The tree yielded mangoes. Standing tall in the centre of the garden, the majestic Mangifera indica, as they called it. With its shady canopy, strong trunk and boughs, where the monkeys played, it was the home to variety of insects- from ants to hoppers, from the kids climbing it to the adults teaching them, the Mango tree was their refuge, the haven for all.
As a child, I often played in the garden- sometimes swinging on the tree, sometimes climbing or maybe studying it at times, with the mere knowledge I had. I even made an acquaintance or two with its inhabitants.
***
It had been two long months, since he had left me- two unbearable months, full of gloom, despair and misery. I missed my beloved Grandpa, the person who was always with me- from my silly musings to school lessons, always lent a patient ear, always there for me with his love and smiles. God, I missed him badly.
***
It was the twelfth of a hot June when I sought the refuge of the old Mango tree, reminiscing our times together, flipping lazily through an old picture album, when a sweet voice, that same soothing voice- which had told me countless stories, scolded me when I wronged and calmed me when I cried- the voice of my dearest Grandpa, from it spoke, or rather sang,
"Child of earth
Have courage, bloom
The world is but
A bliss and doom
Don't get lost, have hope
Child of love
Have patience, bloom
For you are the lotus, dandelion
Be kind, and smile
For you are destined to walk miles."
It is the eleventh of July now, the tree hasn't spoken for a month, since that fateful day in June. I have been coming here everyday since. I wonder will it tomorrow...
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Just Stories
Short StoryThey say, 'Every story has a story'. This is just a collection of the stories I write. ATTENTION: If you are reading this story on any other platform other than Wattpad you are very likely to be at risk of a malware attack. If you wish to read this...
