The Mango Tree

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 towards the mango tree. His steps were not so firm and hands shivered. Old age made him very weak. Thoughts inundated his mind. It was his wife who planted the mango tree years ago. Those beautiful reminiscences seized his consciousness. In that aura of emotions, he cuddled the tree. The chattering was the only thing that quashed his solitude.

The old man paid a visit to his wife's tomb the next day. He was accompanied by a drizzle. He walked towards her tomb in that light shower and stood in front of it. Eloquent was his silence. While returning, he placed a mango and some leaves over her tomb as an oblation. The tree - the living monument of his wife- was swayed in the wind.