When the Roots We Nurtured Turn Against Us: A Tale of Autumn Leaves and Silent Prayers”

“When the Roots We Nurtured Turn Against Us: A Tale of Autumn Leaves and Silent Prayers”

“The heart knoweth – his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.” — Proverbs 14:10
“Pitṛ devo bhava” (पितृ देवो भव) — Let the father be thy god.
Pronunciation: pit-ri de-vo bha-va
Meaning: The father, as a divine force, must be revered — a sacred tenet of Hindu dharma.

There comes a time in life when the harvest of our efforts, love, and sacrifices ought to yield fruits of gratitude, warmth, and tender companionship. But alas, for some, the orchard turns barren, and the trees once planted with hope grow thorns of hostility.

What a peculiar irony! In the twilight of life, when one’s hands tremble not from weakness but from years of giving, the very hands one raised to shelter and bless now rise in defiance. The echo of a raised voice from a child — once cradled against the chest during fevered nights — strikes deeper than thunder across a naked sky. What pain, what devastation, to stand rebuked by the fruit of one’s own being.

One remembers the quiet sacrifices — of meals foregone, comforts delayed, dreams downsized — all for the joy of watching a child take flight. And yet, to be painted as a burden in old age, to be labelled ‘unproductive’ or worse, to see one’s savings snatched under emotional duress, feels like watching your home collapse brick by brick while you sit in silence amidst the rubble.

“न मां दु:खेन क्लिश्यन्ति सन्तः”
na māṁ duḥkhena kliśyanti santaḥ
Pronunciation: na maam duh-khe-na klish-yan-ti san-taḥ
Meaning: The wise are not shaken by sorrow.
This verse from the Mahabharata speaks of the quiet resilience of saints and elders, who absorb grief not with complaint, but with understanding. Yet, even saints have hearts.

The feeling of being ‘orphaned by one’s own blood’ is a wound deeper than any sword. There’s no vocabulary in any language for a parent who loses the affection of a living child. The world may offer shelters, charities, even consoling words — but none can mend the fracture of trust within the heart.

The friends one once cooked for, the family one guarded like a lion, now roam freely in pleasures while the provider sits ignored, like a monument — respected only in stories, not in presence.

“Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth.” — Psalm 71:9

This cry from the Psalms echoes through many tear-soaked pillows of elders whose sacrifices are now discredited, whose rooms are growing lonelier by the day.

 Autumn Leaves Fall Silently

Old age should have been a gentle symphony — of storytelling, prayer beads, cherished music, memories revisited over cups of tea, and the laughter of grandchildren dancing in one’s lap.
But what if it instead becomes a theatre of insults, gaslighting, or a place where love is a transaction and respect is conditional?

“The wound of the tongue cuts deeper than the sword.”
— so says both the Bible and the Vedas in spirit.

To be unemployed in old age is natural.
To be unwanted — is cruel.
To be helpless — is a silent prayer waiting for God’s intervention.

 A Poetic Meditation

I watered the roots, I shaped the tree,
Through storm and drought, I let them be.
But now they shade me not, nor bloom,
Their branches point, their words consume.

I ask no gold, no throne, no crown,
Just peace before I lay me down.

But bitter fruits fall every day —
My soul retreats. I kneel and pray.

 A Philosophical Note

Time is a teacher with no syllabus.
What we give today may or may not return tomorrow.
The Bhagavad Gita, in its immortal wisdom, says:

“कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन”
karmaṇy-evādhikāras te mā phaleṣu kadācana
Pronunciation: kar-man-ye-vaad-hi-kaaras te maa pha-leshu ka-daa-cha-na
Meaning: You have the right to perform your duties, but not to the fruits thereof.

Perhaps, then, our love was duty. The reward — an illusion.
But even illusions have the power to lift the soul. The disillusionment, however, is what hurts.

✨ Where Does One Go?

We turn to the divine. To prayers whispered under breath.
To quiet hymns, to a page from the Book of Job, to chants of the Gita.
We find solace in knowing that even Lord Rama walked into exile, that Yudhishthira was doubted, that Jesus was betrayed.

We are not alone in sorrow.
But we are called to be greater than it.

Let the sky be your roof and truth your walking staff.
For even if one’s child forgets the footprints that led him forward, the heavens remember.
The divine ledger is not made of currency or credit — but of conscience.

 A Prayer

May the hands that once raised tempests in my home
Be softened by time and touched by grace.

May they remember the lullabies, the tears,
The shared biscuits on broken plates, the walks to school.

And may I find in my solitude — not sorrow —
But the light of the Eternal who knows all hearts.

“A grey head is a crown of glory; it is found in the way of righteousness.” — Proverbs 16:31

And if no one stands by you, let the trees, the wind, and your God be your companions.
You are not forsaken. You are seasoned, scarred, sacred.

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