The Tree Lover

My grandfather built a house that had a sprawling field in front and a mango grove that lined the side of field. He dug out a pond, planted a jamun tree on its bank on the western end.

Sometimes he went to the other end of pond with cuttings and saplings and planted them. With passage of time, they all became big and formed a forest.

He planted a lone jamrul tree among the mango trees. A bite into succulent pulpy jamrul was like pressing a rasogolla in your mouth to extract its juicy delight.

In the pond he floated over a self-made bhela and would cast a net. When he drew it, fishes glistened as they made frantic attempt to cut through it.

He climbed up the mango trees and inspected the fruits. If any mango caught his attention for ripening or going to ripen soon, he would hurry to cover them with large cloth pieces so that they could not attract “tiye”—parrot.

Parrots were the constant headache for grandfather. They flew in and settled themselves on the mango branches in squeaky flocks. Whatever they found having any prospect, they nibbled at. Grandfather’s mangoes invariably went with an unseemly hole in them; yellow pulp massacred within.

So grandfather made an ingenious way to protect them from the prying eyes of parrots.

But parrots were not to be fooled so easily. They removed the protecting cloth with repeated strenuous beaking and then made merry with the ripened luscious fruits.

‘Let tiye eat them,’ grandfather would murmur when all his efforts went futile.

‘I plant trees for the joy of planting. Everything in nature has a share in them. Tiye shouldn’t be the exception.’ Grandfather sounded liberal in defeat.

Grandfather had gone long back. His mango grove gave way to urbane buildings. Pond had dried. Jamun tree was felled to make room for a boundary wall to earmark his property.

‘Tiye’ has gone missing since long. What have the parrots to do with concrete jungle? They need simple jungle. Rain-fresh and green.