The Wild Rose - Part II

 

Many a summer passed. The Village of Sun was dusted long back, its former settlers now reside in the Village of Moon.

The great floods are a thing of past. The young even believe, the whole thing was a hogwash.

The Farmer is a changed man now. Seldom has a man regained his glory after a total wipe-out! Hard-work and diligence were inherent to him – mother luck never left his side. If he was the wealthy Farmer in the Village of Sun, in the Village of Moon, he was Imperial himself.

His passion for Rice never dwindled. In familial commitment, no one could surpass him. His progeny lived up to their father’s name. Yet he rarely smiled. His laughs were memories of a forgotten past.

Every night the Farmer brooded. A piece of me lies in the Village of Sun. What fate it met; courage fails me to even think.

Imprisoned in his social standing, the Farmer failed to find a reason, to steal a visit to Sun, just to see whether his Wild Rose survived.

What was abandoned was not just a beautiful Plant. In that small window of choice, valour was abandoned, promises were abandoned, his own true fragile self was abandoned. When the purest piece of your heart is burned at the altar of social standing, misery becomes a natural companion.

The Farmer languished in agony, for a reason, only he was privy to.

The Rice watched the Farmer wither in throes. But she didn’t have time for such emotional baggage. She was entrusted with a larger purpose – to feed and sustain the Nation. Off late, the Farmer’s passion in tending her was burdening. New hands would be welcome, thought the Rice one day, for the larger purpose cannot be sacrificed for the weariness of one man.  

Then came a windy monsoon night. The Farmer thought it was time to hand over and confront judgement in Sun. He called his family and handed them handful of his cherished Rice.

“Hand us the legacy with a smile Father”, said his beloved daughter.

“My smile was lost in the great Floods dear.”, the Father wanted to confess. But he kept his silence.

“Hand us the legacy with a smile Father. If it means going back somewhere, so be it. But come back to us with that Smile”, pleaded the young girl.

How can a Father confess to his daughter, that that incessant rain years ago, stripped him of his true honour, exposing his meek self? How can a man of his standing, admit that he is nothing but an imposter, living under the mercy of a Wild Rose’s silence?  

But he was touched by her yearning. What fault was hers to be denied a Father’s smile, all these years.  He justified himself and abandoned any thought of leaving. 

The Farmer hugged the daughter. He handed her the Rice with a tearful smile, “Prosper my child. For this Rice gives bountiful to the committed ones and I shall stand by your guiding side.”

The Farmer watched from a distance how his daughter skilfully tended to the Rice. She bent down, weeded a Wild Rose and carefully Planted it by the sides of the field.

“Isn’t it beautiful Father?” said the daughter joyfully. That familiar sense of abandonment engulfed the Farmer again.

The Wild Rose - Part I

Once upon a time, in the village of Sun, there lived a farmer who was revered and adored for his hard-work. He exemplified an ideal citizen and the village council never missed an opportunity wherein his name and deeds were not quoted, to present and future generations.

The farmer cultivated Rice, the staple food of the nation, to which Village Sun belonged. His breed of Rice had the best known yield. Inherited from his mother, he was entrusted with safeguarding this breed of Rice for eternity.

The farmer flourished with this cherished breed of Rice. He prospered multifold with every passing year and he never failed to count his blessings.

Years went by. 

Many a bountiful harvest later, a Wild Rose sprouted amidst his Rice. The farmer was astonished to find a Rose amongst his cherished high yield Rice. There was no way a Rose could catch its roots in such a field. Yet it did. 

The skillful farmer he was, he carefully weeded the Rose. One look at the Rose, the farmer’s heart was filled with a rare warmth – he couldn’t kill such an innocent and pure flower, he told himself. He carefully planted the Rose elsewhere in his field, away from prying strays and predators, where his watch and scrutiny were always present.

Years rolled by – as they don’t wait for anyone or anything. 

The Rice was nurtured and cultivated as per the harvest plan that was followed for years together. It never disappointed the farmer. The Rose also grew and blossomed, giving flowers that mesmerized every passing soul. Her sharp thorns kept predators at bay, for she was wild and knew how to survive without losing her flowers. 

Through the day, the farmer, watched from a distance how she blossomed. By evening, when the commitments wound up, he would sit beside the Rose sharing his deepest fears and joy. An unlikely companionship nurtured their growth – for the farmer shed the heaviness of his heart. And the Rose encouraged by his words spread her roots; for wild she was and surviving the odds were inherent to her nature.

Then, there came a time when the village was battered with incessant rains. The boughs fell, the burrows filled. The village council proclaimed evacuation. Time was short and choices were to be made.

The farmer took one last look at the things he salvaged. The Rice and the house were tucked safely into the Cart. He looked at his field with moist eyes. His years of toil had to be left behind but the eyes were moist for the Rose he was abandoning.

Though wild and brave, she didn’t earn the rescue. For everything the farmer saved was sanctioned but not a wild Rose. 

Rice is the staple nourishment with which the human race survived. A wild Rose is a mere indulgence of nature for aching souls. So, he was told.

The Cart rode off carrying the farmer, his Rice and all baptized possessions, which will soon find a new home. The wild Rose stood with her stem held high, her leaves and flowers shed, for she need to brave the flood now.