By Savitri Narayanan
“Let me have a word with Guttu tonight,” said Shambhu Kaka, “Come tomorrow morning!”
“Ji babuji, but I’ll do this job, promise you won’t call anyone else,” said Mistri. He found his way to push the old man into a corner, respectfully though. Mistri was into trading. Those who made furniture were his clients to whom he supplied wood. Here he was persuading the old man to chop down the mango tree in his yard.
In the village he was known as Shambhu Kaka. The young and old addressed him so. He lived on his own in his bungalow. His only son Guttu had picked up a job and moved to Australia years ago.
Behind the cottage was a room where Gulab Singh stayed. Loyal and devoted, Gulab Singh attended to all the work around. He cooked and cleaned, tended to the trees and plants in the compound and, also, shopped for the daily needs. In addition, he kept an eye on the medicines that Shambhu Kaka was to take. He got regular phone calls from Guttu inquiring about his father’s health. Every summer, Guttu came down for a month along with wife Malti and sons Divit and Udit.
A week ago, while talking to Guttu over the phone, he mentioned cutting down the tree.
‘Papaji, cut any tree but not that mango tree,’ was Guttu’s instant response.
Deep in his heart, Shambhu Kaka too had fond memories of the tree. As little Guttu grew up, the mango tree was very much part of their life. It had witnessed many happy hours with Guttu’s friends and often their families around it. The children were glued to the swing that hung from the northern branch. They climbed up the branches to pluck mangos! It was irrelevant whether the mangoes were tender or raw or ripe, the tree itself was so warm and welcoming!
That was decades ago!
‘What’s the point in being sentimental,’ Shambhu Kaka would remind himself, ‘Guttu has grown up and gone away, I’m growing old too. What’s the use of that tree standing there?’ True, the neighbourhood children still converged there during the mango season, birds still built nests, squirrels moved briskly up and down and a snake or two did come out to sun themselves. “The fact remains that the mango tree is of no real use to me! Instead, the logs would fetch a good amount and money in the bank is what’s useful to me or Guttu or the grandchildren, Adit and Diwit. As for the mango tree, there is another one in the eastern yard anyway!”
Like a student to appear for the exams, Shambhu Kaka put the reasons in order in his mind and picked up the phone to check with Guttu. Mistri would come tomorrow morning so he needed to be sure.
“Papaji, the very thought makes me feel sad. Imagine when we come home this summer in our front yard there’ll be no mango tree!”
Guttu was getting more emotional than expected, “If you need money, tell me how much, will do bank transfer; leave that tree alone.”
‘Guttu beta, when will you grow up,’ was the thought as he switched on the TV and went back to the movie.
###
It was lunchtime.
Like every day, the school sprung to life with the lunch bell. Students with their lunch boxes poured out of every classroom and headed for their regular spots to meet up with their friends.
Gaurav and Anuj were already there under the neem tree when Munni and Ankit reached.
“Why is Kulwant absent today?” asked Gaurav. Ankit was his classmate who stayed a few houses away from Munni’s.
“There’s some pooja happening in their house,” said Munni, “The place is full of guests.”
Over the years the neem tree had turned into their meeting point for lunch. Later, in the evenings, they met under the mango tree.
There was a swing, there were bushes to hide in and there were berries to be plucked. There was not a moment of dullness till they returned home close to sunset.
As they opened their lunchboxes it was Anuj who said, “Guess what! Shambhu Kaka is going to cut our mango tree.”
For a moment there was silence as the news was digested. Then all spoke at the same time, “Why would he cut the mango tree?”
“Who told you?”
“Are you joking?”
“These days one needs government’s permission to cut down any tree.”
“Last evening I overheard Mistri telling Papaji,” Anuj clarified, “Mistri is the one who’ll do the cutting. Apparently Shambhu Kaka said, ‘I just need to have a word with Guttu, come tomorrow’.”
“That means he has not come to a decision,” said Ankit, “There’s still scope for negotiations.”
Ankit, in the habit of reading mystery books, often used phrases like ‘logical thinking’ and problem-solving’.
“Let’s meet Shambhu Kaka this evening; we’ll talk him out of this ‘tree-cutting’ plan.”
The bell chimed and they returned to their classrooms.
###
In the evening, Shambhu Kaka was in the verandah with his cup of tea when Gulab Singh said, “There are some children who want to meet you, Babuji.”
“Why would children want to meet me,” Shambhu Kaka was surprised indeed as he said, “Call them in.”
Half a dozen children walked in slowly and hesitantly. It was clear from their body language that they were slightly scared.
“Take your seats, bacchon,” he pointed at the bench, “Trust me, I won’t eat you.”
As he laughed aloud, Shambhu Kaka could sense the children relaxing. Their smiles mingled with his loud laughter. Quickly they came to the topic.
“Uncleji, we have a request,” Kulwant said. “We heard that you were planning to cut our mango tree.”
“Please don’t do that,” Anuj chipped in to complete the sentence.
“We’ve so much fun under that tree, Uncleji,” said Gaurav, “Our swing is on its branch.”
“We love climbing up the tree,” said Ankit, “I can climb all the way up and touch its topmost branch.”
“Uncleji, its mangoes are so sweet,” said Munni.
Gulab Singh walked in with a tray full of eatables.
There was a sense of camaraderie and trust in the air. Shambhu Kaka’s heart went out to the children as they ate and chatted happily.
“Bacchon have some more lassi,” Gulab Singh seemed to glow in his warm hospitality.
“I’ll have some more tea,” said Shambhu Singh leaning back in his chair.
‘They could have been my grandchildren’ was the thought that crossed his mind. If only they lived here, Udit and Diwit too would have climbed up the mango tree and swung from its branches like these children. Like Guttu, they too might have said, ‘Don’t cut the tree!’
Shambhu Kaka made up his mind.
When Gulab Singh walked in with the tea, he said, “Tell Mistri, no need to come here tomorrow; we’re not cutting the mango tree!”
(Savitri Narayanan is a retired educationist at present in Goa. A mother and grandmother, loves reading, writing and travelling.)
