The Coveted Fruits

     A solitary papaya tree stood in our courtyard.  Bearing ten papayas.  Barring two, the others were green. 

     Little did we know that the two ripe papayas, gleaming yellow in the morning sun, would cause a mini furore in our neighborhood. 

     Five years of infertility (broken by a lone papaya appearing, a year back) had now, literally borne fruit.  Ten at a time!

     Needless to say, we were delighted.  But to our amused amazement, our neighbors were elated!

     It was they who had counted the days, (along with us), waiting for the papayas to ripen.

     At first all the fruits were green.  Then after two days of impatient anxiety, the two bigger ones conceded to change into a slight yellow-tinged green.

     “Ooh, the papayas have started turning yellow,” the five year old daughter of my neighbor would remark happily.  “Now I’ll eat the papayas” she’d add, clapping her hands in unmasked glee.

     Her mother would be slightly more diplomatic.  After dropping in at our house, during our siesta time and talking to my sleepy-eyed mother on inane topics, she’d broach the topic.

     “Behenji, your tree is looking wonderful now with all those papayas.  Two of them have already started ripening.  I hope you’ll give me one of them when you’ll pluck them.  My Pinky (referring to her daughter) is dying to taste it.”

     Pinky would not be far behind.  “Aunty, when will the papayas ripen?  When will I eat them?  Why don’t all of them ripen simultaneously?  Then we can pluck all of them at once, isn’t it?  It’ll save you the trouble of having to pluck them time and again”, she’d say innocently, but with the wisdom of a wizened old lady.

     Mother would patiently explain to her that fruits needed some time to ripen and that the ‘older’ fruits ripened earlier than the ‘younger’ or ‘newer’ ones.

     “What will happen if we eat the green ones, Aunty?  Mummy says that we’ll get stomach-ache.  Is it true?”  Pinky would continue her inquisitive questioning.

     “Yes, it's true”, Mummy would reply, trying to curb the fast-slipping hold over her temper.

     “I’ll make it a point to give you a papaya, don’t worry”, so saying, she’d send away Mrs. Bhave and her daughter.

      By the next day, the papayas had turned bright yellow, probably spurred on by the gentle prodding and cheering of all the members of our neighborhood.

     Unwilling to be left behind in the race to ‘win’ the papayas, our ‘bai’ (the maid servant) would tell me, “Madam, please pluck the papayas before they become over-ripe.  Otherwise they’ll fall down due to their own weight and break under the impact.  It’ll then be a case of ‘neither yours nor mine’, it’ll go to the dogs,” she’d quote a Marathi proverb.

     “Of course you’ll give me one, won’t you Madam?” she’d question, laughingly.  Then tucking her, ‘kashta’ (traditional nine-yard sari worn by Maharashtrian ladies) in, she’d set about washing the utensils with renewed vigor; after receiving my assurance.

      Then there was the four-year old kid who came for receiving tuition at our house, to be considered. To enable him to become sharp at remembering numbers, I asked him to count the number of papayas on the tree, daily.  Not that a new papaya cropped up daily.  But I was immensely pleased by my brain- wave.  What a novel way I had invented to din number-sense into that tiny tot’s brain!

     Though his counting petered away after three, he would continue staring at the fruits.  Over-awed by the tall tree with the crown of green leaves and even more impressed by the bunch of fruits sticking out of the trunk; he would mutter “Papai, papai” and click his tongue; “Tut tut,” as if he was tasting the fruit in his imagination.

     When he would become a nuisance, during tuition-time, we would promptly dispatch him to see the papayas.  On his part, he would ‘religiously’ see the papayas while coming, while going and as and when time permitted.

     It was mutually decided by us to reserve the best piece of papaya for this naughty, but lovable kid.  The elders could wait. 

     Superstition is rampant in India.  But we hadn’t even dreamt that it would touch our popular tree!

     It so happened that an old lady, a family friend, happened to visit our house, just when it was bristling with excitement over the ripening of the papayas. 

     “A lone papaya tree in front of your house!  Hey Ram!  It’s not an auspicious sign.  Have it chopped off at once!  Any delay will bring only misfortune upon your house,” she said solemnly. “However I can eat the fruit as I am an old widow. Nothing will happen to me as I have lived my life!” How convenient, we thought and laughed till our sides ached, joking about her superstition, later; after she’d gone. Talking of exaggeration, that lady would have certainly taken the bakery!

     As father was obviously frightened by the grave warning, he at once prepared to chop off the tree the next morning.  But our timely intervention saved the tree.

     “It’s doing us no harm father.  Look how it’s giving us shade and fruits; and shelter to the birds.  Trees are the security guards of our environment.  It’s our duty to protect them”, we chorused.

     Before we could embark on a lecture waxing eloquent about the benefit of trees to mankind, father threw in the towel.

     Brother brought home his friend that afternoon.  The friend, a scholarly type, on seeing the fruits, remarked, “Ah, papayas!  They contain vitamin A.  Good for eyes.  Give it to your sister,” he said cheekily.

     I cursed him inwardly for taunting me.  Because, it was me who wore specs!  “I’ll get even with you, you swine.  If you get even a small piece of papaya, I’ll change my name.” I vowed in my mind.

     That Saturday afternoon, an emergency meeting was called at home.  Behind closed doors, father, mother, my brother, sister and I; put our heads together to find a solution to the problem, which hung like the Sword of Damocles over our heads.  A threat to the hitherto cordial relations with our neighbors, etc.!

     To pluck or not to pluck (the papayas) was the problem!

     Our enthusiasm on seeing the ripe papayas had considerably diminished on thinking about the numerous people who’d reminded us repeatedly about their share in the ‘loot’.  Neighbors, friends, relatives….. It was funny how they had forgotten our ownership ‘rights’ on the fruit.

     I suddenly remembered a story my granny used to narrate in my childhood.  Two dogs fighting over a loaf of bread; ultimately being fooled by the monkey who acted as judge.  The monkey ate the whole loaf.

     I was amused at the thought that while there had been only two dogs in the story, here were several people in the fray for the papayas.

     While we (the panel of judges), were debating over who should be the lucky ones to receive the coveted prize, there was a knock on our door.

     With apprehension, my sister opened the door.  She was scared that we’d have a new contender for the honor.  Her fears were not unfounded.

     The caller was a lady from the small dwellings surrounding our house.  She claimed to be an acquaintance of my late grandmother.

     “My grandson saw the ripe papayas on the tree yesterday. How red they appear,” he said.  It dawned on me that ‘red’ referred to the deep yellow that the papayas had turned into.  May be the papayas were embarrassed by being dragged into the lime-light and had blushed, I thought mischievously.

     Though the lady didn’t ask to be given the fruit, she stayed till my mother had herself agreed to give her a share of the spoils.

     We wondered how on earth were we to ‘equally’ distribute the two ‘vexed’ fruits.

     Just then we heard stones landing with a thud in our courtyard.  Courtesy the street urchins!  One of the missiles had barely missed our window pane.  Another had found its mark.

     One over-ripe fruit had fallen under the onslaught.  To the ground, punctured and wounded.  Orange pulp oozed out.  It seemed to be heaving a sigh of relief!

     We who’d rushed out to spot the culprit were heart-broken on witnessing the papaya’s ‘death’.

     Even in that moment of sorrow, I couldn’t help thinking that our ‘bai’ must be an astrologer.  Her prediction had been accurate.

     Brother cursed her ‘vile’ tongue.  My sister, ever-optimistic, pointed to the other papaya.  The rest of us cheered up a little.

     The next day, all of us cautiously guarded the papaya from sparrows and over-zealous neighbors.

     Our family court had decided to maintain the status-quo.  No one would receive the papaya.  The honor wouldn’t be even ours.

     The court was dismissed till the next batch of papayas would ripen!
********************************************************************************

The copyright of this write-up is with Mrs. Priya Ramesh Swaminathan.