Go, traveller, go. Zip thee along the hot, dusty highway. I know you are on your way from Delhi to Moradabad, and you want to reach before it gets dark. You should, too. Driving is dangerous in these parts. I should know, I have been standing here, watching…
But if you choose to park for a while and clamber down to the field where I live, I promise you green, cool shade under my umbrella. And of course, my fruit.
These days, I am heavy with mangoes, and the mangoes are heavy with juice. People call it the king of fruit. I don’t know about that. I just quietly go about my job, sunning myself, soaking in the rain, filling slowly up. The more the fruit, the humbler I feel. And so, I bend low.
A little secret: the farmer catches a snooze in his hut during the hot hours. It is at a safe distance. That’s when you can grab some of the mangoes from my collection. I promise not to tell.
Text: Shubhra Krishan