We lost our beautiful Amrapali mango tree in Guwahati to Cyclone Remal on Monday night. It had moved with us from Dehradun to Guwahati as almost a sapling in 1991, when we shifted back to Assam. My father had this penchant for collecting and growing various hybrid plants, and Amrapali – a delicate cross between the Dasheri and the Neelam variety of mangoes – was among his favourites.
I remember the porter heaving the mango sapling, along with a couple of others, onto his head and swiftly disappearing into the busy Dehradun train station. Seeing my worried face (what if the guy absconded with our plants?), Deta (my dad) had smiled and told me to “just keep following the mango plant”. And true enough, there it was – our Amrapali, rearing her head high above the milling crowd. Holding Ma’s hand, we bucked up and let the vision of the plant guide us, jostling through the multitude of people.
We had booked a first class compartment in order to accommodate all the luggage and plants that we were carrying with us. Not so much actual luggage as we had plants – Deta was adamant not to leave behind any of his precious saplings. It was quite a feat to thread our way through all the foliage in the compartment, nudging aside leaves and cactus thorns. Something that my sister and I laugh about till this day!
Once home, it bore fruit in our garden while still in her planter, Amrapali being a dwarf variety of mango. People would stop by our garden gate and gawk, astonished at the sight of ripe mangoes hanging from such a tiny plant. Some would even venture to ask if it was an artificial plant we had kept for ‘show’. In those days, in the early 90s, such a sight was unheard of in Assam.
Amrapali thrived and had to be moved out of her planter, to be planted on the ground, right beside our home. I moved out of Guwahati soon after, rarely getting to taste the mangoes as the season would get over by the time I had office leaves/holidays to spare, to visit home. The neighbours and visitors, on the other hand, were the lucky ones.
Meanwhile, the tree grew to become a haven for a host of birdlife. Whenever home, I would sit at our verandah and listen to the spotted doves amorously cooing from the foliage, or to the magpie robin spinning out its stock of songs. Asian koels would peer out, now and then, while common mynahs carried on their incessant, rapid chattering in varying volumes. Our home felt full, with all the melody and the cool shade that the tree provided.
It’s been three years that Deta left us, and the garden and the home doesn’t quite feel the same. Our visits have become even rarer, now. Quite unplanned, Ma went home last week, along with our aunt and family. And it was in her presence that our mango tree came down, on that stormy night. It is uncanny that of all the storms that keep hitting Assam, Amrapali chose that one to bid adieu. To Ma, my sister and I, this felt deeply personal. Like a childhood friend, a family support, that had decided to leave us.
Maybe the empty house, without us and Deta, saddened the tree, weakening it underneath. We shall never know. Now, there will be no more bird songs in that corner of our house.
Just another reaffirmation that things change, and some do come to an end.
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