Hundreds of years ago, in Rajasthan there was a tiny village called Kherjarli in the Thar Desert. Although surrounded by the sands and heat, the village and its people were protected by trees. So many trees, it was more like they lived in a forest instead of a village.   

The trees, especially the Khejri trees, protected life itself. The fruits of the Khejri tree when cooked provided a delicious vegetable, its leaves fertilized their garden plots and fields, and other parts of the tree fed their cattle and increased the milk the cows made.   

But best of all, all the trees protected them from heat and sand and wind. Whenever terrible sandstorms whipped up, storms for which the Thar Desert was renowned, the trees provided shelter. The trees were a barrier to keep the desert sands from burying their homes, their animals, their gardens.  

And so the people were blessed by the trees, and prayed for them and worshipped them. And mothers told their daughters how precious and special and important the trees of the land were to them, to their survival.  

Now at the time of this story there was such a young woman, Amrita Devi, who took her mother’s words to heart. She loved the trees for their beauty, and goodness, and usefulness. There was one tree she especially was fond of. Every day she would go and hug this tree, which she called the mother tree. She hugged it and told it that it was loved and thanked her for its blessings.  

When Amrita Devi had children of her own, three daughters, whose names were Asu, Ratni and Bhagubai. She taught them how the trees made life possible, and how the trees protected the village and its people. They, too, took to hugging the trees every day.  

But there was at this same time a great King who decided his great kingdom needed to be bigger, his army needed to be larger, his power over people to be greater. For this to happen he needed machinery, wagons, carts and all these must be made of wood. This king, and his father before him, and the kings before them, had fought so many wars that their forests were wasted.   

But the king heard of forest village of Kherjarli in the Thar Desert. He sent an army with axes to chop down the trees and build his war machines.  

When they arrived, Amrita Devi was with her favourite tree, the mother tree. It was the first chosen for the chop by the soldiers. And as the men raised their axes, Amrita Devi threw her arms around the tree, as she had done so many times before.  

‘You cannot take this tree,’ she told the warriors. ‘You cannot take any of our trees. Our trees give us life. They save us. They protect us.’  

‘The king cares nothing for you and your little lives,’ the captain of the soldiers informed her. ‘Stand aside. We’ll chop this tree down, and if we need do so we’ll chop you down as well!’  

Amrita Devi clung to the tree and called for her children, and her fellow villagers. Asu, Ratni and Bhagubai came running, and arrived to see a soldier bring down his axe on their mother and chop off her head. Then he chopped down mother tree as well.  

When they understood what the soldiers were there for, to what purpose the king had sent them, Asu, Ratni and Bhagubai without hesitation followed their poor dear mother’s example and each hugged a tree so no soldier could chop it down. The other villagers by then heard what was happening, and each ran and clasped a tree in his or her arms and would not let the soldiers pass.  

It did not seem wise to kill all the king’s people in this place. So, the army returned to the palace and told the king what had happened. He was furious. The king himself decided to lead his army back to Kherjarli and see every man, woman, and child there without a head so he could get his wood and build his war machines.  

When the king and soldiers arrived, Asu, Ratni and Bhagubai had called far and wide throughout the region. By then, the entire forest surrounding their village saw each tree hugged by a man, a woman, or a child. The king was without mercy and ordered his men to march forward and chop away.  

Great slaughter was upon the place, and the roots of the Khejri were watered with blood of more than 300 martyrs that day.   
But a miracle occurred. Just at that moment of terror, a more terrible storm arose from the Thar Desert. A sandstorm so fierce, so foul, the worst ever seen in that place. The people of Kherjarli were among the trees, hanging on to the trees, and the trees protected them from the wind and the blowing sand that blinded eyes, scarred skin, and filled mouths and nostrils so one could not breath. The people who hugged trees were safe.  

But the king and his army were not. Exposed to the desert, most were buried alive and suffocated. And those not killed, many were blinded or made lame for life. The king himself barely survived, but he did live, to become a wiser man and better king.  

He saw that Amrita Devi and her daughters, and her people, were right. It was the trees who gave life, the trees that protected and nourished the people. And so, he ceased his wars, he made peace, he ordered his army to plant forests. And he granted the people of Khejri the honour and duty to protect the trees, the forest. And they continue to do so, to this very day.