Mango Tale- Nutty as fruitcake

“Stop fidgeting around Numa”, said Mr. N helplessly.

“I can’t Nasr! I just heard a rustle in the yard.”

“Get off the tree you damn kids!” she yelled as she ran towards the tree with a cane in her hand.

Mrs. N turned 57 this year. While every year brought new changes, summer heat and Mrs. N’s obsession for her mango tree was something everyone in Aditya Nagar could count on. Every passing year greyed few strand of her hair but nothing could grey out her fixation towards the tree. As the days rolled by and the heat rocketed up, so did her fascination for the tree.

Well, who could blame her! She had the tree with rosiest mangoes ever. As the summer approached the tree would blossom and get stocked with mangoes so shiny and yellow that they seemed to burst with juice. Just the thought of sitting and leaning against the trunk of the magnificent tree and sup the succulent amber fruit would water one’s mouth. To Mrs. N it wasn’t just any mango tree, it was an old russet treasure chest whose brown branches drooped with glittering chrysoberyls. 

                

“Numaaa!” screamed Mr. N, as he followed her when she barged out of the house.

Under the fiery sun Mrs. N stood huffing red with anger. She picked up one of the injured mango in her hand and watched the kids with slingshots scamper away into the street before she could catch a glimpses of their faces.

“I am losing my speed.” She thought.

Oh yes! Just in case you don’t know, Mrs. N used to be quick like a cat, she was the most decorated athlete of her school. Somehow over the years, age rusted her speed and left behind the memories of her superior athletic experience to ponder about and the black and white photographs on the podium to smile at.

Days faded into nights. Nights illuminated into days.

The mango thieves kept robbing and wounding her mangoes.

Summers always made Mrs. N slightly restless but this time she was totally antsy. She spent most of her morning peeping through the window and bustling around the home. She could barely sleep at night, slightest noise from the yard made her jump right out of the bed. The inability to consolidate enough proof to bombard the parents with complains of their kid’s monkey business made her crabby.

Nothing seemed to tickle her pink. Long gossip session with her sister retrenched, rebirth of ‘Mihir’ (character in her favorite daily soap) didn’t overjoy her and neither did Mr. N’s dance to kala chasma had her exploding with laughter.

Mrs. N sat in her rocking chair with a grim face gazing at the yard. Sun had evanesced behind the hills although the sky was still flushed with tangy hue and hazily clouded. The air felt heavy and moist against the skin and carried the sweet musky smell of the soil after the five-minute summer rain.

“Honey, this isn’t good.” Said Mr. N distressed.

“You have to stop being so attached to that tree. It is just another tree and not locker full of treasure that we can put under video surveillance.” He said.

“Eureka!” she exhaled.

A flash of smile flickered across her face and her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“This is madness Numa!” he sighed.

************************NEXT DAY**********************

It was just the lazy sultry afternoon she was waiting for ardently. Sun shone like a ball of fire keeping everyone locked in their AC rooms for post lunch nap and giving kids the favorable time to breakout of home stealthily.

Mrs. N sat in front of the monitor that showed every action around her tree recorded through the camera she got installed the previous night.

“Here they come.” She smiled wickedly as she took snapshots of them in action.