Half Eaten Fruit

It had started growing all on its own. The three of us loved to watch its fresh green leaves grow everyday.

Abha came running, announcing that she saw some flowers sprout in the tree. We all ran to the backyard to see for ourselves. Indeed, there were flowers on the small tree. Monsoon announced its arrival that evening. We were afraid the flowers would be blown away by wind and falling rain. They did, only to allow fresh sprouts in a few days. And slowly we saw those flowers transform into raw, young guavas.

Excitement had never been a part of me. Mother would often say that I was passive and unattached. I didn't know. Maybe she was right. But I could not say I was excitable. I also watched my guava tree with those raw fruits. The slender branches of this young tree were a good hideout from the general cacophony of the dusty town I grew up in. I loved the town.
Ankush was excited about owning a tree that bore fruits. He was waiting to taste the first ripe guava. On a lazy afternoon I sat on one of the branches engrossed in Rajendra Yadav's book when I noticed a tiny squirrel nibbling at a fruit. I called out for Ankush. His eyes lit up for he saw a few ripe guavas. He had become an expert at climbing trees, learning the ropes of the game on this very guava tree.

Mother had always been happy to see her children enjoy. Many neighbours had suggested that a guava tree was inauspicious at home. Our faces would betray sadness immediately. She would notice the sense of loss and let the tree be. My mother is wary of sorrows. We all are. I am lazy, and I am not unhappy. She would always look at me with a kind of wistfulness which I could never understand.

Our guavas looked different from those found in the mandi. They tasted heavenly. All my friends at school would wait for their share. I was amazed at the quantities of fruit the tree bore. It seemed disproportionate for the size. Yet, we all enjoyed sharing it all with them. Now, my lazy afternoons would be spent perched on the branches which had grown stronger with time. I realized lately that there were many more visitors to our home. A regular visitor was a parrot. He would nibble at the amber fruits and leave them half eaten. One such day I just plucked the half-eaten fruit and tasted it. It was sweeter than any other guava I had ever eaten. I was convinced that half-eaten guavas by a parrot tasted divine. And the theory spread. My mother said I was mad to think so, but she was Mother after all. Her eyes looked tired and sad with passing days. Her love did not wither, but perhaps her spirit did.

My school was not far from home. Every afternoon my friends and I would come home and sit under the green umbrella of our guava tree. It had become a muscular tree. Parrots and squirrels could always be spotted on it. I continued to be a lazy bum even after all these years. My mother never tired of telling me so. She said this to my friends also. I felt hurt. But she is Mother. She betrays her anguish by smiling. A tired smile. I shudder to think what I would do without her. But no, she is there. She'll always be there for me, for us.

Neighbours continued to suggest the removal of our guava tree but it stood there. My mother would be reminded of our faces. She aged quickly. She could not send her lazy son away. Ankush had moved on to Bombay and Abha went to Kanpur. I was still with my mother, and my guava tree. I was always attached to my mother more than anyone else. She always looked after me well. She cared for me more than for anybody else. She knew when I wanted what, and would always be the first one to wish me on my birthday.
~*~
Today is my birthday. I am walking in the backyard and looking at my guava tree. How it has grown quickly in front of my eyes, I think. It was so small and weak, but today it stands erect and strong. I always knew I never grew as much as I should have. I was not tall or strong. Lean and short was a fitting description of me. Only this guava tree had started giving me a complex which had never bothered me until today. I was 19 years old, and looked like an 11-year-old boy. I did not even have a moustache while all my friends at school had. They were different than I was, I knew it. We were all in the 'Special School', and each was different from the other. But this guava tree looked so strong that I started disliking it.

I still sit on one of those branches to read my books. I read Rajendra Yadav, but don't know why I can't understand his stories. Abha tells me better stories. Mother also tells me good stories of monkeys and gods, seas and demons. Guavas are tasty fruits. Mother also likes them a lot. She had made jelly from guava yesterday for my birthday. She always celebrates my birthday. Abha sent me a sweater, it was winter. Ankush sent a train with tracks, etc. I don't know why. Does he think I am a child to play with it? I am big, I am 19.

“Where is Rajendra Yadav's book?” I heard my father shout to my mother.
“Maybe Ayush has it.” My mother was always so quiet and soft. My father always angry.
“This boy, I don't know when he'll stop taking my books. As though he can read and understand them, huh! Sometimes my irritation becomes unbearable. Well, not his fault that he was born with this retardation.”

I looked at the guava tree. I knew it would give more fruits. Mother came out to take me in to bathe me before doing puja for my birthday and for my long life. I felt a pain in my chest and I was holding the guava tree. A guava fell down on my head. I looked up and saw a tiny squirrel run away. I knew it had caused the fall of the fruit.

I heard my father say I was retarded. I knew why Ankush sent me those trains and buses. Only mother loved me, and my guava tree. Abha is also OK. She likes me, and always hugs me when she comes.

Mother is looking very tired today. I feel pain in my chest, and also in my leg. Mother will take me to the doctor if I tell her. She takes me there every month. They say some valve is not proper. I don't know. I just go there with Mother. Mother looks very tired whenever she comes from there. She always hugs me tight and sits with me praying to god.

Today I feel the pain but I don't want to tell her. It is my birthday. I am sitting near god; Mother has gone to the kitchen to bring something. I lie down, feeling tired. I close my eyes. I am feeling very sleepy. Pain in my chest.
~*~
“Ayush, take this gift from Amma. Ayush, Ayush… …”
I slept quietly. I will grow stronger and bigger next time. Stronger than my guava tree. But I love my guava tree. And my mother. She is crying. Poor mother, she is so weak!