The Mango Tree: Taking What Isn't Yours to TakeShort Stories from My Grandmother’s Pillow Series

No one really knew her full name. To the children chasing chickens in the lane, to the women whispering under rattan fans, and to the young men zooming past on their kapchais, she was simply Nyah Bibi.

Her house stood at the far end of Lorong Bunga Raya, a traditional wooden structure with shuttered windows and a red-tiled roof, faded with time but dignified in its quiet way. Paper lanterns hung limp in the heat. The air always seemed thick with the scent of belimbing flowers, belacan frying, and the jasmine she wore behind her ear.

Her hair was always done in a perfect bun, slicked with coconut oil and pinned with a silver kerongsang, shaped like a peony bloom. Stray curls sometimes escaped the sides, but never for long. She wore batik sarongs and soft cotton kebayas with hand-stitched embroidery. Her slippers clicked gently when she walked, and her voice was low and comforting, like the rustle of bamboo in the evening breeze.

Outside her house, under a big scalloped umbrella, Nyah Bibi ran a modest stall where she sold hot, crispy goreng pisang, goreng keledek, goreng keladi, and delicate trays of kuih talam, ondeh-ondeh, and ang ku kueh in shades of jade and rose.

She was generous with the neighbours. No one left her stall hungry if she could help it. Children knew they could linger for crumbs, and the elderly were always given something "for tea." Her smile was a comfort, her kuih a kind of balm. She never bragged, never pushed herself into the limelight.

But behind her house stood a mango tree—an ancient, towering thing with bark like cracked porcelain and a scent that lingered long after the monsoon. Its fruit, when in season, glowed gold and green among its dense leaves. They were legendary in the kampung. Said to be so sweet, you’d forget your name after the first bite.

And yet, no one dared take them.

Nyah Bibi never sold the mangoes. Never offered them, unless in very specific circumstances. Once, she gave one to the Ketua Kampung during his mother’s funeral. Another time, to a woman who had just delivered her fourth child. And always, before picking any, she would lay a small offering at the altar inside her house—candles, joss sticks, and three pink-topped ang ku kueh in a porcelain plate.

When asked, she would only say:

“Some fruits cannot be harvested like vegetables. Some sweetness is not meant for profit.”

Then came Chee Yang.

He wasn’t from the kampung. He was a city boy—restless, sharp-tongued, and too clever by half. Sent by his grandaunt to “cool down his heart” after what people called some family embarrassment. He arrived with a suitcase, a pressed shirt, and a face that didn’t know humility yet.

He liked Nyah Bibi. He liked her kuih and her steady manner. But he was curious about the tree.

“Nyah, those mangoes… you know ah, in town, people would pay RM15 a piece for that size. Why don’t you sell?”

Nyah Bibi didn’t stop stirring the wok. “Because they are not mine to sell.”

“But they’re on your land.”

She smiled, barely. “The land is not mine either. I’m just… looking after it.”

He laughed politely. "You make it sound like a temple offering."

She turned to him. “Exactly like that.”

But the idea had already taken root in his mind.

That night, when the house had gone quiet and her lights were dimmed, Chee Yang crept around the back, barefoot, holding a small fruit knife in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. The mangoes glowed faintly in the moonlight, heavy on their branches. He picked one. Then another. And then, greedy with success, a third.

He ate one on the spot. The juice ran down his chin, sticky and warm. It was everything they said and more. His head spun—not with sickness, but with something else. Like something had turned inside him and would not turn back.

That night, the wind changed.

The air in Nyah Bibi’s house grew heavy. The joss sticks curled inward instead of up. Her dreams were restless. Something shifted.

In the morning, Chee Yang was found at the foot of the tree, curled like a leaf, eyes open, mouth parted, sweat beading at his temples. He was fevered, but his body was cold. He would not speak, only whisper one word over and over:

“I took... I took... I took...”

He left the kampung the next week, escorted by his worried grandaunt, thin and silent, eyes always scanning the sky like something might fall.

The mango tree bore no fruit the next season.

And Nyah Bibi? She continued as before. Selling her kuih. Sweeping her porch. Lighting her altar. Some mornings, she was seen placing tiny bowls of tea under the tree. Just for a moment. Just enough.

When the children asked why Chee Yang never came back, she only said:

“Some things may grow in your garden, but that doesn’t make them yours. To take what isn’t given... always has a cost.”

@Lyia Meta

Glossary with Pronunciation

kampung (KAHM-poong) – Malay word for village

Nyah Bibi (NYAH BEE-bee) – Honorific term for an older Malay woman (similar to “Auntie”)

Lorong Bunga Raya (LOH-rong BOONG-ah RAH-yah) – Street name (“Hibiscus Lane”)

belimbing (BEH-lee-mbing) – Starfruit

belacan (BEH-lah-chan) – Fermented shrimp paste commonly used in Malaysian cooking

kerongsang (KEH-ron-sang) – Traditional brooch used to fasten kebayas

batik (BAH-teek) – Fabric decorated with wax-resist dyeing

kebaya (KEH-bah-yah) – Traditional blouse-dress combination from Southeast Asia

kapchais (KAP-chai) – Motorbikes commonly used in Malaysian villages

goreng pisang (GOH-reng PEE-sang) – Fried banana

goreng keledek (GOH-reng KEH-leh-dek) – Fried sweet potato

goreng keladi (GOH-reng KEH-lah-dee) – Fried taro

kuih talam (KOO-eeh TAH-lahm) – Layered dessert cake

ondeh-ondeh (ON-deh ON-deh) – Glutinous rice balls filled with palm sugar, coated in grated coconut

ang ku kueh (AHNG koo KWEH) – Red tortoise-shaped glutinous rice cake with sweet filling

Ketua Kampung (KEH-too-ah KAHM-poong) – Village chief or headman

joss sticks (JOSS sticks) – Incense sticks used in religious offerings

RM (RING-git Em) – Malaysian Ringgit (currency)