 |
| Vaikom Mohammed Bhaseer |
Originally written in Malayalam by famous Malayalam writer Vaikom Mohammed Bhaseer.
Tamil
translation from Malayalam by Sukumaran
English
Translation by Saravanan Karmegam
***
“None of what
you have heard about it is not true. I won’t worship any tree. To be very right,
not anything under the sun! But I do share a very intimate relationship with
this mango tree. My wife, Asma loves this tree too. This honey-tasting mango
tree stands here as the symbol of an extremely virtuous deed.”
We were sitting
under that mango tree. The tree had a lot of mangoes. A layer white sand was
seen spread around the tree in a broad circle at its bottom. Two rows of bricks
were erected along the circle with some rose plants planted in small circles
between the rows- A huge number of flowers blossoming in different colours.
His name was
Rashid. He was living in a house nearby with his wife and son. Both husband and
wife were working as teachers in a school. His wife had sent their sixteen
year old son with plateful of mango pieces. We both were savouring it. Its
taste was quite unique, a taste of honey.
“How does the mango
taste?”
“You are right.
It tastes like honey”
“I am still
quite amazed to think about this moment given to us to relish this mango”
“Who had
planted this tree?”
“It’s we, I and
my wife Asma, planted this tree here. I will explain the story behind this
mango tree. I have narrated it to so many. The one who listened to the story
conveniently forgot the incidents that led to the planting of this tree and
spread a false narrative of Tree Worship. There is no worship involved in this.
It is just a memory of a noble act. My younger brother was a police inspector and
was working in the town seventy five miles away from here. I had gone to meet
him; stayed in his house. Though it wasn’t a big town, I went out of the house
to get a feel of the town. It was a scorching summer and the wind was blowing hot.
Everyone was facing water scarcity. When I was walking along road, I saw an old
man lying under a tree, looking extremely tired, with long beard and hair. From
his appearance, I could understand that he must nearly eighty years old. He was
looking very tired, waiting for his last breath. On seeing me, he mumbled, “Al-hum
Dulillah! O! My people! Please give me some water”
“I ran to a house
nearby. A young lady reading a magazine sitting in the veranda of her house. I
asked her some water. She was a beautiful lady. She went in, and brought some
water in a mug. As I left her house with the mug in my hands, she grew
intrigued and asked why I carried the mug along with me. I explained her that a
man was lying tired over there and in need of water. She also came along with
me to see him. I gave him the water. The old man slowly got up, sat. It was only
after that, he did something marvelous. He got up, still tottering, with the
mug in hands, went near to a mango sapling which was looking withered under
heat, and poured some water at its root by chanting a prayer. It was a mango
seed thrown by some unknown passer-by after consuming the mango that had got
sprouted with its roots visible on the ground. He then came back to the tree
shade, sat, drank the remaining water, praising the god “Al-hum, Dulillaah” and
said, “My name is Yousuf Siddique. I am above eighty years old. I do not have
any relatives. I have been moving around the world as a mendicant. Now the time
has come for me to die. May I know the names of you both?”
I told, “I am
Rashid, a school teacher”. The young lady told him, “My name is Asma. I am a
school teacher. “Let Allah bless us all”, said the old man, and lay under the shade.
He breathed his last just in front of our eyes. I told Asma to wait there and
went to my brother and explained him everything. We brought a mortuary van and
took his mortal remains to a mosque and got it bathed. We covered his body with
the shroud of new cloths and buried him with necessary rituals. We found six
rupees in his bag.
“I and Asma
added another five rupees with it, and bought some toffees. I gave it to Asma
for distributing it to the school children. Later, I married Asma. She was
regularly watering that mango sapling. Some days prior to our coming to this
house after completing its construction, we uprooted the mango sapling without
damaging its roots, kept it in a rug sack filled with required amount of soil,
and watered it. It was kept leaned against the wall at the corner of Asma’s bed
room for a couple of days. Once we came to this house, we brought it here, planted
it in a pit filled with dried cow dung and ash and watered it regularly. As the
fresh leaves started coming out, we nurtured it with bone powder and compost manure.
This is how this tree had come here.”
“A very
pleasing event indeed. An old man watered a dumb mango sapling just before his
death. I will keep it in my heart for ever.” As I walked ahead after bidding adieu,
I heard someone calling me from behind. I turned back.
It was Rashid’s
son. He gave me a bundle- four mangoes wrapped in paper- and said, “Mother has
asked you to give it to your family members”
“O! Son! You
are studying. Aren’t you?”
“Yes…in college”
“What is your
name?”
“Yousuf
Siddique”
“Yousuf Siddique?”
“Yes…my name is
Yousuf Siddique”
***Ended***
