It was an unusually cold winter in the Indian village of Goplapur. The air was crisp, and a rare fog blanketed the mango orchards. Mango season was months away, but Old Thakur's legendary Alphonso tree defied nature. Somehow, it bore fruit year-round. People whispered that the tree was blessed by the gods, but Thakur had no time for such gossip. All he cared about was that no one dared touch his mangoes.
As the village bundled up in woolen shawls, Chintu, the infamous mischief-maker, was hatching a new plan. “Mangoes in winter!” he exclaimed, sitting around a small bonfire with his gang—Bunty, Pinky, and Golu. “Do you know what that means? They're worth double!”
“But the tree is guarded,” Pinky reminded him. “By Thakur, Badshah the dog, and his wife’s infamous rolling pin!”
“Don’t worry,” Chintu said, holding up a stick of sugarcane and a pair of socks. “I have a foolproof plan.”
At midnight, the gang tiptoed to Thakur's garden, shivering in the biting cold. Chintu wore the socks on his hands for "extra grip" as he climbed. Pinky had smuggled her father’s old scarf to tie Badshah to a pole. Golu, wrapped in five sweaters, stood lookout, though he could barely move his arms.
Badshah, curled up in his kennel, woke with a snort. He sniffed the air suspiciously, his sharp eyes catching movement in the fog. Pinky waved the sugarcane stick like a wand. “Here, boy! Look what I’ve got!” she whispered. Badshah tilted his head, unimpressed.
Chintu, halfway up the tree, froze. “Why isn’t he taking the bait?” he hissed.
“Maybe he’s on a diet!” Bunty whispered back.
Just then, Badshah stood, stretched, and barked loudly enough to wake the entire neighborhood.
“Abort mission!” Chintu yelped, losing his grip and falling straight into a pile of manure Thakur had left for fertilizer. Bunty and Pinky took off running, but poor Golu, with his layers of sweaters, tripped over his scarf and rolled into a bush.
Thakur emerged from his house, armed with a torch and his wife’s rolling pin. “WHO DARES DISTURB MY MANGOES?!” he roared.
The next morning, the gang sat sheepishly in the village square, covered in mud and humiliation. Chintu sneezed loudly, earning a smack from Pinky. “Next time,” she grumbled, “let’s steal something normal. Like peanuts!”
Thakur, sipping tea on his porch, chuckled as he admired his mango tree. He patted Badshah, who was happily chewing the sugarcane stick. “Good boy,” he said. “You deserve all the mangoes this winter.”