Mango

The sun was wearing its Indian summer best and the glaring heat had suspended most of the household in a haze of afternoon lethargy. With the lunch rush over, children fed, dishes washed and neatly stacked to air dry, my mother retired to her water cooled room to read the day’s newspaper. She would eventually nod off to sleep. I waited for it.

When I was assured of her absolute unconsciousness, I tiptoed to the storeroom. The cool dark pantry which held sacks of grain, lentils, tins of biscuits, homemade chips, large clusters of green bananas. But most importantly in a corner, a large palm woven basket. It held in its wide expanse, the object of my desire. It sat there in its most glorious plumpness, emanating the strongest pheromones I would ever know. It was with careful consideration that I chose one from the many. The fleshiest, brightest and the one with the most give when I pressed softly.

I quickly enclosed the treasure under my shirt, within my folded arms and walked briskly outside to its Mother. She was expansive with strong limbs and wore the darkest green hue. The sweltering heat around me simmered to a low as I deftly climbed and settled into her welcoming forked lap. With unabated urgency I brought forth my prize, and took the stump out with a quick nip. The juices brimmed forth and I lapped it up greedily. With swift gentle movements my incisors peeled off the thick covering. The buttery sumptuousness inside beckoned and I gladly obliged. Time stopped as I partook.

Afterwards, I Iaid in drunken stupor, sated and oblivious to my stained shirt and sticky fingers. I jolted upright when I heard my name from afar and jumped down, threw the incriminating seed and ran inside. I didn’t notice the Mother sway just a scintilla as the seed settled itself into a moist warm crevice in the earth.

Author: Annu Verghese