At The End Of It, Basheer Has A Bagful Of Stories. Coming From The Man Who Alerted The Map Of Malayalam Fiction Five Decades Ago, This Volume Of Short. Malayalam Short Story Writers: Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai, N. S. Madhavan, Madhupal, Ponkunnam Varkey, M. Mukundan. Thenmavu: The Honey Mango Tree ‘ What you have heard is all nonsense. I adore no tree; neither do I worship nature. But I have a special.
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I adore no tree; neither do I worship nature. But I have a malayzlam affinity for this mango tree. My wife Asma has it too. This tree is a token of an exceptionally great endeavour. We were seated beneath that mango tree. It was resplendent with mangoes. There was white sand spread out in a big circle all around it.
Roses of various hues were planted on the outlying fringes, protected by stone and cement sentinels. His name was Rashid. He lived with his wife and son in the house nearby. The couple were teachers in the neighbourhood school.
His wife sent over mango pieces- peeled and cut exquisitely- on a plate carried by their teenage son. We relished the fare: I shall narrate the story of this tree. I have told it to many. But they forgot the incident, and propagated it as tree worship! There is no worship involved, just the memory of a great deed. My younger brother is a Police Inspector. He was working in a town almost seventy five miles away from this place. I had gone to visit him.
I was out strolling one day. It was the peak of summer. Even the wind that blew was hot. There was a scarcity of water at that time. It was then that I saw an old man, lying exhausted, underneath a tree, on a by-road.
He had overgrown hair and beard, and seemed around eighty years of age.
Short Stories – Vaikom Muhammad Basheer – Google Books
He was extremely fatigued and was on the verge of death. I immediately stepped into a near by house and seeing a woman reading a newspaper, requested her for some water. The beautiful woman got some water in a brass tumbler. Seeing me walk away with it, she enquired about my destination. I told her that someone had fallen by the way side, and I nalayalam taking the water for quenching his thirst. I gave the water to the maalyalam man.
The old man got up slowly. Then he did something astounding! Someone had eaten oc mango and thrown away the seed carelessly on that roadside. The sapling had emerged. Most of the root was visible above the ground. The old man dragged himself back to the tree mallayalam. He recited Bismi and drank the rest of the water. I am more than eighty years old.
I have no relative. I was wandering the world as a fakir. I am going to die. What are your names? I am a school teacher. Yusuf Siddique died in front of our eyes. Asma stood guard while I fetched my brother. We hired a van to carry the dead body to the mosque.
After bathing the corpse, we enshrouded it with a new cloth and conducted the burial as per norm. Asma and I pitched in with another five each.
In the course of time, I married Asma. She kept watering the plant. Before we shifted our residence to this house, we uprooted the mango plant carefully and shifted it into a mud filled sack. Then we brought it here and transplanted it; adding dry cow dung and ashes. On regular watering, it sprouted new leaves ; then we added bone meal and green compost.
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Thus the mango sapling turned into this tree. I shall remember that. He wrapped four ripe mangoes on a paper and offered it to me. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Twitter account.
You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. September 26, September 27, ministhy. Son, please give me some water. Praise be to Allah!
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