Searching for Spirits Under the Banyan Tree
Do you wonder what it’s like to live in paradise?
The Maldives, or dhivehi raajje, is one of Earth’s finest works of art. The garland of isles is the burial ground of long-extinct volcanoes and home to over a thousand species of corals and multicolored fish.
This abundance of life captivated seafarers, merchants, and settlers from neighboring empires. Our ancestors found a home in the strange thousand isles that stretched far into the horizon. They mastered pole and line fishing to sustain themselves and found a million different ways to use the coconut palm to nourish themselves and build their new home.
Our ancestors also soon discovered that long before they came, a world of spirits and wonders had inhabited these islands. We grew up with stories of mischievous gray herons, sea demons, and the spirits that lived beneath the nikagas (banyan tree). We loved, revered, and feared the forces of nature. In vulnerability, our ancestors found resilience. In hardship, they found strength. In the middle of the vast ocean, they found abundance.
Illustration courtesy of Ijunad Junaid @mas.mirus.
A Changing Archipelago
The first tourist arrived in the Maldives 50 years ago. None could have foreseen then that tourism (or fathuruverikan) would completely transform the Maldives in the years to come. The economy boomed, living standards increased, and literacy rates soared. The Maldives became one of the fastest-growing economies in South Asia.
However, a silent displacement took place behind the scenes. The central ruling government in the Maldives had long ignored the plights of the periphery atolls, and a scattered population moved to Male’ city — the capital of the Maldives and one of the most densely populated cities in the world. My father was among the thousands who moved to the city in search of a better life.
Like most Maldivians, I grew up in the city. A bewildering labyrinth of exhaust fumes and salt. I did not have to fear the spirits lurking in the dark nor did I look at the vast endless ocean with reverence and fear. We cut down the trees and raised towering skyscrapers. We reclaimed our lagoons for more land. We stopped telling tales of the spirits. The sorcerers — often portrayed as the grand heroes in our tales — became the villains.
As the archipelago transformed, so did our stories and our past.
A Weeping Earth
In this frenetic growth, we lost sight of the fragile balance in nature.
Our tales spoke often of this balance. In our stories, nature was neither our friend nor foe, it just was. Look upon the sea. The sea provides sustenance, nourishment, and joy for us. Yet it holds the power to devour us, to completely annihilate and destroy this fragile civilization.
The Maldives exists in the same global economic landscape that calls for infinite growth on a finite planet. The developed world had already polluted the skies and ravaged the Earth when the Maldivians first put an engine on their dhoni (boat). The Maldives is just catching up.
While on paper the Maldives is one of the fastest developing nations in Southeast Asia, figures and statistics do not paint a full picture of day-to-day life and suffering. When so many are barely making it through their individual days, it can be impossible to comprehend the great existential threat of the climate crisis. Yet we are often told that we must take individual action to combat the greatest existential threat of our times.
I think about this all the time. What is my role? What can I do? What should I do?
Illustration courtesy of Ijunad Junaid @mas.mirus.
In honesty, all I can really do is weep. The Maldives population is barely over half a million people. Our emissions are a drop in the bucket. There is little to nothing that the Maldives can do to reduce global emissions. However, we are also the stewards of these coral islands. Even though we cannot fight global emissions, we can work to reconnect with the natural environment.
After all, environmental degradation is a symptom of our detachment from nature — a symptom of looking at ourselves as separate from the environment. Nothing short of a spiritual revolution can make a significant difference. If we revere, respect, and fear nature as our ancestors did, can we continue to exploit it? In the climate crisis, it is imperative that we protect and safeguard that which we have not yet lost.
I do not wish to romanticize the past. If we are to move forward, we have to let go of the superstitions and fears our ancestors carried. But we must hold onto the relationship they had with nature and spirit. Only then can one garner the strength and energy to fight for it.
We often speak of climate justice. I have only recently heard of the term. I hear that climate justice is moving beyond the mere technical effort to cut emissions toward an approach that addresses the injustice and inequality of the climate crisis. It acknowledges the unfortunate truth that those who polluted the least will fare the brunt of the crisis. I believe it goes beyond even that. Indigenous cultures across the world lose our relationship with the spirits as we are also forced to work under the same rules of incessant extraction and exploitation. If we don’t, we fall behind and suffer for it.
I do not feel the severity of the climate crisis every waking hour. I, like many others, simply focus on getting through my day. But in these incredibly brief moments when empathy extends to the more-than-human world, to the millions of coral polyps and billions of fungi, to the last remaining redwood and the magic conch shells, I feel a sadness that I cannot express with words.
Ijunad Junaid is a writer, illustrator, and aspiring steward of the Earth from the Maldives. Find him on instagram @mas.mirus.