That Mango

Like humans, fruits too have life and age. Unlike humans, fruits have a much shorter life span. Why do I say so? Well, my comparison might seem a little odd to a regular thinker.

That mango was born to a mango tree that was certainly the tallest one among the other three in the garden. It was not a very big garden. It was, rather, smaller than what you would picture a big garden to be. It was, however, a wonderful garden with white daisies barricading the promenade, red and orange roses filling the circular patch behind them, clusters of forget-me-nots flocking a major part of the ground and branches weighed down by chrysanthemums filling the other part of the land. And behind all these lovelies stood the four mango trees, one orange tree and one peach tree.

Not wanting to prevaricate from the Mango, I wish to draw your attention to this tall mango tree to which the mango was born. Undoubtedly, the Mango had many siblings and relatives, all of who looked identical to a non-observer. This Mango was different from the lot. This Mango was beautiful in shape and appearance. This Mango had imbibed all the nourishment that its mother provided. Thus, it grew sweeter and heavier with pulp.

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And when time came for fruit picking, all mangoes were taken over by grief. The days they had spent together, playing with the wind, teasing the bees and butterflies, changing colour while growing fatter, dancing in the rain and chuckling under the leaves while playing hide and seek with the sun, were now ending. That Mango, although sad, saw happiness awaiting it. It was excited! It had grown so big. It wanted to be tasted and appreciated for what it had grown to be.

But the day when all the siblings and relatives were plucked out of the branches, the Mango felt a different fear. That day the mango did not leave the tree for it was hidden by a leaf. The following day, the Mango saw its friends getting plucked out and the day after more mangoes were taken away from the tree. Days went by. The Mango saw few of his friends abandon the tree by falling on the ground and then being stolen by alien hands.

Whether it was the fruit picker’s carelessness or Providence himself that the Mango went unnoticed, is a mystery.

And one fine day, when the Mango woke up, it found itself alone in the tree. That Mango knew its fate. It would die a rotten death and its death wasn’t far away. It knew that soon insects would infest it and slowly consume it off its nourishment and goodness.

Every morning, a silent prayer would flow out of its invisible mouth. Its soul would pray for a better death. Desperate to be taken, it attempted to fall off its branch but mother tree was too fond of That Mango to let it loose. Thus, the Mango grew older. Soon it found pests consuming it from the inside and outside. It was painful!

In no time, the excruciating pain got the better of the Mango who breathed its last breath that sunny morning when all the daisies and roses sang sweet songs of gay summer. In body, the Mango perished but in soul the Mango passed on to the next body.

That Mango wandered across the universe and returned back to earth again to take a humanly shape, so wondrous and beautiful. It took form of a creature laden with goodness and zeal, a marvel that stood out from the others. That Mango brought happiness to its earthly creators. It grew with laughter and spread more laughter. It attracted love and disseminated more love. It learnt all that was given to it. It took less and gave more. As it grew bigger, it grew lovelier, so much that the other humans grew fond of the Mango.

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Choices weren’t little, but making the right choice was tough. And when the choice was made, the Mango found itself in a garden of roses with birds chirping sweet melodies of love. It felt like being where it belonged. How would the Mango know that the garden of roses was but a dream that would soon be overcast by dark shadows of the thundering night! How would the Mango know that expectation of a roller coaster would turn into the darkest cave of nether world! How would she know that under the garden lay a bed of thorns!

Thus, once again, the Mango was squeezed out of its life, ripped off its nourishment and torn into pieces which would be difficult to stitch. For no fault, that Mango found no way out of the trap that destiny had so carefully and cruelly crafted for it. Broken and shattered but brave and strong, the Mango made another choice out of the many that lay before it. It chose to fight and fight, till its soul would pass on.

 

 

 

Picture Source- Google

Sketch of the girl by Robina Dey.

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