The Great Mango Heist

In the sleepy village of Gopalpur, lived a man named Ramu—a 45-year-old bachelor, self-declared genius, and part-time astrologer who couldn’t read horoscopes without his glasses (which he’d usually lost).

Ramu had one great passion: mangoes. Not just any mangoes—Kesar mangoes from his neighbor Sharma ji’s tree, which dangled over the wall like forbidden golden treasures.

Every summer, Ramu would stare at them like a lovesick puppy. But Sharma ji was a retired army officer with binocular eyes and a stick called “Justice.” Anyone caught near his mangoes would feel its justice—right on their backside.

One hot afternoon, Ramu hatched a plan. “If Newton can discover gravity under an apple tree, I can discover mangoes under Sharma’s tree—with strategy!”

He recruited his best friend, Munna, a tea-seller and failed magician who still believed in invisible cloaks (which were actually just old bed sheets). They dressed in black, painted their faces with boot polish, and tiptoed to the wall.

“Signal when he comes out,” whispered Ramu.

“What’s the signal?”

“Caw like a crow.”

“But I sound like a dying duck.”

“Then… quack like a crow. Just make noise!”

Ramu climbed the wall, stretched his hand, and grabbed a mango—sweet victory! Just as he reached for the second, a loud QUAAACKKK-KAAW-HICCUP echoed through the night.

Ramu froze.

Lights flashed. Doors banged.

Sharma ji appeared in a lungi, swinging the stick of Justice like a helicopter. “WHO GOES THERE?!”

Ramu jumped off the wall, landed in a bush, and ran like Usain Bolt on fire.

Munna tried to run too—but tripped over his “invisible cloak” and rolled like a dosa down the street.

The next day, Ramu had a sprained ankle, Munna had a black eye, and Sharma ji… had a plate full of perfectly ripe mangoes—and the satisfaction of delivering justice once again.

Moral of the story?

If you must steal mangoes, don’t bring a tea-seller magician and definitely don’t quack like a crow.