The mango tree

There were three mango trees beside the pond in my ancestral home. I have seen them since my early childhood and one of them bore quite an ample amount of fruit till the date a mastodon chopped them off for money.

 

The things which I loved most about those trees were they were home for a lot of birds. I used to sleep in a first floor bedroom back then, the branches of one of the trees almost touched my window. I used to sit at the window and watch the birds quite often.

 

Early dawn of summer meant a group of doyels singing a melody from the branches, these tiny birds had a very loud voice, enough to wake you up if you are sleeping near the window, but you wont grumble, that much I can assure you because they will bless you with a divine strain for next half an hour. It starts with a hesitant chirping, soon touches the peak and then stops.

 

Drowsy noon of summer meant the soothing call of doves, who used to sit on the braches in pair and softly sang while endlessly petting each other.

 

There were gorgeous kingfishers and woodpeckers. Both looking for their foods. One in the pond, and the other in the tree itself.

 

Occasional visitors like benebou, who called in the sweetest voice or the nightingales who were mostly silent but sometimes played a little symphony.

 

Then there were wingless beings too, gangs of langurs who came there for mangos or berries. Squirrels who lived there and ran around the branches playfully. It’s a great thing to have a fruit tree like that in home. They always invite birds and animals for food.