Welcome back, gentle readers. I hope you are doing well. Here I am with my new blog.

There was a jujube tree in front of our house. It was probably older than me. I was acquainted with the tree from my childhood days. As an infant, me and my siblings used to climb the branches of that tree. Sometime the tree got annoyed and tickle us with its thorn. We used our saliva to heal the wounds. 

In the monsoon, new branches shoot out from the old branches, and fresh green leaves give it a beautiful aura. During heavy rains, the tree lowers its branches to play with us. 

In the autumn, the whole atmosphere decorates itself for celebration of feminity. During days of Durga Puja, the tree gets enlightened with bulbs. In the beginning of winter comes Dipabali, the festival of light. As a kid, me and my cousins used to throw crackers at the tree. Some leaves and branches of the tree get scorched by the fire crackers.

In the winter, small, rounded green fruits teem the whole tree. The brunches bend down to earth with the burden of the fruits. 

Although a tree belongs to no one, it chose to grow on a land that is legally owned by a spinster. The lady used to keep a watch on the tree. In the late afternoon, the lady used to take naps. This was the time for kids to steal fruits from the tree. Children used to throw stones at the tree. Green fruits fell on the earth. Kids scramble for collecting the jujubes. 

I do not have a loving relation with jujube, mostly for its sour taste. To hold back the kids, the parents played a trick. They warned us that those who will take jujube before Puja of Goddess Saraswati will fail the exam. But kids were smart enough to not pay heed to the words of elders. 

By the time Saraswati Puja comes, only a few leaves remain in the tree. On the day of puja, elders also join the kids to use sticks to take down the last few fruits from its branches.

A walkway passed by the tree. Last monsoon, its branches hanged down to bother the passersby. My dad trimmed some of its branches to avoid any accidents. There was a rogue in our neighbourhood. He always finds something or the other to create a nuisance.

One night the rogue was passing by the tree. A branch of the tree may have touched his body. Like humans, trees do not discriminate; plants give away their flowers and fruits to everyone. The old tree touched the body of the miscreant to express its sheer love.

The rogue was drunk. He took a cutlass and cut the trunk of the jujube. The old tree fell to the ground. Birds and insects living on the tree mourn the death.

Thanks for reading.