‘Mango Moods’

by Reeta Mani

As the cool evening breeze swept the stray curls off her face, Chitra eagerly glanced at the
steel platter next to her. Big, enticing chunks of raw, green mangoes smeared generously
with salt and a shocking red chili powder made her salivate in anticipation. She impatiently
picked up a slice and instinctively closed her eyes as she parted her lips. With the first bite,
the fiery-sour chunk instantaneously caused her taste-buds to explode with relish. The
intense tartness disseminated inside her mouth and quivers of aftershocks radiated to her
cheeks, jaws and ears. Chitra winced and cupped her face with both her hands as she
chewed on.

As Chitra relaxed on the woven-rope bed in the open courtyard, she glanced at the two
magnificent mango trees laden heavily with fruit which formed an evergreen canopy over the
courtyard. These mango trees made her nostalgic about her parental home, yet, they were
the only reason she felt at home here. As Chitra savoured the tangy chunks, she seductively
ran her tongue over her lips and pondered how similar her life was to the slivers of raw
mango dunked into pounded red chili powder. Astonishingly sour and scorching hot-yet
delightfully delicious……

She caressed her discernible abdominal bulge and heaved a sigh of relief. Just one more
month to go and the family heir will be born….about the same time when the green mangoes
neatly stacked in hay-baskets in the store-room will turn luscious ripe and saccharine sweet.

“Chitra, come in dear! It is prayer time,” Narayani amma called out from the kitchen. Chitra
picked up the empty plate and carefully rose to her feet to join her mother-in-law. Narayani
amma had lighted the oil lamp and decorated the deity in the puja-room with flowers. She
tenderly applied a speck of vermilion on Chitra’s forehead, offered a sweet as prasadam and
embraced her. “May you be blessed with a healthy, baby boy!” she said as she beamed with
joy.

Chitra pinched herself to confirm that she was not dreaming. She felt uneasy basking in so
much love and attention. Was this the same Narayani amma who had tortured her all these
years with cruel barbs for her barren womb? She had almost come to believe that her
mother-in-law was incapable of ever loving her or for that matter anybody at all. And soon
after Chitra discovered that she was pregnant after eight years of marriage, she found
herself suddenly being smothered with love and care and attention and food.

Prasad arrived from work early and spent all his time chatting with Chitra, until Narayani
amma called out for dinner. Chitra had never doubted her husband’s love and devotion for
her. She only wished he had a mind of his own; it was as if Narayani amma thought and
spoke for both of them.

Chitra wished her parents had been alive to share her joy. She felt nostalgic as she
reminisced the wonderful childhood years spent in their cozy village. Their house was
nestled in a mango orchard and Chitra could tell the time of the year by sniffing the breeze
that drifted from the grove.

The cool winter months from December to February would herald the mango flowering
season, clusters of tiny rose-white florets contrasting with the green leaves. The house
cloaked in air thick with the fragrance of the flowering mango trees would portend the fast
approaching annual exam and it was time to start burning mid-night oil. By the time bunches
of tiny green globular mangoes sprouted and fell off to form a carpet on the ground below, it
would be late March or early April and summer vacation would have begun.
By the end of May, it would be time to harvest the mangoes. A group of skilled men from the
village would be called for the job. They would arrive with long bamboo sticks with a sharp
sickle tied to one end. Their lithe bodies would deftly manoeuvre the most devious branches
to strip the tree of every single mango, which would be gently dropped into a jute sack. At
the end of the day the mango trees lush with fruit moments ago, would suddenly look bare
and melancholic, bereft of their dignity.

A major chunk of the harvest would be buried in haystacks in a cool, dark, dry room to ripen.
Rest of the mangoes would be pickled, transferred into huge, glazed, off-white ceramic jars
with honey-brown tops, oil poured to the brim and their lids covered and tied with a white
muslin cloth. The jars would disappear into dark kitchen shelves, and be left undisturbed to
age with grace. It would be months or sometimes even years before the mango pickle found
its way to the meal-platters- a piece of hard pit covered with soft, succulent flesh, soaked to
its core in the delectable spices.

Baskets-full of mangoes that missed the jute sack and fell to the ground were treated like
outcasts. Pickles could go bad if these mangoes inadvertently made their way into one.
Neither could they be left to ripen because they would inevitably rot on the side of the
impact. These mangoes would be cut into chunks and passed on to children to be eaten with
salt and chili powder. The rest of these mangoes would all be cut into long, narrow strips,
salted and sun-dried for use in the kitchen for the rest of the year.

Since childhood, mangoes were a way of life for Chitra. They found their way into every
other edible item- jams, juices, chutneys, sambhar, kozhambu…. It is the Mangai pachadi
that rings in the auspicious New Year too- Chitra thought to herself! She recalled how her
Grandma made it with semi-ripe mangoes, jaggery, chili and dried neem flowers thrown in.
As a child Chitra detested the bitter flavour of neem in it. But Grandma used to tell her that
the Mangai pachadi symbolizes our life-a blend of sweet, sour, spicy and bitter happenings!

Did Grandma have a premonition of the bitterness she was to face in her marital life?

After she got married, her parents had only seen her sufferings and felt her pain as long as
they were alive. When Chitra’s mother had made a meek suggestion to Prasad about
adopting a child, Narayani amma had exploded with rage. “We are high caste Brahmins and
our family heir will have our blood. I will never accept any other child as my grand-son.”

Prasad had chosen to keep mum.

It was an irony of fate that when she had found happiness her dear parents were not with
her to share it.

Neither was Jason or Usha in town anymore to share her joy with.

Jason had joined six years ago as a peon in the same school where she worked as a
teacher. He had been raised in an orphanage in a neighbouring city. Chitra and her other
colleagues realized Jason deserved a better job-but he needed to study further. Every
evening after school, Chitra spent a few extra hours in the staff room coaching Jason
towards achieving a graduate degree. He had passed his exams with flying colours and had
got himself a lucrative job in the Gulf.

Chitra had been elated when he got the new job, yet she had felt a twinge of sadness to part
with Jason, who had become a close friend by then. She would confide in him and shed
tears agonizing over her troubles. Jason would patiently lend an ear and sympathize with
her. How happy he would have been to hear about her impending motherhood!
Unfortunately, Chitra had known about her pregnancy after Jason had left their town for
good. He would have excitedly nodded his head-the dark mop of unruly curls- and advised
her to take extra care of her health. She vividly remembered with fondness, the twinkle in his
eyes and the thick bushy eyebrows that collided at the centre and spun into a curious
circular maze on his forehead. Like a whirlpool.

Her heart was filled with pride when she talked about Jason’s achievements to Prasad. After
all she deserved at least part of the credit for it! Since Prasad had never met Jason, Chitra
had wanted to invite him home for lunch before he left. But Narayani amma had refused.
“What? A boy whose caste, creed or religion is unknown? I cannot allow him to step into our
home!” she had snapped. Prasad made no attempts to convince his mother nor did he
evince any interest in meeting Jason. Chitra felt truly let down, but she knew Jason would
understand.

She missed Usha awfully as well. For several years Usha had been her colleague, friend
and a shoulder-to-cry-on, but she and her family had migrated to the city for good, two years
ago. When Chitra had failed to conceive three years into her marriage, she had suggested
to Prasad that both of them go to the city to see a doctor. Narayani amma never forgave her
for that outrageous suggestion. Did Chitra doubt her son’s ability to father a child? It was
she-Chitra who needed a doctor to look into her fruitless womb and she was free to go
anywhere for a check-up.

Prasad chose not to defy his mother, lest he incur her wrath. He started spending more time
at office to avoid any altercations.

It was Usha who accompanied Chitra to the city on ‘official work’ where Chitra got her
medical check-up done. The gynaecologist found no obvious medical problems and advised
her to come back with her spouse. Chitra never went back to her doctor, nor did she mention
anything about the visit to Prasad or Narayani amma. How could she? In any case it would
have been futile to convince Prasad to get himself tested. She had no choice but to suffer
the agony mutely. And keep praying.

Her beautiful baby boy was born on a bright morning in May. The warm, humid air in Chitra’s
dainty town was saturated with the invigorating aroma of golden succulent mangoes that the
market place was laden with.

As Prasad dotingly watched, Narayani amma snuggled her grandson to her bosom and wept
with joy. Her prayers had been finally answered and the heir to her family had arrived. True-
blue Brahmin blood coursed through his slender veins. Chitra had remained childless for so
many years that she had almost lost hopes of ever seeing a grandson. She had been fraught
with fear and despair at the prospect of no heir being born to inherit and propagate the family
name. In fact, she had clandestinely started to look for a new bride for Prasad. Obviously
Prasad couldn’t live without a child all his life!

Chitra’s bundle of joy lay snugly swaddled next to her. She tenderly lifted him and held him
to her breast. As he suckled hungrily she felt her eyes moisten and her heart swell with
pride. His birth was a blessing; a turning point in her dreary life. Chitra dreaded even a peek
into her past. The constant taunts, stinging remarks, and the immense physical and mental
agony that she had to endure…..

But all that was now a thing of the past. A gentle breeze drifted into her room bringing along
a whiff of sweet, ripe juicy mangoes. Chitra inhaled deeply and let the heady scent permeate
her soul. She glowed with contentment and adoringly gazed at her son who now slept
peacefully in her lap. He looked like an angel, especially with the dark mop of curls on his
tiny head. She smiled and kissed him on his forehead where his two eyebrows mingled into
each other. Like a whirlpool.