The Mulberry Tree

When I was about five years old, my grandmother had a big mulberry tree in her yard. She would sweep the mulberries that already covered the yard in the early mornings. The neighbours and relatives sometimes came to my grandmother’s house to eat fresh mulberries.

One time on the eve of the New Year, my brother Farhad, who was two years older and one of my best playmates, was staying with me at her house to celebrate the beginning of spring, the New Year. My brother and I were playing in the yard, and he was trying to climb the mulberry tree. He could not reach the branches so I tried to convince him that we should pick the berries form the ground and wash them and eat them, but he said he had to get up on the roof so he could reach the very ripe berries.

“I want to go to the roof to pick some red and fresh ones,” he said.

The roof was very high, about six or seven meters off the ground. But it was flat and there was a way to get up to it from the yard. There were some stairs at the corner of the house. He stepped carefully up the stairs, holding his hand to the wall. When he got to the roof he waved to me. He picked some berries and then he went right to the edge of the roof and reached out to a branch of the tree full of mulberries.

Suddenly he fell like a heavy ball down into the yard. I was scared. I thought he had died. I screamed for my mother to come. He lay on the ground without moving. 

My mother came running out with a scared face and with her voice shaking said, “What happened to my son? Farhad! Farhad, are you OK?” We were all looking at him, and I was standing above him and I looked at his face.

Then he opened his eyes and said, “Where is my mulberry?”

I smiled and said, “On the floor.”

He was okay!  His arm was hurt and his neck hurt, but in a week he was fine. I was very happy that it was not serious.

Later my grandmother moved to a new house and so we don’t go back there now to see the mulberry tree. My brother and I sometimes talk about the time he fell. We were both young and can’t remember everything clearly. But I think it was a miracle in my brother’s and my lives.

By Rahela 


  1. I love it! My grandmother also had a mulberry tree in her yard when we were growing up. We would eat the one’s that we could reach, but when the berries were at their ripest, my grandfather would put a large canvas or tarpaulin on the ground around the tree. Then he would send my younger brother Paul up into the tree to shake the branches so as many berries as possible would fall onto the tarp. We would pick up the berries, put them in containers and take them into the house, where my grandmother would make mulberry pie. And of course we would eat a few more. Luckily my brother never fell. I am sure my mother would have been as frantic as yours was!
    Keep writing your stories. I would love to read more.

  2. Hi Rahela! I love this story — it’s full of suspense, and thankfully, the ending is a happy one. It’s fun for me that I can actually picture you gathering mulberries in Afghanistan.

  3. Richelle McClain says:

    This story reminds me of my parents’ mulberry tree in their backyard. Most of the branches were too high for us to reach. I remember eating some, but what comes back to mind most vividly is trying not to step on them because of the bright purple stains they made on the concrete. I’m glad your brother survived. I loved your response to him after he regained consciousness.

  4. Marvah Shakib says:

    Hi Rahela jan!
    It was a really nice story reminded me of my memories, when i used to go with my brother and the rest of the family to my grandfathers garden in the village to eat mulberry.
    Keep it up!
    Marvah Shakib

  5. Farhad Rezaei says:

    Hi Dear,
    I really enjoyed reading it. It was more like a comedy story to me. I am agree with you that it was more a like miracle that i could survive that height. I should say that you have a good memory though, I don’t remember that much.

    You did a good piece. so much improving in your writing.
    Love you.

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