Mango trees of different varieties abound in the barrio. Just a few meters downhill from PD’s house were a cluster of carabao mango trees. The carabao variety is what they refer to when they talk about the Philippines as having the best tasting mangoes. PD recalls that it did not always taste as sweet as they say, but maybe that is just because the trees in the barrio were not properly cared for. Instead of the usual spray of that chemical that causes them to bloom profusely, mothers and children would just burn dry leaves and let the smoke do the job.
Not a hundred meters at a neighbor’s backyard was the prized Indian mango variety. It was prized because all the children preferred it to all the other varieties and would wage war against each other to get a piece or two. Many a black eye was caused by scuffling over one Indian mango. But this is getting ahead already.
Scattered around the hill where PD’s house was were pajo trees. Pajo mangoes are smaller and sourer when unripe than the carabao variety and are characterized by fibrous tissues that usually get stuck in between the teeth. They are sweet when ripe, however, and sometimes even sweeter to the children than the carabao. There were more pajo trees in the barrio than any other tree. Perhaps there were more pajo trees than all the other varieties combined.
At the start of summer all these trees would bear flowers, which would signal the start of the ‘War for the Mangoes’, as PD now fondly recalls. There would be a palpable excitement among the children who were now also freed from the burden of schoolwork. This excitement extended to the games they played: climbing mango trees started to become the in thing and the base of the taguan was now the nearest mango tree instead of the usual coconut tree. It was also a very loudly spoken rule that no one was allowed to throw tsinelas at the mango tree braches lest the mango flowers be destroyed and the bounty of fruits later on diminished. Any violator was made a pariah for days by the other children and forgiven only when he vowed never to do it again, with some peace offering, which was usually food or trinkets for the older children.
When the fruits developed and grew large enough to be eaten, the shorter pajo trees would be the first victims. PD and the other children would beat each other at climbing these trees and getting to the fruits. Usually the older ones won and the younger ones were left to beg for small bites, which they usually did not get. The more cruel kuyas would take a small bite and throw it away, expecting the supplicant to scramble for it. Not a few hardheaded boys fell down from these small trees only to be beaten by their mothers for falling down (until now PD cannot seem to understand this). In no time all green fruits would have been devoured and the children reduced to watching out for the next batch to grow big enough for them to consume.
The taller trees, including the prized Indian variety, would be spared these climbing attacks and so their fruits usually attain what a child would consider to be the most prized state a mango fruit could attain: ripeness. Of course, PD and the other children would attempt to throw things at the fruits hoping these would be hit and then fall. But most of the fruits would be spared and reach ripeness, especially those not easily visible. The more cunning ones would devise a panungkit made of bamboo pole tipped with a grappling hook but the reach of these were also limited. And they were heavy besides. Children being children, more fun always involved a scuttle and a chase, even with mangoes.
When the fruits start to ripen and fall to the ground, that’s when the war was at its fiercest. The really dugas ones, PD included, would wake up before dawn, a plastic bag in one hand and a wooden stick in the other (for beating those dogs the neighbors suddenly stationed near their mango trees during these times!) Then barefoot they’d rush to the mango trees and in the darkness search for ripe mangoes that fell during the night. No flashlight was needed: the children seemed to have developed the uncanny ability to distinguish a stone from a fruit in the dark. Fist fights over who saw or felt the fruit first was not uncommon, and so were dog bites, as in the rush of things some of the children forgot to take seriously the sudden canine growl nearby.
At sunrise, after all the racing and running and cuts and bruises, PD would come home with a bag full of ripe mangoes and a heart swollen with pride. He would give the mangoes to his nanay, who would take them with a fond smile and prepare them for their day’s ulam.
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