The Jamun Tree and sweet childhood

The Jamun Tree and sweet childhood

                                                                             By: Rajbir Deswal

My great grand old mother who as  reverently addressed as Boodhi Maa if asked to tell her age, would always refer to and point towards the huge jamun tree in our village.  Boodhi Maa died a nonagenarian while the jamun tree still stands, though gone almost denuded, and out-lived.

There was a time when its delicacy ripened, got rain-kissed and dropped, aplenty. Children could be seen eating them to their guts’ content and bringing some for the home-bounds.  There used to be a women-vendor also, who collected the fall in her basket and carrying  it later on her head, would go round the village, to return to her home within minutes, for the fruit was sold like hot cakes (sic!)

Come the month of Sawan and the Teej celebrating women thronged the jamun tree singing folk songs, to be suitably harboured on purpose-made wooden flat seats, fixed on the swings.  Young men and boys vyied with one another and gladly took upon them to fix the swings, and also to make the women folk ride them, turn by turn.  The competition involved how high a swing could be swung so as to have the roller-coaster (sic!) riders touch and pluck the leaves almost on the tree top.  Due care was taken to fix the swings on strong branches since mango and jamun trees are said to be having fragile branch joints.

The Jamun tree was a land mark and could be seen from a distance of 3 kos (four and a half) miles.  It stood the village skyline as silhouette.   I remember an instance as a child when I went to taste jamuns with a band of my cronies.  Being the only son of my parents, besides my five sisters, I was never allowed by my mother to go for a swim in the nearby canal; and also not to climb a tree.  She always feared for my safety. 

While many others climbed the jamun tree along with one Karna, the barber’s son, I had to stay content with what ever they dropped from above.  Naturally they devoured the best fruit themselves and spared me half-ripe or even beginning-to ripe jamuns.  On my beseeching, they would let once in a while, drop a good one, and really a parrot-bitten (considered to be more delicious) jamun for me.  This was perhaps their revenge upon me who came from a feudal family, while they came from very humble homes. 

It so happened that Karna ate too many jamuns that he did not realize their choking trick played on the palate as also on the guts inside.  He was then at the tallest branch, when his throat and chest started feeling a chocking and Karna making gestures to others to help him climb down.  He was brought down half-way when he couldn’t take it any more and preferred jumping..  Instantaneously on landing, he headed towards the nearby puddle, to drink muddy water from it, to relieve himself of choking.  Only after a few minutes he could breathe properly.  Obviously I was the one to have the last laugh. 

I recall all this nearly after forty years, when something happened with the domestic help in our house.  He never stole anything.  I told him in the morning to put a container having ten black rasgula like balls of jamuns in the refrigerator to let cool down further.  But he brought back nine, not knowing that I had unwittingly (being uncharitable to him!) had counted the delicacy.  He would not even know that even one jamun leaves stains on the tongue.  I made him grin by telling that I knew it, but he refuted still.

Once again, I had the last laugh.  Jamun’s you are too much.