“One day, I overheard of their conspiracy to teach my neighbor a lesson. When I called on him and cautioned him about it, he simply laughed. Soon afterwards, in the dread of a dark night, I heard frightful sounds in my neighborhood. I felt a chill in my spine ”
By Damodar Mauzo
This story was first read at the SAARC Literary Conference.
While reading a book, I came across a thought. Quite a profound one. That nudging thing would not let me sleep. No matter how hard I tried, it didn’t give up, so I simply decided to sleep with it. When I woke up in the morning, I found that the thought had sprouted, so I rushed with it to my front yard, in order to plant it. However, I knew that the soil in my own yard was not quite productive while my neighbor’s land was very fertile. Besides, he liked gardening. So, I crossed over the fence and carefully planted the tiny sprout there. Even before it rained, the little sprout drew nutrients and bloomed to become a plant. Soon it was a tree that bore flowers and fruits. The neighbor was delighted. I was then surprised to learn that the fruits had therapeutic value that provided an instant cure for many ailments. People flocked at the neighbor’s door asking him to give them some. The generous neighbor never sent away anyone empty handed. Whenever he was at private get-togethers or at public meetings, the neighbor tended to share his fruits with the people. News started popping up about this healing fruit. The stories were afloat, day in and day out. Someone who could not see well had a clear and effective vision. A confused soul claimed to have gained a new-found understanding. Someone who had been faltering to see the path clearly, now got the foresight to visualize what was coming.
A person whose intelligence had gathered dust found the wheels turning again. Even someone with severe brain fever was cured. What surprised me the most was when I saw Mr. X, a person known for his crooked ways, was now most well-natured, as good as Mr. A1. Even the abusive Mr. Y and Mr. Z, who always mouthed profanities, were unrecognizable with their newfound persona of piousness. Before long, the fruit had become popular on Facebook, number of its followers increasing with every passing day. Nevertheless, all good things always face an alternate viewpoint. The disapproving frowns gradually started rising. Someone had severe stomach ache from just the smell of the fruit. Some were hit by indigestion. Some others’ migraines had worsened. Some started throwing up at the smell of the fruit. While some were hit by insomnia. When things became worrisome, the affected people held a meeting and decided to give my neighbor a piece of their mind. “Do not go around distributing those fruits, do not even let people take away them,” they said. When the angry men found the neighbor not paying any heed to their plea they saw to it that the fruits were legally banned. They spread rumours that the seed was smuggled from the enemy country, giving people a reason to troll the neighbor for it. “Such anti-national activities will not be tolerated by our ‘Bharat-Premi Sena’, the patriots vowed. The perpetrators then realized to their chagrin that the neighbor was named Bharat! So they decided to look for a new name for their outfit.
One day, I overheard of their conspiracy to teach my neighbor a lesson. When I called on him and cautioned him about it, he simply laughed. Soon afterwards, in the dread of a dark night, I heard frightful sounds in my neighborhood. I felt a chill in my spine when I could sense truckloads of people gathered there. I plugged my ears and tried to sleep. I envisaged my neighbor put to sleep for good. In no time, I could sense the sparks flying, hear the embers ticking and feel the heat on my skin. Did they set the house on fire? It was a lot later in the wee hours that the spell subsided. Yet, I could not get myself to fall asleep. The thought I had found in the book kept nagging me. The next day, gauging the situation, I solemnly made my way over to my neighbor’s house. He was in a murky mood. It was not his house but the tree that was in ashes. “They should have just killed me instead. Why the innocent tree? They incinerated it along with its flowers, fruits, roots….” He said. I wiped his tears and quietly walked away without even a fleeting look at the burnt tree. As I reached home, I suddenly had an inkling of doubt. I examined closely. And look-The thought that was nagging me at night, had grown a sprout.
Damodar Mauzo is a Goan short story writer, novelist, critic and script writer in Konkani. He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1983 for the novel Karmelin and the Vimala V. Pai Vishwa Konkani Sahitya Puraskar award for his novel Tsunami Simon in 2011. His collection of Short stories Teresa's Man and Other Stories from Goa was nominated for the Frank O'Connor International award in 2015.
Banner image is by Jorian Loman and downloaded from Unsplash.com