broad and sheltering, almost as though nature itself had built a giant roof. Though the tree had grown tall and wide, it never bore fruit.
“Never mind… at least it gives good shade for teaching the children,” they said, and built a platform around it. It was named “Veda Vriksha” — the Tree of the Vedas. (At the Gurukula, every tree had a name.) The acharyas would sit there and teach Vedic lessons beneath it.
And then, strangely enough, the tree began bearing so many jackfruits that nobody could keep count.
The other day — on 18-2-2018 — when I had gone for the Ganga Samaradhane, some of my old students sat with me beneath that same tree. The moment I sat there, memories returned one after another.
The games we played around that tree… climbing it like little monkeys… and sometimes, after creating some unnecessary mischief, hiding ourselves among its branches — it had served all purposes faithfully.
Whenever the jackfruits ripened, they would cut them open and distribute them to all the children. Our senior boys would behave like great saints while serving them — so innocent, so generous — handing away all the fruits to the younger children. They would not give me any either.
“Wait, Mathrushree… we’ll give you later,” they would say.
By then every piece would be over.
“What is this? Everything is finished already? Nothing for me?” I would ask.
They would look at each other and laugh silently — that mischievous little “kisak” laugh.
I went and complained to my husband.
“See how much affection these senior boys have for the younger children… poor things, they don’t even think of keeping anything for themselves,” I said sincerely.
He only smiled teasingly and said, “Just keep watching…”
After all the younger children had eaten well, after portions had been set aside for the acharyas, the hidden fruits would finally appear. Those were cut open separately and eaten by the senior boys. They would give some to me too.
At first, I never understood why.
But after seeing the same ritual continue for two or three years, I finally realized the truth.
The fruits they hid away were always the jackfruits from this very Veda Vriksha.
Apparently, every batch of senior students followed the same tradition.
Even today, I do not think I have ever tasted jackfruit sweeter than those fruits — so rich in flavor, so beautiful to look at, almost impossible to forget.
All these memories came rushing back as I sat beneath that tree again.
Many students could not come because of unavoidable reasons. But the ones who came — despite their work, responsibilities, and busy lives — arrived as though fulfilling something entrusted to them.
“Hari Om, Mathrushree…” they would say as they approached.
And in that greeting there would be affection, warmth, reverence, a little fear, devotion, belonging — everything together.
As they gathered around and spoke with such sincerity, I felt something deeper than celebration. I had come there merely for the Ganga Samaradhane… but what filled my heart was gratitude.
At that moment, I felt this particular bogie of life had not rusted away anywhere.
It was still moving gently… intact… along the railway tracks called memories.
Originally written in Kannada by Veena Shanbhogue as part of Nenapina Haliyalli Sarida Bogigalu (ನೆನಪಿನ ಹಳಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಸರಿದ ಬೋಗಿಗಳು).
English translation and digital preservation by Sumanth Shanbhogue
Shanbhogue Publications 
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