Скачать или смотреть "The honey-mango tree" written by vaikom muhammed basheer.

The honey-mango is a story written by vaikom muhammed basheer.
the story is “You know, this tree has a special place in my heart,” Rasheed, my
neighbour said to me as we stood under the mango tree. Rasheed
paused as his son, a young boy of sixteen, walked up with a plate
of ripe mango slices.
“Did you like the mango?” Rasheed enquired after I had made a
quick feast of it.
“Like it! It tastes like honey. Did you plant this tree?”
“Not exactly. This mango tree has an interesting story. That is why
I said it has a special place in my heart.”
Rasheed started telling the story.It happened long ago. I was a young bachelor. I had gone
to visit my young brother who was a Police Inspector. He worked
in a small town about seventy -five miles away from here.
It was a hot day. I set out on a stroll in the evening. I had not
gone far when I saw an old man lying under a tree. His beard
was long and his hair overgrown. He looked about . As I
approached, I heard him groaning in pain. He looked badly ill.
“Give me some water, son,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he saw me.
I saw a pretty young woman sitting at the sit-out of a house
across the road, reading a paper. I asked her for some water. She was
puzzled as I started walking away with the pitcher of water. I told
her about the old man. She got up and came with me.When I gave the pitcher of water to the old man he did
something amazing. He got up with great difficulty. Instead of
drinking the water, he walked up to a withered sapling of a mango
tree. It had sprouted from the seed which had been thrown away
by a wayfarer. The old man poured half the water on it. He went
back to the tree under which he had been resting. He sat down,
drank the water and prayed silently.
“I am Yusuf Sidhik, a fakir,” the old man started to speak. “I have
no kith or kin. I have spent most of my time travelling from place
to place.” “I am Rasheed,” I introduced myself. “I am a school
teacher.” “I am Asma,” the young woman said. “I am a school
teacher too.”
“God bless you.”
The old man lay down again. He was dying. He breathed his last as
we watched. I went home to get my brother. We buried him in the
local graveyard.I had found a sum of six rupees in his pocket. Asma and I
put in five rupees each. I bought sweets for the amount and Asma
distributed them to the children at her school. Asma watered the
sapling every day. It soon sprouted fresh leaves. A little later Asma
and I were married.When I built this house, I carefully uprooted
the sapling and brought it home. Asma and I planted it here. We
watered it regularly and manured it with ash and dung. We added
some humus and bone meal later. In no time it rose to the sky and
spread its canopy. And here you are!
Rasheed smiled pleasantly and put his arms around the tree.
As I turned to go home, Rasheed’s son called me from behind. He
held in his hand some mangoes wrapped in a newspaper.
“Mother asked me to give you these.”
I smiled. “Thank you son. We live next door to each other. But I
still don’t know your name.”
“Yusuf Sidhik.”
“Yusuf Sidhik?”
“Yes, uncle, Yusuf Sidhik.”
#story #englishstory #vaikommuhammadbasheer