‘C’mon. Let’s find out who it is,’ said Yusuf, striding forward. The others sprinted after him. Pudgy legs pumping, Veer tried to keep pace, but Trisha skipped ahead.
The children went into the grove of trees stopping at a short distance from the enormous, old mango tree. As still as a rock, the figure kept gazing into the waters rippling a few feet below.
‘Can we help you?’ Ahana asked, her voice echoing in the hushed forest.
The person turned around to face them. It was a lady.
She was draped in a white sari edged with a broad orange border. The white and orange fanning out on the green grass reminded Ahana of something, but she could not call it to mind at that very moment. The children observed her face framed in curly wisps that had escaped from the knot of inky-black hair bound loosely at the nape. The broad forehead slid down to a straight nose. Her lips were soft and no wrinkles marked the smooth, dusky skin. But it was her eyes that caught their attention; large, limpid, and filled with deep, dark sorrow. However, the stranger looked calmly at them. She was neither startled nor annoyed by their sudden appearance. Almost, as if she was expecting them.
‘Can we help you?’ repeated Ahana, softly.
The children were surprised at how quickly the stranger’s expression changed at Ahana’s words. Misery vanished. Kindness and warmth lit up the fine eyes while the lips curved into a sweet smile. Lifting a hand, she beckoned.
The older children hesitated, but little Trisha bounded to her.
‘Hi!’ Trisha said, brightly.
‘I hope we have not disturbed you,’ Yusuf politely added, having come closer.
‘No, no. Of course not,’ replied the lady, shaking her head. Now that they were standing beside her, the children noticed a little sadness still lurking in her gentle eyes.
‘Actually,’ remarked Veer, ‘you are sitting under our mango tree.’ Ahana shot him a warning look, but he pointed at the green fruit hidden in the grass. ‘Those green mangoes have fallen from the tree.’
The lady chuckled. It was such a delightful sound that the children smiled. She looked upwards. ‘Oh yes! I am sitting under a mango tree. Is it your tree?’ she asked, stretching out a hand to Veer.
Veer instantly went to her. She pulled him down beside her and gestured to the others. They settled in a half circle on the grass facing her though Trisha snuggled up to her. The remarkable lady picked up a few green mangoes from the grass. ‘If the tree is yours, these mangoes are also yours.’ She offered them to Veer. ‘Do you want to keep them?’
Gleefully, Veer stuffed them in his pockets. The lady smiled at him and asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘We live in that colony on the other side of the river,’ explained Yusuf. Trisha pointed helpfully at the yellow towers peeping through the trees.
‘No, who are you, really?’ The lady asked, again.
The children stared at her, then looked at each other with puzzled faces.
‘Well,’ began Yusuf, slowly, ‘My name is Yusuf, and I am a Kashmiri.’
Taking his lead, Rajni declared, ‘My name is Rajni, and I am a Gujarati.’
‘And I am Trisha. I am from Telangana,’ pipped up Trisha.
‘I am a Manipuri, and my name is Joy,’ said Joy.
‘I am Ahana and a Bengali,’ said the eldest girl.
Here I was... thinking how to reach out
to you...wondering what would connect us...
And then my eyes fell on these words by Rumi...
Why struggle to open a door between us
when the whole wall is an illusion?
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