The Ship in the Mango Tree

Ammi's hand was on the storeroom door handle.

Danish's breath stopped. Inside, Zib was curled behind an old pot — eyes shut, mouth shut, perfectly still. Danish had taught him this: if someone comes, become a big toy.

The door opened. Bulb light fell inside. Ammi's eyes landed straight on Zib.

"What is this?" Ammi stepped forward and picked up the blue "toy."

Danish's heart was pounding so hard he was afraid Ammi could hear it.

Ammi turned Zib over in her hands. "What a strange toy… such big ears? And the fingers — one, two, three, four? Toys have five!"

At that very moment, Zib's left ear twitched.

Ammi gave a little shriek, and Zib slipped from her hand onto the pile of pots — "thup!"

"Ammi! It's… it's a battery toy!" Danish said quickly. "Got it at the school fair. Sometimes it moves on its own."

"Moves on its own?" Ammi narrowed her eyes. "Toys don't move on their own, Danish." She looked into his eyes. "Tell me the truth — have you been keeping some animal? A mouse? A frog? A parrot?"

"No, Ammi! I swear! No animal!"

Ammi was quiet for a moment, then said, "Fine. Then on Sunday I will clean the storeroom myself. Whatever is inside — toy or animal — it will have to come out."

Danish's throat went dry. Sunday — only three days away!

The next day, back from school, Danish flung his bag aside and, grabbing Zib's wrist, ran to the backyard — to the mango tree where something had fallen from the sky that first night.

Wedged between the highest branches was something round and gleaming — Zib's ship! Silvery-blue, exactly like a giant ball, with mango leaves and a broken twig stuck to it.

Zib's big eyes filled with tears — glowing, truly glowing tears. "My… my home…" He ran and hugged a branch.

"How do we climb up?" Danish asked.

Zib grabbed a branch with all four fingers and swung up like a monkey. "On Golmol everyone knows climbing! Our trees are round too!"

Danish scrambled up behind him, panting. At the top, Zib twisted a round lid on the ship's belly — "click!" — and pulled out two strange things.

The first was a flat round plate, exactly like a piece of the moon. "This is the chand-pattar," Zib said sadly. "The ship's battery. It… is empty. It needs full-moon light. The full moon — or it will never fill again."

The second was a spring-like coil, bent in the middle. "And this is the ghanti-coil… which now looks less like a bell and more like a jalebi!"

"My Ammi's jalebis don't look like that!" said Danish.

"So your Ammi also makes crooked jalebis?" Zib asked innocently, and Danish burst out laughing.

Then Zib looked at his wrist-band. On it was a tiny moon, slowly shrinking. Zib's face went pale. "Danish… the Golmol Gate! Twenty-four days! We must fly on the full-moon night within twenty-four days — or the Gate will close for a whole year!"

Danish pulled out his notebook and wrote the repair list:

1. Chand-pattar — charge it on the full-moon night. 2. Ghanti-coil — bent; fix it or find a new one. 3. Fly on the full-moon night — before the Gate closes!

"This list…" said Zib, "this is our treasure map!"

Just then a bicycle bell rang below — "trin! trin!" Chacha Rasheed! Even in daylight his cycle carried three torches, a camera hung from his neck, and in his hand his famous notebook — "Catch the Alien."

"Has anyone seen the blue light?!" he shouted. "It fell from the sky! I have proof!"

Danish quickly threw a dry old bedsheet over the ship. Zib instantly became a "toy," dangling from a branch.

Chacha Rasheed looked up and snapped a photo — "click!"

"Got it!" he cried joyfully. "A blue spot! That's the alien!" And he cycled away triumphantly.

Up in the tree, Danish and Zib looked at each other and started laughing — but mid-laugh, Zib's eyes fell on a ripe mango.

"Is… this a yellow moon?" He bit into the mango.

The next moment his mouth, his cheeks, all four of his fingers — everything was covered in mango juice. "Sweet! Sweet! Golmol has no fruit like this!"

Madam the cat, sitting on the wall, meowed with disgust: "Meow!"

Zib looked at her and said, "Your little security guard… on duty again today. Angry with me."

"She's not angry with you," said Danish, wiping mango off, "she's angry with everyone."

Evening began to fall. Zib held the chand-pattar in his hand and gazed at it for a long time. Then he said softly, "On Golmol my Ammi-Jaan wears a round locket just like this. When I was little and scared, she would put this locket in my hand."

A glowing tear slipped from his eye — and the moment it touched the plate, the chand-pattar flickered faintly!

"Look!" Zib gasped. "It… feels my missing her."

Danish opened his geometry box. Inside was an old photograph — a smiling man standing before some building in Dubai. "This is my Abu. I look at his photo every day."

Zib studied the photograph. "My Ammi-Jaan says — those who live far away… live close to the heart."

The two sat quietly for a while. Mango leaves rustled. From far away came the sound of the azan.

At dinner Ammi said suddenly, "Danish, listen — I've changed my mind. I won't wait till Sunday. Tomorrow morning I will clean the storeroom myself."

Danish nearly dropped his piece of roti. "T-tomorrow morning?!"

"Yes. And whatever is inside — toy or animal — tomorrow it will have to come out."

That night Danish slipped quietly into the storeroom. Zib was curled inside an old pot, his wrist-band glowing a dim red.

"Danish…" Zib whispered, "what will we do now?"

And in the darkness, a tiny bubble popped.

"Blup!"