A humble attempt to translate one of Basheer’s
short stories.
Mango Tree
What you heard is not right. I don’t worship any trees nor any other living things. However, I have a special love for this Mango tree. My wife too loves it. This tree is a symbol of an unbelievable deed, a great love story. I’ll explain it.
Now I stand below this tree. The tree is
covered with a lot of mangoes. Its base is surrounded by neatly laid brick
stones. Inside that, you can see blooming red and yellow rose flowers.
There are several other beautiful plants neatly arranged in red pots. The
owner’s name is Rashid who is my next-door neighbor. He and his wife are both
teachers in the school nearby. They have a teenage boy.
His wife sends a plate full of carefully cut mango slices via her son. I ate few pieces.
Rashid: How is it?
Me: Great… tastes like honey
Rashid: We are lucky to have this tree here
Me: Who planted it here? I heard there is something special about this tree. Can you please tell?
Rashid: My wife Asma and I planted this mango
tree. I’ll tell you that story. I have told this story to many people. A lot of
them have since become great admirers of this tree. I am sure you will like it
too.
My younger brother was a police inspector in a town 75 miles far from here. One day, I decided to visit him and planned to stay with him for few days. My brother went to work and I took a walk in the countryside. It was a hot sunny day. The wind was blowing with sizzling heat. There was a water shortage in that area.
Far away, I saw a large banyan tree. I decided to take some rest there. As soon as I reached the banyan tree, I saw an old man lying down in its shade. He seems to be in his eighties. He was looking very weak and very close to his death. As soon as he saw me, he murmured “Alham Dulilla”... give me some water. I was petrified seeing the plight of this old man. I looked around and saw a young lady in the nearby house reading a newspaper. I went to her house and asked for some water. She went inside her house and came back with a jug of water. I rushed towards the old man. She stopped me in her sweet voice “where are you going?” I told her about the old man who is about to die. She said, “I am also coming with you”.
We both helped the old man to get up and then
gave the water jug to him. Then we witnessed an unbelievable act. The old man
slowly stood up. He started walking down the pavement towards a place
where we saw a small mango seedling. He poured half of the water thereafter
saying a small bismi (prayer). Some passerby might have thrown the seed after
savoring the mango, I thought. It somehow grew a little. Most of the roots can
be seen above the ground.
The old man returned to the shade and drank the remaining water… again with a small prayer. He then said. “May God bless both of you. My name is Yousef Siddique. I am in my late eighties. I don’t have any family. I am wandering around this world as a fakir. I am about to die. Tell me your names”. I said “I am Rashid. Working as a teacher”. The girl said, “I am Asma”.
The old man blessed both of us and slowly reposed to the ground. Staring at us calmly, he closed his eyes slowly. We both witnessed his last breath. I asked Asma to wait there and rushed to get a van. We took his body to a nearby mosque, bathed him, covered him in new clothes, and did his last rites. All he had in his bag was 6 rupees and some old clothes. We put 5 more rupees each and handed over the money to the mosque and requested them to buy sweets for the kids in the adjacent orphanage.
Later on, I married Asma. She took great care of that mango seedling on the pavement. Later on, we built this house. Before we even started living here, we replanted the mango plant here. We wanted to see it every day of our life. It reminds us of the day we first met and the magnificent deed of that old man. He watered the plant, even before taking a drop of water to quench his thirst.
Thank you for telling this remarkable story. I said. I decided it is time to leave. I started walking towards my house. I stopped as I heard someone calling from behind. I turned back. Rashid’s son came running towards me with a handful of mangoes. Sir, please give it to your wife and kids. I looked at that handsome young man. What is your name? He said “Yousef Siddique”. Yes… Yousef Siddique.
