LOVE THY NEIGHBOR...

Alexander-the-Great, after his fathers’ untimely assassination, was destined to become the Emperor of Macedonia. He was only twenty! And, before he died at the young age of thirty-three, he had almost conquered the whole world!

Alexander-the-Great did not die fighting in the fierce battle-field… He did not fall by the sword of another mighty emperor. The conqueror-of-the-whole-world died in his tent… He died of Malaria… Yes, a mosquito brought this invincible conqueror’s end, his relentless conquest!

The legend goes, before he breathed his last, Alexander-the-Great had called his General by his death-bed and expressed his final wish. “May my both hands dangle out my coffin as I am carried,” the Emperor had wished. And, the legend also goes, that the wish was carried out…!

“Let the whole world know, that the Great conqueror-of- the-entire-world, also, had to leave behind everything that he had conquered… and go back with his empty hands dangling out of his coffin!”… Yes, this was the final realization. It had come at a heavy cost… In great pain, sorrow and loneliness!

Alexander-the-Great died young. He was thirty-three!

The pictures, which you see in this post (2,3) are of another fallen Macedonia. This was, once, the mighty kingdom of another great conqueror… who pursued his conquest with his neighboring kingdom for twenty-one long-years! 

This Emperor was really educated, elite and counted in our sleepy village of Mangalore. He had a massive house, a beautiful wife, two educated-sons who had migrated to the lucrative land of Bombay (the good-old-Bombay!)… And, the Society, the Priests and the government officials would take notice of this sophisticated king. 

Next to his kingdom, lived a typical village soul with his wife and little sons. This village soul and his wife had hardly been to school… and, their world centered around the sole concern: From where would the next meal come?

So, there were two kingdoms in our village. One belonged to this elite emperor who had education, money and status. The other belonged to my dad – who had no education, money and status. The elite king was our immediate neighbor… and, he fought with my dad claiming that three cents of his land was there inside our’s! It was a straight case of harassment and my dad knew it. He tried to involve anybody who was somebody in our village – to mediate and try to persuade the elite neighbor. But, no. This man was adamant. “I want my three cents land back to me… Nothing else!”

Then, this man filed a suit in the court. That was the last thing any hand-to-mouth village soul would like to have in his life. My dad dreaded the thought of running to the court, meeting a lawyer… He was poor, he was not educated… and, had no connections. Still, here he was – now cornered by his immediate neighbor!

We children were too small. We hardly understood what was going on… All that we were concerned were the  mangoes of this King’s tree! You can see the mangoe tree in the pictures (4&5). You can see the mangoes still fallen on the ground… We called these mangoes - ‘Bainganpalli’. I still do not know where in the world this name came from and what did it mean! Even the world-famous ‘Alphonso’ can’t beat this type! I am yet to come across a raw mango which is as nectar-sweet as this one!

This king’s tree gave such mangoes and we kids, after our school, would take all our friends near that tree to throw stones and get our fill. 

So, the king and his queen would storm out of their mansion, with a long stick, to chase us away… But then, back we all would be right after our school, the next day! 

“What is a court case?”… Who cared?

The case went on and on and on... 

But, when all this was happening, my mom and dad were the first to reach this king’s palace in any emergency… for any help!

One night, the king got a lethal stroke and was left paralyzed for ever! He, now, was unable to move an inch, say a word, and lift even a finger… He spent his rest of the years, sitting on a chair, in his sit-out… helped by his wife just like a little baby… And, all that he did was: look out of his house, try to shoo away the little children who hurled stones for the mangoes… But, he would not be able to move an inch… nor, utter a word! 

Still, the king would not drop the case against my poor dad!

One morning, the king died. My parents were the first to reach there… Yes, in the time of distress!

They hoped the queen would melt and she would drop the case. No, she didn’t. She too wanted the three cents land…  So, the case went on… !

When all this was happening, my parents were the only ones to reach out to the queen in her emergencies…

Soon, the queen became senile… started talking and behaving in strange manger…. She would call from her window my mom, “Celine, why are these dosas not coming out of the pan?”

My mom would go to find out. How would they? That’s, if you tried with ‘Vim’ powder instead of rice batter?!!

So, one early morning, the queen, too, died. 

Soon, the court case, as well...! 

Yes, it took solid twenty-one years for it to die!

The two sons – the princes – who were in Bombay were deeply into alcohol. They had already died. The tenants, for some years, blissfully enjoyed the deserted kingdom… Till one of the descendants came and vacated them. 

But then, the palace became a ghost house… the Mango tree looked haunted!

Last December, after a very long time, when I had been to my village, I was stunned to see the fallen empire of this merciless conqueror.


The Macedonia was in ruins… !

But, the mango tree, which was there much before we kids were born – was still there. It has never stopped giving those nectar-filled mangoes… never for even a year… 

The tree of life keeps giving… !

 

Incidentally, my dad’s name was Alexander!

Though he did not go on a world-conquest the way the other Alexanders did… this simple Alexander lived with a great gusto. Yes, he drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney… but, he loved his wife and kids like a real, real king… He loved them with his folk songs; he loved them with his zest… But, he did fear going to the court, did fear losing his battle!

One early Sunday, when they were ready to go for Mass, my dad told my mom to proceed and he wanted to stay back at home. He wouldn’t skip a single Mass… but, that Sunday, he had to. 

When my mom returned from the Mass, my dad was till sitting on the sofa… My mom took her hand to his forehead to check the fever. He had died by then!

My dad was fifty-six!

He too was an Alexander!

I am fifty-three!

And, I know – I am the son of an Alexander!!!

GERALD D’CUNHA

Pics.1 From Internet
        2,3,4 &5 Sherwin D’Cunha (My nephew)