In the woods of Odisha, then so lush and green,
Lies a tale of a tree, the Kurchi, unseen.
Its bark a remedy, magic for ailments severe,
Healing the sick, bringing hope and cheer
Hush, my child, close your eyes so tight,
Dream of the Kurchi tree, in the moon's soft light.
Its branches swaying, in the gentle breeze,
Whispering secrets, among the trees.
As a boy of the sixties past and bye
Grew up listening granny s lullaby
Her knowledge so vast
Of Kurchi's power, to cure and to mend,
A home healer's legacy, from end to end.
Into the forest, we would often roam,
Gathering herbs, finding our home.
Kurchi's white flowers, a fragrant delight,
In the valley, a beautiful sight.
But time marched on, and the trees did fade,
The wisdom of old, began to cascade.
The bark of Kurchi, for handia, we'd use,
A drink of joy, no need to refuse.
Handia, a brew, both old and young savored,
A health tonic, in tradition, so favored.
The Kurchi tree, a treasure profound,
In every aspect, its essence is found.
Now I, in my age, look back with a sigh,
At the loss of the trees, reaching the sky.
But in my heart, I carry the lore,
Of Kurchi's magic, forevermore.
A promise I make, to pass on the lore,
To keep alive, what was there before.
For the Kurchi tree, and its gifts untold,
Are stories of nature, forever bold.
To all you folks I pose a question, feel so deep,
Will you cherish these wisdom , or let them sleep?
The wisdom of nature, the tales of old,
Are they worth more than silver and gold?
Swarup K Mohanty
4.30 pm Bhubaneswar at home. 18 March 2024
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