Mango the Tree and the Gift That Keeps Giving

Chapter 1: A tree that gives shade, fruit, and a home to birds, and asks only for water

At the edge of a dusty village called Sunbaked Lane, where the road bent toward the hills, there stood a mango tree named Mango. He was not the tallest tree in the world, nor the oldest. But he was, without question, the most generous.

When the sun blazed down on the village, Mango spread his broad green branches wide, and a cool pool of shade gathered beneath him. Tired farmers rested there at noon. Children played marbles in the dappled light. Old Mr. Hasan, who walked with a cane, liked to sit on the roots and doze with his hat over his eyes.

When summer came, Mango grew golden mangoes, sweet and juicy, and shared them with everyone. Bakers made them into pies. Mothers packed them into lunchboxes. Hungry travelers picked one and went on their way with a smile.

And high in his leafy crown, Mango sheltered a whole town of birds. A pair of sparrows had built a nest in his lowest fork. A family of parrots lived in a hollow near the top. A shy little bulbul tucked her eggs into a cup of twigs, and at dawn, they all sang together, so sweetly that the village woke up smiling.

Mango asked for very little in return. Only a little water at his roots when the rains were late. That was all.

For many years, the village looked after him. But times changed, and people grew busy.

One scorching season, the rains did not come. The fields cracked. The wells ran low. Everyone worried about their own crops and their own cups. Nobody thought of the old mango tree.

Mango's leaves began to droop. His bark grew dry. His mangoes shrank small and sour, and a few fell before they ripened.

"I'm so thirsty," he whispered. "But I don't want to trouble anyone."

The sparrows noticed first. "Mango's leaves are curling," chirped the mother sparrow.