Litchi

The morning was bright. The sky was crystal blue. It was the onset of spring. The air was intoxicating with fragrance, drifting from the nearby jungles and the stretchy blooms  - Palash ( Butea monosperma ), Gulmohar ( Delonix regia ) and sundry.

It was a perfect morning for Brijmohan. He was lazing on the terrace of his parents’ house. This house had seen many such springs. Some delightful reminiscences were ringing in the ears of Brijmohan and he was in bliss. Prabha, his old mother, was also lying on her regular cot by his side, soaking up the morning rays of the departing winter. Both were silent yet sharing each other’s joyful company, laced with happy memoirs of the past.

The terrace was quite dear to Prabha. It was open, airy and often gave her a feeling of freedom despite her immobility due to old age. Moreover, there stood a litchi tree overshadowing a part of the terrace. The tree used to bear large bunches of sweet litchis and Prabha and her family used to have fun-filled, summer evenings on the terrace savoring litchis and mangoes from the garden.

This house was built on the insistence of Prabha on a sprawling plot, landscaped with flower beds and fruit bearing trees. She had a large family. Her dream was to provide smaller plots within the same boundary to all her children so that they would also build their houses and enjoy the independence and togetherness of the family at the same time. Brijmohan’s father too shared the dream. Brijmohan was working in a large southern city. Prabha had recently asked Brijmohan to build the house on the plot in the house, to which he had readily consented considering the happiness it would give to his parents. Prabha’s joy had no bounds as Brijmohan was the youngest child and with his house, all of her children would have had their own houses within the main house. This was a carefully nurtured vision, which was about to get actualized.

During his visit, Brijmohan wanted to start the construction work of the house and the foundation stone was already laid. Prabha was very excited. When built, the terrace of Brijmohan’s house and that of the main house would be facing each other. Prabha had plans to have prolonged talks with Brijmohan in the mornings and evenings while both of them would be sitting on their respective terraces. Brijmohan used to tell playfully that he would also be having a direct reach to the litchis, to which Prabha used to respond with her wide, toothless smile. Understanding her abundant joy, Brijmohan was determined to have the house built at the earliest. He had requested his elder brother, who was already staying there, to help him by overseeing the construction work. Prabha had suggested him to come during summer once again when the house and litchis both would be ready.

With a promise to come back soon, Brijmohan went back to his work place. The routine of the work took away some of the shine off the urgency of going back home. Two months passed away. Prabha was regularly enquiring as to when would be Brijmohan’s next visit. Over the phone, one evening she gleefully informed that the house was getting almost completed and litchis had started turning crimson red. Brijmohan, lost in his workload, sounded a trifle tentative. Prabha’s heart sank. However, being a practical lady, she came up with an alternative. She asked innocuously whether it would be possible to send some litchis to Brijmohan by courier. Tears welled up in Brijmohan’s eyes. He told Prabha that he would be coming soon.

As the destiny would have it, Prabha passed away that summer. Hearing the news, Brijmohan rushed to his parents’ house. Notwithstanding his busy work schedule, he had been finally able to make some time for his committed visit. While entering the house, he noticed the change in the landscape. His house had come up with its terrace facing the main house. The litchi tree, laden with red litchis, was standing quiet in the summer afternoon. But the terrace of the main house did not have its proud occupant. Brijmohan broke down, sobbing.