Perils of the Bandicoot’s Garden
The news on television was awful. Trump’s inaugural speech was silly, sly, vague and worrisome. It was also mischievous and mean. The malice of the mediocre is always chilling. The next door neighbour’s new help had stolen 500 rupees from her bag which she could ill afford to lose. The call from a friend far away in Euston told of bad news from the hospital. It was a very hot day and everything seemed pitiless and impossible!
But there was worse to come. A huge stack of garden soil had been attacked and then overturned by what appeared to be an army of bandicoots. They had gifted me a sullen grey green mountain that stood up like the terrible Trump himself – bloated with bullying powers, unnerving, unpleasant and unwholesome!
But then I discovered that a small red rose had come up on the terrace where I had kept an almost forgotten rose pot weeks ago to get the sunlight! I was shocked into sweet surprise and even more enchanted by the scent it gave to me! Telling me to survive Trump or at least try to, like the whole world was trying!
Our own traumas over the Government driving us crazy with the new laws about money were also comforted by the little surprising rose! Then I discovered that the Spider Plant inside the ancient tub by the gate had put out several little babies to be used up to make many more free Spiders! At least the cats would be delighted with this treasure that they gobbled up like it was their own sort of beer!
It was time to tackle the bandicoot mountain of fresh soil. The easier way to tidy up the horrendous heavy mess was to fill up several empty pots with it, adding some vermicompost to soften and freshen the soil, add more newly composted home made soil and finally some red mud to bind it all together. Thirty new soil filled pots were ready and were filled with a bottle green ivy, an old reliable, two coloured pink, red and white polka dots, one white begonia, a crimson one and one brown and red.
Three pots got the glorious bronze philodendron that grows even when ignored, not watered and generally treated shabbily. The Money Plant and the Wandering Jew filled more pots. The hot day began to shimmer with garden song.
When the mound got slightly lower, it was easy to tidy it up with a sturdy steel garden scraper. One had to not think too much about what lay beneath all that horrifying sample of night wars! And one had to thank the God of Small Things that the cats had not been harmed by the bandicoot marauders.
An hour of work had loosened and refreshed the frightening Bandicoot Mountain, and the heart had been led away from Trumpeting terrors, India’s horrid government policies that had crashed into the sad, pitiful lives of small, poor, weak and helpless people.
And finally it had allowed something miniscule but magic laden, sweet and solemn to emerge out of the horrid hamper of very sickening sly screeching bullies of the dark.