Living Under a Shared Sky
Under the stars, man lifts his borrowed sight,
While rooted trees translate dark to breath,
The leaves time with sparks of ancient light,
Man learns his pulse from bark and stellar death,
And stands- brief bridge -between the soil and night
……Appa
It is very personal to us here at Nisargshala when media personalities start to lecture us on saving trees and growing more trees — the very epitome of hypocrisy.
While one does accept the bitter truth that there has been a steady decadence in our basic philosophy, owing mainly to the “western” ideology of rapid urban agglomeration, fueled by blatant consumption, to achieve which a huge industrial behemoth was necessitated….chopping trees for sheer vanity,
How they lecture us — paragons of virtue
Yes, this is our manifest truth today, while entropy is a justifiable cosmic clock event, Man’s unbridled race for “MORE” shall beat this clock to self-immolation.
We have within us – “we Bharatiya”– owing to many thousands of years of upbringing and value systems, to spearhead the resurrection of the planet to become a planter.
May the “KANTARAS” have many seasons …
Long before conservation became a modern concern, Indian villages lived within an invisible map drawn between the sky and the soil.
The rishis observed that the moon’s journey through the 27 nakshatras was not only a celestial rhythm, but also a terrestrial one. Each nakshatra was paired with a tree, not symbolically alone, but experientially. These trees flowered, fruited, healed, shaded, and fed communities throughout the year. To know your birth star was also to know a tree you must never harm.
Sacred Groves
Deverais
Kaavu
This wisdom did not remain in texts. It took root as practice. Sacred groves, known as Tapovana or Devaranya in ancient times, Devarai in Maharashtra, and Kaavu in Tamil regions and Kerala, were forests left untouched. No axe entered; no leaf was plucked without ritual need. These groves were believed to be the abode of village deities, serpents, and guardian spirits.
Fear and reverence together became powerful protectors of biodiversity
Vedic Relevance
In the gurukul system, learning happened outdoors. A student learned astronomy by watching shadows, botany by touching bark, and ethics by restraint. Knowledge was not consumed; it was absorbed. Trees were elders, not resources.
A shishya learnt early in life through the study, observation and experience that:
मा वृक्षं मा ओषधीं हिंसीः
MA VRUKSHAM MA AUSHADHIM HINSIH
Do not harm trees or plants
— Atharva Veda
न वा अरण्यानिर्हन्ति
NA VA ARAYANIRHANTI
The forest does not harm
— Rig Veda (Araṇyānī)
Village deities were often fierce, boundary keepers rather than benevolent gods. Their role was clear -To protect land, water, animals, and people from imbalance. Ecological collapse was seen as a spiritual disturbance. Today, when forests are reduced to numbers and carbon credits, this ancient wisdom whispers an alternative. What if protection arose not from ownership, but from belonging?
The stars still pass overhead. The trees still wait below. The question is whether we still remember how to listen. The ancients did not look at trees as mute resources. They were living markers beneath the sky, participants in a larger rhythm. Each Nakshatra was not only a star pattern but a reminder. A reminder that life below mirrors life above.
One of the Karmas of Life
That the human hand must move with restraint when the cosmos watches, to plant a tree was an act of alignment. To cut one was never casual. It required reason, ritual, and accountability. In villages, people knew which tree belonged to which star.
Birth, marriage, learning, and mourning were all tied to these living presences. Like many of the karmas in our tradition from the womb to the tomb, planting a nakshatra tree was the custom. A child grew up knowing “this is my tree,” and therefore, “this is my responsibility.” Sustainability was not a policy. It was conducted. One did not harm a tree connected to one’s Nakshatra, just as one would not harm one’s own lineage. Protection was not enforced by fear, but by belonging. When humans remembered the sky, their actions on earth softened.
When they forgot, forests became timber, stars became decorations, and time lost its rhythm. To live responsibly is to live as if watched by the stars and sheltered by the trees.
Not by ownership but by Relationship.
Atharva Veda 5.30.6 — Sanskrit (Tree protection context) One of the strongest Atharvan verses supporting ahimsa toward trees.
मा गामश्वं पुरुषं वधीरथो
मा वृक्षं मा ओषधीं हिंसीः ॥
Ma gām aśvaṁ puruṣaṁ vadhīr atho
mā vṛkṣaṁ mā oṣadhīṁ hiṁsī.
Do not injure cattle, horses, or humans;
do not harm trees, do not harm plants
Quo Itis? O arbores ! (Where are you going? O trees !)
The tree is rooted. The star is distant. The human being walks, pauses, and looks up. We are neither fixed like the tree nor burning like the star. Yet we feel the pull of both — the need to belong, and the need to transcend. Perhaps the ancient question was never about destiny or astrology. Perhaps it was simpler:
If the tree remembers the earth and the star remembers time. What does the human remember?
Appa
Tales, Tails & Trails
Ram Iyer retired as the Project Director from the Science & Technology Park, an initiative of the Department of Science & Technology, Govt. of India, with a B.Tech. and an MBA from the University of Delhi. Getting Bharat, that is India, back to its roots through Ancient Vedic Wisdom and Science & Technologies is the mission he is on. Post-retirement, he actively supports Nisargshala’s mission, lending his scientific knowledge to nature-based education and stargazing initiatives.
I loved the knowledge you have shared in this article. This knowledge will be lost if not circulated or made viral. thank you sir, for your wisdom.
Madam
Thank you so much
May I request your seeing all the other Ram Iyer blogs
Each article is linked in an invisible chain
Living Under a Shared Sky presents the human being as a “brief bridge” between earth and cosmos — neither rooted like trees nor enduring like stars, but responsible to both. The poem and essay together argue that ecology is not policy but relationship.
By invoking the nakshatra–tree tradition and sacred groves such as Devarai and Kaavu, the piece highlights how ancient Indian practice embedded conservation within culture. Protection arose from belonging, not ownership.
The Vedic injunction — “Ma vruksham ma aushadhim hinsih” — reinforces that non-violence toward trees was an ethical mandate, not symbolism.
The central warning is clear: when humans forget their cosmic alignment, forests become commodities and time loses rhythm. The closing question — What does the human remember? — leaves the reader with moral introspection rather than accusation.
A thoughtful civilizational meditation on restraint, memory, and ecological responsibility.
sir
your analytics are in depth and it acts as a motivation to provide more such ancient wisdom, for part lost in translation and other lost in disbelief and sidelined as superstition.
But these remain facts
Dear Appa,
I read Canopy to Constellation – Part 2 slowly… and then I read it again.
It does not read like an essay. It feels like something remembered — something that was always known but rarely articulated. You have not written about trees and stars; you have restored dignity to both.
The opening verse alone stays with me. The idea of man as a “brief bridge between the soil and night” is arresting. It humbles without diminishing. It reminds without accusing. It places us in our rightful scale — neither supreme nor insignificant — but responsible.
What moved me most is your quiet insistence that our ecological crisis is not merely environmental, but civilizational. You do not shout. You do not dramatize. You simply hold up a contrast: belonging versus ownership. And in that contrast, everything becomes clear.
The evocation of Nakshatra trees is powerful. The thought that one’s birth star came with a living responsibility on earth — that a child grew up knowing “this tree is mine to protect” — is perhaps the most elegant model of sustainability ever conceived. No slogans. No summits. Just relationship.
Your reflections on sacred groves are especially poignant. Fear and reverence together as guardians of biodiversity — what a profound observation. Our ancestors understood something modern frameworks often miss: protection flows most naturally from devotion.
And then that closing question — If the tree remembers the earth and the star remembers time, what does the human remember?
That line lingers. It unsettles gently. It asks for introspection, not applause.
Appa, this piece does not argue. It awakens. It does not demand change; it invites remembrance. And perhaps that is far more enduring.
With respect and quiet admiration.
Dear Yegnesh
It is because of proactive and well-informed readers like you that we will be able to succeed in our vision and mission of reconnecting with our ancient wisdom.
Every word of your comments is a furtherance of our endeavour
With thanks, Sir
Thank you for bringing the beauty of our Indian systems out so eloquently.We continue the rituals but fail to understand the deeper meaning behind it as most of it has been lost in translation over time.
thank you for your comments smita
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