Freshly Fallen Mangoes - A Short Story

Short Story

Mornings in June are an out of the world experience if you are in Kerala. But for a school student it was always a nightmare. The onset of monsoon strangely coincides with the school reopening date in the state. And Kerala being the fortunate first place in the country the monsoon decides to hit after its long sojourn at the sea, it gives a feeling to the onlooker that it was sadistically waiting all the while for this reopening date. For Kids spoiled by the lethargy of a two month old vacation the drenching in rains was further exacerbating the ennui of going to school.

It was such a June morning and as a kid I was reluctant to get up despite my mother's repeated calls. She finally came shouting with that hot utensil in hand threatening to press it down on my bum. A loving mother never hurts her child and I continued sleeping, this time pulling the blanket over the head. This irritated my mother and she executed the threat. I sprang up from the bed crying at the top of my voice but still defiant to get up. My persistence prompted my mother to check up if something is genuinely wrong and she gauged my body temperature which was unreasonably high. It was decided that I should not go to school that day, though the decision was mainly due to the guilt feelings of burning my bum.

It was fun to enjoy the sympathy and care when one was ill. Chappathis used to be a delicacy in down- south those days. My mother was the only one in that joint family who knew how to make Chappathis. So she used to make Chappathis with much pride. When one was ill, the general norm was he should stay away from the staple diet of rice. Either Kanji (Boiled rice in a semi-fluid form) if one is an adult or Chappathi soaked with sugar syrup if you are a child. I used to love falling ill, since I relished this kind of Chappathis. Things though took a serious note when fever grew to Mumps and it was really painful to gulp in the food. Being the cynosure of all the eyes is enjoyable otherwise, but not when you have a painful illness. But the care and angst in my mother's eyes is the only takeaway I still have in my mind.

Summer vacations, though the summers in Kerala are not acute enough as they may in other parts, were a mixed bag of travelling, festivals and lot of time with the Grandmas. Our courtyard were more than a few acres and my maternal grandmother was very particular of maintaining that. The cashew crops and mango trees were particularly taken care of. Coconut trees being the main crop were always on priority, but unlike other house-holds, we took care of other crops as well. It was a pleasure to follow my grandma in her criss-cross of this courtyard. Stories, raw mangoes to eat, small fights with neighbours whose kids used to trespass for mangoes and cashews; these were the benefits of hanging around with the grandma.

It was one such sunny day that she was carrying my little sister in her arms and doing this dutiful ritual. And there came a cobra hissing. It was her sheer presence of mind that saved her as well as the little girl. That Cobra was killed by my cousin, inspite of strong resistance from all of us. We had three Sarpakavus (Snake deities) in our place and killing snakes were a big no-no for us. But my communist cousin never heeded to such superstitions. Within a few years he met with an accident and had his left leg twisted and fractured badly. After a long hospitalisation, he could walk normally but the grafted skin was struggling to take shape. It somehow was scaling as if a snake would. Grandma said "Yes I had warned you not to kill that snake". Akin to my defiant cousin, the rational boy in me also rubbished the superstition aside.

But my Grandma came back strongly with her theory when another cobra was found in our well. She said this should the mate of the killed cobra and it wanted to poison the whole well. Don't know how few drops of snake venom would poison a whole well. Many people including the neighbours flocked around the well to see the snake with a mission. But after a couple of it was never to be seen. We as a family of communist progressives ganged up again against a conservative Grandma.