The Mango Seed

Anu had a mango seed. It was big and flat, like a smooth little slipper.

“Can we plant it, Nani?”

So they did. They dug a small hole — scoop, scoop — tucked the seed in — pat, pat — and gave it a drink — glug, glug, glug.

“Now what?” said Anu.

“Now we wait,” said Nani.

The next morning, Anu ran to the garden.

No mango tree. Just brown, quiet mud.

“Is it mango time?”

“Not yet, little one,” said Nani. “Seeds work slowly.”

The rain came and went. Anu ran to the garden.

“Is it mango time?”

“Not yet, little one. Seeds work slowly.”

The winter came and went. Anu’s sweater got too small. Anu ran to the garden.

“Is it mango time?”

“Not yet, little one. Seeds work slowly. But look how much waiting you’ve done already! You must be nearly as strong as the seed.”

Anu didn’t feel strong. Anu felt waity. But every day she gave the quiet mud a drink — glug, glug, glug — and every day the seed, deep down in the dark, was busy in its secret way.

Then one morning, Anu ran to the garden — and stopped.

Something green.

Something small and green, with two little leaves, standing up in the mud like it had just woken up from the longest, best sleep.

“NANI!” shouted Anu. “IT’S LEAF TIME!”

And Nani came out with her tea, and together they sat right down in front of the tiny green thing and admired it for a very long while.

The mangoes would come one day. Sweet ones. Slow ones.

Anu and the tree were both still growing, and neither of them was in a hurry anymore.