Nithya looked at the mango tree once more. It looked…flourishing – that was the adjective that immediately sprang to her mind.

Flourishing. Green. Full of fruits. Gaily, confidently swaying to and fro in the wind.

“Nithya, you are wanted here.”

Mother. Calling out to help her with something. If she did not move within half a minute, the call would be repeated in a sterner voice.

If she were casual enough to ignore the sterner version as well, the lady herself would be beside her in a minute.

Amma! How could Nithya have become what she had without her! She was everything for her – friend, philosopher, guide and now, her ardent fan. Perhaps the most ardent of the millions of fans of the young but already famous author.

What made Nithya start writing environmental fiction when she was just six years old was something none in the family – including Nithya – was able to pinpoint. There must have been something, something possibly small, as no one could recall it, but surely significant enough to make Nithya start writing. In fact, it was just a week back when her dad had once again wondered about the spark that propelled his daughter to literary superstardom.

Her earliest writings were quite scratchy and appreciated by precisely three people – her mom (consistently), her dad (sporadic, depending on his presence in the city and his mood), and his maternal grandfather (who made it a point to visit their house every week just to check on her writing). By the time she was eight years old, it was apparent to all that they had someone special in their family – so apparent that even the least loyal of her three admirers, her dad, had started allotting two hours every Saturday and Sunday to review her writings.

While there were many writers worldwide on the theme of environment, very few wrote fiction. Even amongst these, most had a leaning towards activism and less towards genuine, fascinating storytelling – something that Nithya excelled in. In fact, she stridently refused to attend meetings organized by environmental and climate activists; nor was she swayed by dubious reports from the industry that portrayed environmental activists as stumbling blocks to economic progress.

“I stand with neither conservatives nor liberals, neither with capitalists nor with socialists, neither with those who are spiritual nor with those who are materialistic,” she told her bemused grandfather, when she was just thirteen.

“My dear Nithya, then who do you stand with? I’m afraid there is no one else left on this planet!”

“I stand with those who love great fiction.”

And she stood by those words.

Her very first novel, “The Tree,” in which she narrated a fascinating story about a tree that inspired villagers to protect nature and take action to save their village from destruction, was a big hit. Her novels, all of them bestsellers, rather than being sentimental or emotional, were an enriching blend of an appreciation for nature and the importance of being practical – all these packaged beautifully into captivating page-turners.

In fact, it was maintained by some in the literary world that it was Nithya who had made environmental fiction a hot genre. Some were even calling her the Jeffrey Archer of environmental fiction, though Nithya smilingly responded that Archer would be rather unamused by such a comparison.

“Until Nithya came on scene, environmental fiction referred to shoddy writing by two-bit authors or propaganda written by vested interests and camouflaged as literature, a rather uninspiring combination,” wrote Max Blumenthal, the well-known literary critic from The Times, UK. “Nithya has transformed this hitherto dull genre into a dynamic, stirring domain, which hopefully will inspire many future literary talent to pursue this genre.” 

She was already famous when she enrolled for her BA Literature at Stella Maris in Chennai – something that left her teachers amused as they were teaching literature to someone who had already gone way beyond any literary horizons they could imagine. Not surprisingly, her college was more than delighted to accommodate her travel and schedule in every way possible. As the college principal justified to the college faculty, the resulting inconvenience was a small price to pay to have a future Booker Prize winner as one of their alumnus.

Her ascendancy to an international celebrity had been nothing short of stunning – she had five global bestsellers under her name by the time she was twenty-two. While most of school mates were just finishing college and starting to look for jobs, Nithya was globetrotting most of the time to collect awards, and in the remaining time, working on her next novel.

Every time Nithya reflected on her success, she realized that, more than anyone else, it was her mother who was responsible for the heights she had reached. Whenever Nithya started on a novel, amma provided the initial sparks that became critical to the novel’s success. It was amazing how fertile a mind amma had, especially given her rather simple upbringing and pedestrian education.

Amma was always the first one to buy her book when it was published. The next few days transformed her into a strident critic and fawning fan rolled into one.

A tap on her shoulder. Nithya did not need to turn around to who it was – she had obviously ignored the second call!

“You better help Rahul with all the work Nithya. My dear girl, it is your birthday. And twenty-fifth too! You should have a hand in the preparations.”

“Of course, amma. I was just looking at our lovely mango tree. It has grown so large. And just look at the fruits all over it. The whole thing looks so enriching and valuable, don’t you think! I don’t know why amma, but while looking at the tree, I started thinking about you.”

For some reason, she had been thinking about her mother since she started looking at the tree some ten minutes earlier. Why was that? Was it because of something someone said recently?

“Hello, girl! What has the tree got to do with me?”

But as her mother Janaki said those last few words, a subtle transformation came into her face and voice.

“Nithya, my child, do you know that I looked after this tree right from the start? In fact, it was I who put the seed in the ground. You started playing under it from the time you were five or six years old. You will, of course, remember that you continued having fun under it until you were thirteen or fourteen. It is so satisfying, my girl, to see it grow to something as awesome as this.”

Nithya turned towards her mother to say something, but stopped as she sensed that the other was just about to continue.

“And do you know when I planted the seed in the ground, Nithya?”…A slight pause. “A week after you were born.”