STORY-MANGO TREE

STORY I was about four years when I got a mango. It was so sweet that I went on licking it , till I got tired. I then made a small pit in the earth in our front court yard and placed it inside. Then I filled it with soil and poured water daily . I was glad when the first shoots came outside. I told papa and he advised me to make a small dam around it and fill with water. In due course it began to give fruits as sweet as the one I tasted.. Whoever saw it admired my efforts . I soon forgot it when I joined the college and then a school in Delhi as clerk. My father was about to retire and he wanted me to marry . It was then that I presented myself to a boy who had come to see me , along with his parents and relatives. I recognized the boy as soon as I saw him. He lived in my village and was popular because he sang well . He was very senior to me in school.. After the formal meeting I took him to the mango tree and explained the circumstances in which it became my tree. “I love it as my first child! My regret is that we will have to vacate this house when father retires. It is Government quarter.” “I shall tell a way out. One of the mango fruits from this plant can be planted in our house , whenever we have our own dwelling.” Thus began our togetherness ; the tree is our child. Father came and asked:”What are you doing here?” “We are discussing our future plans,” I said. We went inside and watched the conversation . I was just listening and dreaming. When they rose to leave , I felt desolate. He told in my ears:”It is a matter of days only. Next month we are marrying.” I hurriedly kissed him. For the time being , after marriage we stayed in his quarter in Delhi. Whenever we came home , we used to go and see our tree. I told the new hous owner that he should not cut the tree which is ‘our child’. For long years I remained barren ; he was not concerned but I began to despair. My womb is unable to nurture a baby. “Why do you bother? I find it convenient ; less luggage…” I consulted a Doctor. He advised me to go for a surrogate mother. “The very process of bearing the baby for nine months , is bound to develop a bond which cannot be easily forgotten. So the baby must grow in my womb,” I told te Doctor. So back to square one. I was getting old . One day a bearded old man in saffron cloths came for alms. His noble face attracted me. I gave him food and some money. He was pleased:”Ask for some boon, Amma,” he said in Malayalam. “How did you know I am a Malayalee?” ‘I stayed in the Himalayas for seventy years. I know you are eager to have a baby.” He gave me a ‘vibhoothy’ (ashes) and told me to take it with milk. In six months I became pregnant. All were surprised . We named the baby ‘Himamshu’. Then we heard of the tragedy: in an unprecedented storm , which raged the whole night , our child the mango tree fell down…