Long, long ago, in a quiet little village nestled between green hills and golden fields, there lived an old woman everyone called Ajji. Ajji was not just any old woman. She was a treasure chest of stories, and children from all around would gather at her doorstep every evening to hear tales that could make them laugh, cry, and dream.
One such evening, after the children had washed their hands and finished their meals, they came running to Ajji’s courtyard. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink, and the breeze carried the smell of jasmine.
Ajji sat on her wooden rocking chair, her hair neatly tied in a bun, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. She looked at the children and said, “Tonight, my little lotuses, I will tell you about the mango tree that could talk.”
The children gasped. “A talking mango tree? Ajji, really?”
Ajji chuckled, “Oh yes, really. But this was not just any mango tree. It was a wise and ancient one, older than the village itself. Now listen carefully…”
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