The Mango tree
The Mango Tree
It was another beautiful sunset, the red Sun slowly returns to its cradle in the mountains, flocks of chirping birds join their loved ones in delicate nests and mothers drag their naughty ones from the playground to their homes. This sunset is as beautiful as any that I have seen in my many years but it is special to me as this may be the last one I will ever see.
I have Kaka an old friend standing beside me, I remember him in his childhood days, hanging from my branches and stealing my mangoes. Today he had an air of melancholy around him and had the lost look, that dry leaves have as they fall from my branches. Years have not been kind to him. He sat down and rested his back on me. He laid the axe on his thighs and sighed aloud.
His father used to do the same. We had spent many evenings together. Kaka’s father first came to this village as a missionary but planted a church and settled down here. He planted me on the day that he baptized his first convert. It was his routine to water me and pray over me daily. Little did he know that his very son, my own Kaka, was destined to cut me down.
I remember it very clearly as if it all happened yesterday. I grew and the church also grew, we had Shyam, Kumar, Lakshman, Shanti, Teja and a few others. All shared the same dedicated and vision and the same poverty. They used to gather together every few days in a shed that they built together from thatched leaves and bamboo poles. The shed served as their hall for prayer and special occasions.
I grew taller than the church when there were about twenty five people. It was a joy watching the children playing while the elders pondered over more serious issues. Kaka and his best friend Subash were the naughtiest. They loved distracting the preacher as he spoke. They were like a huge family bonded together for life. I watched them share their simple meals when one of them did not have enough. Yet purity, holiness, sincere prayers and fasting were their norm. They found joy in talking about their Lord and were at peace with him.
I was their cherished possession. They waited for me to blossom and bring forth fruit. They took my green mangoes to dry, salt or pickle them and use it throughout the year. The ripe ones were prized by all the people. My mangoes were gifted to wandering missionaries and to travelers. The young spent more time playing near me and less time at homes. I was always wanted for my cool shade in the hot months and by the shelter-less during rains.
The church valued the Bible and they discussed it late into the night. I could see lives changed. Years passed and Kaka’s father went to be with his Lord. Others took over the leadership. Purity, honesty, holiness, sincerity, prayer, fasting and striving were talked about less and less but on the other hand the numbers kept growing. Many worldly people became members of this church, it lost its family bonding and became more of a formal occasion. The church was rebuilt many times each more beautiful and larger than before. Committees were formed for many reasons among which keeping out of dissenting voices were a primary concern.
In my shade tired and dejected souls were comforted, encouraged and edified but now my shadows are hiding places for more scheming and petty rivalry. The children and the men of the church did not want me anymore. They had their mobiles and social vanity conversations. A few days earlier the committee took a decision that the space I occupied would be better used for parking and I was condemned to be cut down. Subash was the only one in the committee that abstained from voting. I could hear their arguing and bickering for all issues except for my demise. They were united in this deed.
A shout rudely woke me up from my trip down the memory lane. Subash was calling Kaka and running towards us wildly waving a piece of paper. Kaka was jolted from his ruminations too. I overheard Subash elatedly telling Kaka that his father had written in his will that if any tree in the church property was cut down then the land would be sold and the money transferred to his son Kaka. Subash remembered the lawyer reading it but did not mention it in the meeting as the land which had very much appreciated in value would make Kaka a rich man. Subash was still Kaka’s friend.
Kaka placed a hand on my trunk and caressed me. Slowly he lifted up his axe and walked home. Kaka had not forgotten me, he still valued the memories. The woodcutter valued me more than the riches of this world. If there is a Lord then I will surely ask Him to give Kaka every joy that there will ever be. The sun had by now set completely but tomorrow I will see it rise again and I will see many more sunsets.
I heard this story at a youth meeting in our church and rewrote it.
I have Kaka an old friend standing beside me, I remember him in his childhood days, hanging from my branches and stealing my mangoes. Today he had an air of melancholy around him and had the lost look, that dry leaves have as they fall from my branches. Years have not been kind to him. He sat down and rested his back on me. He laid the axe on his thighs and sighed aloud.
His father used to do the same. We had spent many evenings together. Kaka’s father first came to this village as a missionary but planted a church and settled down here. He planted me on the day that he baptized his first convert. It was his routine to water me and pray over me daily. Little did he know that his very son, my own Kaka, was destined to cut me down.
I remember it very clearly as if it all happened yesterday. I grew and the church also grew, we had Shyam, Kumar, Lakshman, Shanti, Teja and a few others. All shared the same dedicated and vision and the same poverty. They used to gather together every few days in a shed that they built together from thatched leaves and bamboo poles. The shed served as their hall for prayer and special occasions.
I grew taller than the church when there were about twenty five people. It was a joy watching the children playing while the elders pondered over more serious issues. Kaka and his best friend Subash were the naughtiest. They loved distracting the preacher as he spoke. They were like a huge family bonded together for life. I watched them share their simple meals when one of them did not have enough. Yet purity, holiness, sincere prayers and fasting were their norm. They found joy in talking about their Lord and were at peace with him.
I was their cherished possession. They waited for me to blossom and bring forth fruit. They took my green mangoes to dry, salt or pickle them and use it throughout the year. The ripe ones were prized by all the people. My mangoes were gifted to wandering missionaries and to travelers. The young spent more time playing near me and less time at homes. I was always wanted for my cool shade in the hot months and by the shelter-less during rains.
The church valued the Bible and they discussed it late into the night. I could see lives changed. Years passed and Kaka’s father went to be with his Lord. Others took over the leadership. Purity, honesty, holiness, sincerity, prayer, fasting and striving were talked about less and less but on the other hand the numbers kept growing. Many worldly people became members of this church, it lost its family bonding and became more of a formal occasion. The church was rebuilt many times each more beautiful and larger than before. Committees were formed for many reasons among which keeping out of dissenting voices were a primary concern.
In my shade tired and dejected souls were comforted, encouraged and edified but now my shadows are hiding places for more scheming and petty rivalry. The children and the men of the church did not want me anymore. They had their mobiles and social vanity conversations. A few days earlier the committee took a decision that the space I occupied would be better used for parking and I was condemned to be cut down. Subash was the only one in the committee that abstained from voting. I could hear their arguing and bickering for all issues except for my demise. They were united in this deed.
A shout rudely woke me up from my trip down the memory lane. Subash was calling Kaka and running towards us wildly waving a piece of paper. Kaka was jolted from his ruminations too. I overheard Subash elatedly telling Kaka that his father had written in his will that if any tree in the church property was cut down then the land would be sold and the money transferred to his son Kaka. Subash remembered the lawyer reading it but did not mention it in the meeting as the land which had very much appreciated in value would make Kaka a rich man. Subash was still Kaka’s friend.
Kaka placed a hand on my trunk and caressed me. Slowly he lifted up his axe and walked home. Kaka had not forgotten me, he still valued the memories. The woodcutter valued me more than the riches of this world. If there is a Lord then I will surely ask Him to give Kaka every joy that there will ever be. The sun had by now set completely but tomorrow I will see it rise again and I will see many more sunsets.
I heard this story at a youth meeting in our church and rewrote it.