The Mango Tree
Generosity Amid Cruelty
When I moved into the newly built house with my family some fifteen years ago, I discovered with surprise sapling of a mango about eight inches high standing on the south-eastern corner. Its long dark green leaves were lightly fluttering in the spring wind. The mid-day sun shone brightly on it. I thought of uprooting it and throwing it away but something stopped me from inside. Hindus consider mango trees as auspicious. Its leaves are used during ceremonies and worship and its dead branches are used to light the sacred fire while performing Yagna (in Sanskrit, ‘the offering to fire’) for invoking God. I allowed it to remain.
The little plant continued to grow silently and steadily at the corner without much care and effort by anyone. The leaves shone in bright sunshine, looking beautiful and promising. In five years it became nearly ten feet tall with branches spreading in all directions, assuring a stable and youthful existence.
Birds, so many varieties of them, visited the tree, sat on it, and some nested. My mornings were filled with birdsong. I felt certain amount of happiness and calm, particularly during the springtime and early summer. During the scorching heat of northern India’s mid-summer, the backyard remained shaded and comfortably cool, when ambient temperature rose to 48 degrees Celsius (118 degrees F). I felt lucky indeed, sitting under it for a while now and then.
By the end of the seventh year, the tree bore flowers. Clusters of sap green and mildly scented tiny flowers blossomed spreading their youthfulness with an eager anticipation all around. My back yard was converted to a scented garden. I fell in love with the tree. That year, in the midst of gruelling heat of June, mangoes started ripening, turning from deep green to mild yellow. My part-time gardener told me that this is a variety called “Langra”, famous for its sweetness and aroma. There are more than one hundred varieties of mango in India, each with its characteristic taste, aroma and sweetness.
“Langra” in Hindi language means ‘lame’. Legend has it that a lame travelling Muslim Saint (called Fakir) visited the King of Oudh, when one of his family members was unwell. The Fakir cured the patient and the king was mighty pleased. When he wanted to reward him, the Fakir politely refused. On the contrary, the Fakir presented him a sapling and told him to plant it and eat its fruits, which would help him and his family to stay healthy. The King did as he was advised. Its amazing fruits brought him health and happiness. Over time, the variety spread across north India and beyond.
When we finally ate the ripe fruits, we realised how delicious a ripe mango can be. Mangoes available in the market are seldom naturally ripe; half-ripe or even green mangoes are artificially ripened in a gas filled chamber. The naturally ripe mango reminded me of the Fakir’s legend. We shared the fruits with our friends and a few neighbours and they all agreed that they have never tasted any mango like that. I felt that the tree was a divine gift.
From then on, I tended to my newfound love, applying organic manure each year and occasionally spraying insecticides against termites at its base when so required. It did not need more than that. During spring and early summer, my mind remained expectant when the flowering occurred. During the infamous dust storms of northern India, the tree swayed violently shedding small fruits all around, making me feeling sad. How I wished I could prevent that loss — sometimes more than a hundred fruits about an inch in size! When the rains followed, particularly during late afternoon, the tree got drenched, with sheets of rainwater falling over its leafy body. I could feel the cool comfort the tree was enjoying after suffering from blasts of hot and dry summer wind.
My neighbours and their servants were eager than ever to pick green mangoes, often stealthily. I observed but did not protest; they ought to have their share while I expected a little more patience allowing them to ripe. Either way, more than me, the tree was always patient when men, virtuous or not benefitted from its fruits. There were a host of squirrels in the backyard, merrily climbing and sinking their tiny teeth into half ripe mangoes throughout the day, while a flock of parakeets landed now and then. I tried to scare them away but they did not recognize me as a serious challenge nor as a legal owner of the tree. Every day at least a dozen fruits were lost. Still the tree was at peace. It did not mind who ate its fruits — humans, birds or oh… sometimes a family of monkeys!
I see the mango tree from my writing desk through the window every day. When I pause writing, searching for an appropriate phrase or some clue to an unfolding storyline, it is the mango tree that I look at. More often than not, my lovely friend whispers to me good ideas, which only I can hear.
By the eleventh year the tree grew fairly big. Because the tree was on the south-eastern corner, it did block some sunlight to my backyard but the neighbours were unaffected. Yet some of them were not happy with its existence, despite enjoying its fruits every year. They wanted to cut all its branches. Why? Because it occupied part of ‘airspace of their backyard’. One of them was unhappy just because it sheds dead leaves on his backyard. When I tried to explain that these are minor issues as they are free to enjoy its fruits, they won’t listen. They have plenty of cash to buy mangoes from the market. Jealousy seldom follows reason or logic.
One day around mid-morning, I heard some strange noise. With horror, I saw a bunch of roughnecks climbing the tree from one of the neighbours premises and started hacking the branches with axes. My wife and I rushed, urging them to stop but they would not listen. They were hired by my neighbours, all three of them were shouting with joy, cheering the hired goons. They mercilessly went on chopping the tree’s branches. Each blow shook the tree but it was unable to protest, while my wife and I shouted our hearts out urging them to stop. At that moment of shock and horror, how I wished I could have a gun to fire in order to protect the tree. I called the police. By the time they arrived, the damage was done. A third of the tree was gone in minutes. And I could have had a heart attack in those moments of great excitement and mental agony. I felt deeply humiliated, violated and distressed. So did the tree.
The mango tree had its own way to protect its dignity. The branches, which were cut, did not regrow. Instead, it started growing taller as if to keep its head high and erect, telling my jealous and cruel neighbours that a tree has all the virtues of existence than human beings. As if, in deep anguish, it bore just one or two dozen fruits during the following two years. This is my mango tree’s response to utter shock and trauma it suffered in an unexpected and sudden attack.
It is only this year, the tree recovered from a two year long hiatus. Fruits were in great abundance, despite all the losses caused by storm, squirrels’ merry making feasts, parakeets’ partying and so on. The tree seems to have forgiven the cruel humans and is back to its happy existence with a fulfilling and purposeful life.
After the summer’s gift, came the monsoon. When torrential rains and high winds lashed the tree in the middle of the night, I often woke up during thunder storms. Quietly, I left the bed while my wife was asleep and went to see my loving mango tree. In the flashing light of thunder, I watched the tree taking in all the rains, the winds and the violent forces of thunderstorms. It swayed madly, as if in a trance. Yet, its tall stature was strong enough to withstand the elements in a reassuring posture. It could protect itself being a part of mother nature.
Standing in the dark, I realised that the tree gives us its everything — its fruits, leaves, even dry branches, expecting or taking nothing in return. It is pious by nature, just like the Lame Fakir, who gave it to the King as a divine gift. Its fruits only give us delight, good health and happiness. It only accepts love and affection.
Now I understand it has a soul, which cannot be destroyed. A soul that connects with me, all others who love it and the nature to which it belongs. Its soul will remain for ever, no matter what the foolish humans do.
