Opinion In Good Faith | Listening to the Birds, Trees, and Ancient Aravallis
The Aravalli mountain range stands as a silent witness to millennia of change, its weathered slopes holding stories far older than human civilization. These ancient hills, predating even the mighty Himalayas, possess a quiet dignity that challenges our modern notions of value and importance.
The Ancient Wisdom of Unassuming Hills
Recent conversations about whether low hills like the Aravallis are dispensable have sparked deeper philosophical questions about our relationship with the natural world. The Aravalli range, stretching across Rajasthan and Haryana, represents more than just geological formations—they are living ecosystems that have sustained civilizations for centuries.
The Aravallis are old enough to know better than to expect gratitude from humanity. Their modest stature, lacking the dramatic grandeur of younger mountain ranges, might be their greatest vulnerability in a world that equates size with significance. In our contemporary world order, existence must constantly justify itself through measurable utility or visible spectacle.
Questioning Our Disconnection from Nature
Someone recently remarked about trees appearing lonely, but this perspective reveals more about human projection than arboreal reality. A tree—rooted, breathing, hosting entire microcosms of life—exists in constant connection with its environment. This observation leads to a more troubling question: If trees aren't lonely, then why are we?
Scientific theories and philosophical explorations increasingly examine concepts of shared consciousness that indigenous cultures and ancient religions have understood for centuries. From Advaita Vedanta's non-dualism to Buddhism's interbeing and Sufism's Unity of Being, these traditions recognize connections that modern skepticism often dismisses as too cosmic or New Age.
The Aravallis as Ecological Custodians
For those who grew up near these hills, like around Udaipur, the Aravallis represent more than landscape—they are extensions of personal identity and community memory. Weekly family outings to their streams, summers spent in their forests—these experiences create bonds that transcend mere physical proximity.
The tragedy of the Aravalli situation lies in their unassuming nature. They never demanded temples on every peak or pilgrimage circuits. They simply asked for the basic courtesy of being left to perform their ecological functions. As natural shock absorbers for civilizations racing forward without brakes, their value operates on scales we're only beginning to understand.
The Complex Republic of a Single Tree
To comprehend why the promise of coexistence between development and ecology often proves fragile, consider a single tree as a complete republic. Creepers climb with breathless ambition, whispering about mutual support while gradually constricting the host. Parasites—fungi, insects, borers—hollow from within without pretense of affection.
Meanwhile, birds conduct dawn-to-dusk debates in the branches—our opinion-makers in this natural democracy. Ants march in disciplined lines below, carrying burdens ten times their size—the unsung workers of this ecosystem. How many such overlapping republics exist throughout the Aravallis? Thousands? Millions?
Reconnecting with Our Living World
Leopard corridors that cross human boundaries, aquifers remembering rains from decades past, countless trees, rocks, streams, and animals—all these elements create a tapestry of interconnection that challenges our manufactured loneliness. Perhaps our growing sense of isolation stems from actively severing links with land, non-human life, and collective memory.
The Aravallis serve as custodians of ecological balance, and like all custodians, they're noticed primarily when systems break down. The tree was never lonely—we were. By treating portions of our living world as expendable, we don't demonstrate power but rather announce how profoundly alone we've chosen to become.
This environmental reflection invites us to listen more carefully—to the birds, the trees, and the ancient hills that have much to teach about connection, resilience, and what truly constitutes a life well-lived in relationship with our planet.
