The Beginning
There was once a Mahua tree that didn’t know its purpose. There were deer, monkeys and birds that loved the Mahua flowers and they waited for the tree to bloom, but the tree was sulky. There were a few flowers here and there that showed up by its swabhava (natural tendency), but not much. The tree, filled with doubt and sorrow, did not open its million million eyes to the sun with enthusiasm and did not soak up the water and slurp the soil with enthusiasm that would have given it nourishment to flourish. The tree was sulky, it did not know its purpose.
The Questions in the Wind
Days turned to seasons, and seasons to years. The Mahua tree stood in the heart of the forest, watching the world around it with growing confusion. Whats up with the other trees that surround it? Are they content? Why did the other trees seem to dance with the wind while it felt heavy and still?
One morning, as the first light filtered through the canopy, the tree heard whispers in the breeze. It was the voice of an ancient banyan, whose roots had touched the earth for centuries.
“Young Mahua,” the banyan called softly, “why do you carry such weight in your branches?”
“I don’t understand my purpose,” the Mahua replied. “Everywhere I look, I see trees that seem to know their place. The neem purifies the air, the mango gives sweet fruit, the bamboos growing tall and vigorous seem to know their place. But I? I bloom a few scattered flowers, drop some leaves, and stand here feeling empty. The animals come to me, but I don’t know why. What am I supposed to do?”
The banyan’s leaves rustled with what sounded like gentle laughter. “Tell me, young one, what happens when you simply are instead of trying to do?”
The Wisdom of Wu Wei
The Mahua tree pondered this question for many days. It noticed that when it stopped forcing itself to understand, stopped trying to be something other than what it was, something subtle began to shift.
The soil around its roots felt richer when it stopped struggling against it. The morning dew tasted sweeter when it didn’t question why it was offered. The sun’s warmth penetrated deeper when it spread its leaves to the rays.
An old deer, gray with age and wisdom, approached the tree one evening. She had been coming to this spot for many seasons, and her grandmother before her, and her grandmother’s grandmother.
“Tree,” she said quietly, “you’ve been holding back your gifts.”
“What gifts?” the Mahua asked. “I have nothing special to offer.”
The deer smiled with her eyes. “Child, you’ve been so busy looking for your purpose that you’ve forgotten to notice how you already serve. Let me tell you what my family has known for generations.”
The Revelation of Interconnection
“Your flowers,” the deer began, “bloom at night when most other trees rest. Do you know what this means? While the forest sleeps, you offer sustenance. The bats that pollinate the region depend on your nocturnal blossoms. The flying foxes travel from far valleys following the scent of your flowers.”
The tree had never noticed its own natural rhythm, its unique gift of blooming at night when most other trees rest.
“And your flowers,” continued the deer, “when they fall, they carpet the forest floor. We deer eat them for their sweetness and nutrition. The langur monkeys collect them. The bears know exactly when your season arrives. And the tribal people—they call you the ‘Tree of Life’ because from your flowers they make food, medicine, and celebration.”
“But why don’t I feel fulfilled by this?” the tree asked.
An old crow, perched high in the canopy, cawed softly. “Because you’ve been comparing yourself to stories of purpose that don’t belong to you. You’ve been trying to look for an abstract purpose when you are full of it - magnificently Mahua.”
The Teaching of Natural Flow
The banyan tree spoke again, its voice carrying the wisdom of centuries: “In the way of Tao, there is wu wei—effortless action. Water doesn’t struggle to flow downhill; it simply follows its nature. Fire doesn’t try to be fire; it simply burns. You, dear Mahua, have been fighting against your own nature.”
“What is my nature?” the tree asked, genuinely curious now rather than desperate.
“Your nature is to bloom abundantly when the time is right, not when you think it should be right. Your nature is to provide exactly what the forest needs from you—night flowers for nocturnal creatures, sweet sustenance for many species, oil-rich seeds, medicinal bark, and shelter in your branches and trunk. Your nature is to be part of the great community of life.”
The Mahua tree felt something shift deep in its heartwood. It was as if a knot that had been tight for years was finally loosening.
The Lesson of Healthy Effort
But then the tree grew confused again. “If I’m supposed to just ‘be’ and follow wu wei, does that mean there is nothing for me to do or try? Should I never push myself or face discomfort? I see other trees stretching toward the light, growing through rocks, extending their roots deep into difficult soil. Are they wrong to make such efforts?”
The banyan’s leaves rustled thoughtfully. “Ah, now you ask the important question that many never think to ask. There is a profound difference between natural effort and forced struggle.”
A young sal tree nearby had been listening. Its trunk bore the marks of having grown around a large boulder. “May I share my story?” it asked.
The Mahua tree nodded eagerly.
“When I was a sapling,” the sal tree began, “I sprouted right next to this rock. I had two choices: I could struggle against the rock, trying to move it, fighting it, competing with it, making it my enemy. Or I could grow around it, using it as support, incorporating it into my journey.”
“What did you choose?”
“At first, I tried to fight it. I pushed and pushed, growing angry and exhausted. I compared myself to other trees that had easy, soft soil. I felt sorry for myself. I struggled.” The sal tree paused. “But struggling made me weak and bitter.”
“What changed?”
“An old teak tree taught me the difference between struggle and challenge. Struggle is when you fight against what is, when you try to force the world to be different so you can be comfortable. Challenge is when you accept what is and then grow in response to it.”
The Art of Natural Challenge
The deer, who had been listening, stepped closer. “Yes, this is the wisdom many never learn. In our family, we teach our young the difference between running from the leopard in panic and running toward our strength when we sense danger.”
“I don’t understand,” said the Mahua tree.
“When we run from the leopard in panic,” the deer explained, “we are struggling. We are fighting reality, wishing things were different, exhausting ourselves with fear and resistance. But when we run toward our strength—using our keen senses, our knowledge of the forest, our swift legs—we are accepting the challenge and responding with our natural gifts.”
The banyan tree added gently, “Young Mahua, you will need to face discomfort to bloom fully. Your roots will need to stretch deep into difficult soil. Your branches will need to endure storms and grow. Sometimes break & heal. You will need to learn to bloom at night when it’s dark and uncertain. But this is not struggle—this is growth and this makes you strong and uniquely yourself even with your vulnerabilities.”
The Difference Between Growing and Comparing
“But how do I know the difference?” the Mahua tree asked, genuinely wanting to understand.
A wise old bamboo, known throughout the forest for its flexibility and rapid growth, swayed into the conversation. “Listen carefully, young one. When I grow, I feel myself becoming more of what I already am. When I used to compare myself to others, I felt I was trying to become something I was not.”
“When I stretch toward the light, it feels like following my deepest longing. When I used to compete with the other bamboos, it felt like running away from my deepest fear.”
The crow called down from above: “Yes! When you grow naturally, even through discomfort, you feel energized by the challenge. When you strive to be like others, you feel exhausted by the effort.”
The Practice of Authentic Effort
Over the following seasons, the Mahua tree began to understand this profound difference. It learned to distinguish between two very different kinds of effort:
The effort of authentic growth felt like:
- Stretching its roots deeper because it was naturally curious about the earth’s richness
- Reaching its branches higher because the sky called to something deep within
- Learning to bloom in darkness because it felt natural to offer beauty when others rested
- Facing storms with flexibility rather than rigid resistance
- Growing more abundantly each season from an inner sense of joy and expansion
The effort of forced striving had felt like:
- Trying to bloom during the day like other trees because it “should”
- Comparing the size of its flowers to the mango tree’s fruit
- Wishing its bark was as valued as the sandalwood’s
- Fighting the seasons instead of flowing with them
- Exhausting itself trying to be everything to everyone
- Hurrying to present itself as something it wasn’t or wasn’t meant to be.
The Wisdom of Seasonal Effort
“There is one more thing you must understand,” said the ancient banyan. “Natural effort follows seasons. Sometimes you will grow rapidly, sometimes you will rest. Sometimes you will face great challenges, sometimes you will enjoy ease. The trees that burn themselves out are the ones that try to grow intensively all the time.”
“Even I,” said the sal tree around the boulder, “had to rest between periods of intense growth around this rock. I would grow some, then pause to integrate, then grow some more. I learned to listen to my inner rhythms.”
The deer nodded. “We too have seasons of great effort and seasons of gentle being. We run when we must run, rest when we must rest, and we never feel guilty about either.”
The Community’s Role in Natural Growth
As the Mahua tree began practicing this new understanding of effort, something beautiful happened. The other trees and animals began sharing their own experiences of healthy challenge versus unhealthy struggle.
The neem tree spoke: “I learned that purifying the air is not work for me—it’s expression. When I tried to compete with other trees on who could purify more, it became struggle. When I simply gave my gift naturally, it became joy.”
A family of monkeys chattered down from the branches: “We learned the difference between challenging ourselves to leap to new trees for the joy of exploration versus forcing ourselves to take risks just to impress others. One makes us more monkey-like, the other makes us less.”
The tribal people, when they came to collect the Mahua flowers, sang songs about this wisdom: “We work hard when the season calls for it, but we work from love, not from fear. We challenge ourselves to create more beauty, not to defeat our neighbors.”
The Transformation Through Challenge
As the Mahua tree embraced this understanding, it began to bloom more magnificently than ever before. But not because it was trying to be the best tree in the forest. It bloomed because it was willing to face the challenges that would help it become most fully itself.
It stretched its roots deep into clay that was difficult to penetrate—not because it was competing with other trees, but because something in it knew there were rich minerals below.
It learned to open thousands of flowers in the darkness of night—not because it was trying to be different, but because it felt called to serve the nocturnal community.
It grew through seasons of drought and flood, wind and stillness—not by fighting them, but by developing the flexibility to dance with whatever came.
The Teaching for Modern Times
The forest grew quiet as this deeper wisdom settled. The crow spoke thoughtfully: “In the world beyond these woods, humans have forgotten this distinction. They think that if they’re not struggling and exhausted, they’re not working hard enough. They’ve confused natural challenge with forced struggle.”
The deer added softly: “They compare their inner journey to others’ outer achievements. They compete rather than collaborate. They strive for goals that don’t arise from their authentic nature, then wonder why success feels empty.”
The Mahua tree, now radiant with understanding, offered its teaching: “I would tell them that growth requires effort, but not all effort leads to growth. The effort that serves is the effort that arises from your deepest nature and stretches you toward your authentic expression.”
“I would tell them that challenges that call forth your unique gifts are different from struggles that fight against who you are. One makes you more yourself; the other makes you less.”
“I would tell them that the goal is not to avoid discomfort, but to choose the discomfort that serves your authentic flowering over the discomfort that comes from fighting your nature.”
The Daily Practice of Authentic Challenge
The tree continued: “Each day now, I ask myself: Is this effort arising from my authentic nature, or from comparing myself to others? Is this challenge calling forth my unique gifts, or am I trying to develop gifts that aren’t mine?”
“When I stretch toward the light, I check: Am I reaching because the light calls to something real in me, or because I think I ‘should’ be taller like other trees?”
“When I deepen my roots, I notice: Is this about discovering my own capacity for nourishment, or about competing with other trees?”
“When I bloom in the darkness, I ask: Is this expressing my authentic gift, or am I trying to be different for the sake of being different?”
The Integration of Effort and Flow
The ancient banyan offered the final teaching: “The highest wisdom is learning to flow with effort rather than against it. Wu wei doesn’t mean no action—it means action that flows from your authentic nature rather than from force.”
“A river doesn’t struggle to carve through rock, but it doesn’t avoid the rock either. It persistently, patiently flows, using the rock to become more itself—clearer, more focused, more powerful.”
“This is natural effort: persistent, patient, aligned with your deepest nature, in service of your authentic expression, undertaken with joy rather than desperation.”
The Continuing Journey
And so the Mahua tree learned to grow through challenge without losing its center, to make effort without falling into struggle, to stretch toward its potential without comparing its journey to others.
It faced storms that helped it develop deeper roots. It grew through droughts that taught it to find hidden springs. It learned to bloom so abundantly that the entire forest would fill with its fragrance—not to impress anyone, but because this was its nature when it fully embraced both effort and flow.
The tree discovered that the sweetest juice comes from fruits that have grown through challenges, that the strongest wood develops in trees that have swayed in many winds, and that the most fragrant flowers open on the trees that have learned to bloom authentically, regardless of conditions.
In this way, the Mahua tree became a teacher of the middle path—showing that we can embrace challenge without falling into struggle, make effort without losing our swabhava, our naturalness, and grow continuously without betraying our authentic nature.
— rawjeev
The Invitation
The story offers this invitation to all who feel torn between effortlessness and effort:
Choose the challenges that call forth your authentic gifts. Face the discomfort that serves your true expression. Make the efforts that align with your deepest nature.
Avoid the struggles that fight against who you are, the comparisons that diminish your unique path, and the strivings that arise from fear rather than love.
Like the Mahua tree, learn to distinguish between the effort that makes you more yourself and the struggle that makes you less. Then embrace the former with your whole being, knowing that natural growth through authentic challenge is one of life’s greatest joys.
And in forests around the world, trees continue to teach this ancient wisdom: that growth and ease are not opposites, that effort and flow can dance together, and that the most magnificent flowering comes not from avoiding all difficulty, but from embracing the challenges that serve our authentic expression and the community of life.