under the mango tree, by Iftekhar Sayeed
my elders always
warned me
not to climb
trees at twilight
when the cows
come home...
they say that
that’s when
satan lurks
in the branches
but the branches
were so heavy
with mangoes!
the green sward
miled away
towards the
villages
their tin or
thatched roofs
peeping between
areca palms
bamboo groves and
jackfruit trees
smoke rose
in spirals
from a
housewife’s
earthen stove
above the trees
into the cyan
sky
the orange
yolk of sun
descended
with dignity
and opposite
the silver
eggshell of moon
ascended with
modesty
the cuckoo
uttered its
last calls
shadows lengthen
shadows lengthen
a king crow
caught its
last insects
jetting upward
then diving down
with its prey
between its beaks
to rest on a branch
i reclined on
a high limb
the foliage
like a hut
around me
the mango tasted
sour
but the smell
nearly
inebriated
the wind soughed
like a premonition
i heard people
moving below
“we told you
to have the
money ready”
“please please”
“we gave you
two days
don’t you
know who
we are?”
“yes yes yes
you are good
boys
good students
from the
high school...”
“we’re with
the ruling party
you bastard”
“we’re student
activists
big men in
the party
and you
have to
die”
“I’ll pay you
two lakh takas...”
“you had your
chance
you must set
an example
the party needs
money”
silence
i couldn’t
hear the
crickets
as though
they too
were
incredulous
my fingers
felt the branch
like a woman’s
glass bangle
the rough surface
against my
clammy palm
telegraphed safety
my lungi was wet
with sweat
in the humid
air
the men below
hacked and grunted
until the moon
was nearly
overhead
thunder growled
somewhere
but it didn’t rain
i was thirsty
the next day
seven parts
of a human
body were
found in
the paddy fields
a few days
later the
head was dug
up by a dog
but the face
was unrecognisable
they were boys
from my school
i played football
with them
but i never
climbed a
mango tree
at twilight
again
Photography by Donya Khossrovpour