Darkling, the howling wind followed a meandering course like a gushing river which takes twists and turns often. It sometimes kept a steady path, sometimes veered off. It embraced the Mango tree by infiltrating through the gaps between the leaves. As the wind made the leaves dance, the tree began to chatter and the chattering became a cachinnation. And then the wind was freed from the tree and it entered the decaying old house through the opened windows and it rummaged through every room in the house and at last found the solitary oldster sitting on his easy chair with eyes closed. The wind gently ruffled his hair and lingered there for a while. Slowly he opened his eyes and a pensive mournfulness was there on his face while he was looking at the tree through the opened window. The tree was showered in the moonlight. The chattering of the tree continued and it seemed like the tree was calling the old man. Their silent conversation prolonged and at last he rose slowly and walked to...