It was months away from the monsoon season, yet the skies darkened with
heavy clouds that growled with the threat of an impending downpour. In a
matter of mere minutes, the storm clouds had devoured the blue Sun,
leaving the dense woods cloaked in a premature dusk. Then the clouds
burst open. The sound of the thunderous downpour and running feet fell
in and out of sync as the villagers scrambled for shelter. Baskets of
freshly picked fruits lay abandoned, their contents spewed across the
muddy ground.
If anyone had remained out in the woods, they would notice that the
clouds seemed to circle over the tallest, oldest pine tree in the
forest. The elders called it the Mother Tree. Her thick, twisted trunk
loomed over the other trees, and her branches fanned out against the sky
like a gnarled claw, reaching out towards the heavens. The entire forest
seemed to have grown out around her. As the winds howled, the clouds
spiraled faster and faster above. Electricity crackled in the cool night
air. With an earsplitting boom, a brilliant crack of lightning shot from
the epicenter of the spiral, striking the Mother Tree right through her
trunk.