Even though time pushes that memory further away from us today every day. Even though the aging of the biological body can gradually cause the human brain to forget everything. Even though the world changes, life has ups and downs...
Strangely, the more we live in the ups and downs of tomorrow’s fate, the more the beauty of the past memories shines. Perhaps because they are always beautiful memories that are revived in the memories of the keeper. And each time they revive, they are further highlighted by nostalgia and love.
One time last fall, not in the middle of the flower season, I suddenly missed the kapok trees of my village. The nostalgia was tinged with sadness and regret for the two kapok trees in the middle of the village that were too old and diseased, and the villagers had to cut them down to ease the anxiety of people passing by.
My son’s name is Gao. That is the name that keeps for me sweet memories of the two kapok trees in the middle of the village. When every day of my childhood, I played volleyball and jumped rope under the kapok trees. When every March flower season, I held my hat and went to pick up fallen kapok flowers. When every rice season, I sat under the kapok trees waiting for my sister’s rice cart to come back, to help her push the cart across the arched brick bridge. And when I fell in love, I told my beloved about the village, the river, the stone wharf, the bridges and the two kapok trees…
Folklore often says “the god of the banyan tree, the ghost of the kapok tree”. The ancients believed that each village/each land was protected by a god, so places considered sacred land had temples to worship the guardian gods.
In families, there is usually an altar for the local gods. Or if not, every time there is a death anniversary, in the prayer to ancestors, there is always the opening sentence: "I bow to the local gods...". During a groundbreaking ceremony, or when moving into a new house, the first prayer is always "I respectfully bow to the local gods...", even though we do not know who the specific local gods are. That is, gods always reside in people's consciousness. "The land has a local god, the river has a river god", "all things have a spirit". In villages that do not have a separate temple to worship gods, but have a communal house to worship the tutelary god, who is a person who has contributed to the founding of the village, building hamlets, and passing on the ancestral profession; or a temple to worship saints or historical figures who are revered to the level of saints, people still consider that the communal house/temple also worships gods.
The spirit of people when going to the communal house/temple to make offerings and pray always includes the following meanings: worshiping gods, worshiping saints, worshiping the village's tutelary god... And in the prayer, all the gods/saints with names and without names, in history and not in history are always called, even when the communal house/temple worships a historical figure with a specific name, the people will usually just call out in general terms "I bow to the saints and gods"...
But always and almost in every village, next to the communal house worshiping the gods/saints or the village guardian spirit, people will plant at least one banyan tree. In the old village institutions, there was often a river, a communal house, a banyan tree, and a well. In addition to the meaning of the banyan tree for the scenery and shade, surely when the tree grows up to become an ancient tree, everyone will think that the tree is the place where the saints/gods come to reside...
What about the kapok tree? Why is it called “the spirit of the banyan tree, the ghost of the kapok tree”? Folklore is often afraid of ghosts, so why do people plant kapok trees in villages, along riverbanks, and at boat docks? I often think about this, perhaps because of memories. Memories contain too many beautiful images, stirring up many memories while also recalling vague and sacred things. In my family, the people I keep the least pictures of are my grandparents. Because my grandfather passed away when I was still young, only five or six years old; my grandmother lived with her uncle and was rarely at home.
But I remember my grandmother once told me that whenever I passed a communal house or a pagoda, I should slow down and bow my head slightly. Since I was little, I remembered that pagodas and temples are sacred places, and I always tiptoed and hesitated when I went to pagodas and temples, so without any explanation, I knew why I should slow down and bow my head slightly.
But my grandmother also told me that when passing by a banyan tree or a kapok tree, I should bow my head slightly before looking up to admire it. My grandmother said that because the banyan tree is the dwelling place of the gods, the kapok tree is the dwelling place of the unjust, wandering, and drifting souls. Now I think, people plant kapok trees, is it so that the unjust, wandering, and drifting souls have a place to take refuge? People are afraid of ghosts, but perhaps if we are afraid, we should respect them, respect them to reduce our fear and to believe that if we are respected, the ghosts will not cause trouble...
When I was a little kid, only about two or three years old, my grandmother had a tent selling drinks and small candies under a big cotton tree at the entrance of the village. Next to that cotton tree was the Vinh Giang River, flowing through the Second Palace, down to Hanh Cung Thien Truong, in today's Tuc Mac, where the Tran Temple was located, worshiping the kings and generals of the Tran Dynasty. Opposite that cotton tree was a vocational school of Nam Dinh during the evacuation period. Later, when the school moved to Loc Ha, that place became an elementary school, for the first and second grade classes of our generation.
My memory only remembers one time, my grandmother took me to the shop. The thatched hut was built on four poles, two on the bank, two in the river. Her shop only had a small cot, on which were displayed a pot of green tea, jars of peanut candy, sesame candy, sausage candy, a few bananas; there were also a few chairs.
She sat me in the tent and fed me peanut candy. But I remember that rice tree very well. It has been an image that has been with me since then, throughout my childhood and into adulthood. Whenever my friends teased me, I would run to the rice tree, bury my face in the trunk and cry. At that time, I was not afraid of gods or ghosts, I only saw that big tree trunk as a support, able to hide the eyes of others who saw me crying. Right next to the rice tree was a cool stone wharf. The season when the rice trees bloomed was also the rainy season in late spring, the road was muddy. We had that stone wharf to wash our feet and wash the mud off our pants every time we went to class.
That day, I don't know how my memory worked, or maybe my memory wanted to make a slow-motion film beyond my control, but while I was missing the two cotton trees in the middle of the village, I was convinced that on the riverbank at the beginning of the village where my elementary school used to be, there was still a cotton tree...
In the morning, I eagerly went out to the village road, met Tha and asked where I was going, I said, to take a picture of the cotton tree at the entrance of the village. Tha said, there is no cotton tree anymore. A long time ago, people built a concrete road along the river. I was stunned, not believing. Clearly I still saw the cotton tree, standing tall on a very large lawn, and the green stone wharf, the river at that section was the widest but very gentle.
I was so sure that I had seen the kapok tree recently. The certainty was so confident that Tha began to doubt himself. His house was near the kapok tree. Tha affirmed that it passed by the village entrance every day, the villagers had held a ceremony to the tree god and cut down the kapok tree a long time ago because it had some worm-infested branches, signaling that it would break and could be dangerous for children. Yet I was still skeptical. Tha said, I remember that kapok tree very clearly, your grandmother opened a tea shop under the tree.
Her grandfather was tall, thin, and handsome. That's right. He was my cousin but three years older than me, so he must remember that shack more than I did. Standing at the entrance of his house, he could see the whole view of the kapok trees every day. But I still couldn't accept the disappearance of the kapok trees. My pair of kapok trees in the middle of the village had disappeared, and now they were the kapok trees at the entrance of the village.
Rather, I said, "Sister, sit here, I will take you to find the cotton tree." I just stood there, stunned, the Vinh Giang River was still there, the school had been rebuilt more impressively, no longer a row of houses just enough for a few elementary classes like in the past, now it was a large school including both primary and secondary schools, only my cotton tree was gone...
Seeing me absent-minded, she said, “Take me to find another cotton tree, also on this river.” The late autumn sun was still so crisp that it burned my cheeks. We went against the sun to the west of the village, looking for the cotton tree at the beginning of Nhat De village. It was not the flowering season, the fresh green cotton tree reflected on the dry season river, almost dry to the bottom. That was still a long stretch of Vinh Giang river.
An ancient river with boats on the banks, large stone piers were painstakingly built along the riverbank for boats to anchor, now they have shrunk to just a ditch. “The world changes from puddles to hills” (poem by Nguyen Binh Khiem), “In a moment, the sea and the mulberry fields change” (Le Ngoc Han - Ai Tu Van), no wonder the cotton trees in my village grew old and then disappeared…
Take a photo of me with the cotton tree. I promise, when the cotton tree flower season comes, you come back, I will take you to find cotton trees again…
Now it is the season of blooming cotton trees, I owe you a promise. I know I still have many memories and wishes, for the village, the cotton trees and the rivers…
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