The Wild Rose - Part III

The Wild Rose - Part I

The Wild Rose - Part II

She held her head high.

Was a mere free life worth all this pain? It is said, the final moments are filled with memories of forgotten past, some of which are hidden deep inside!

Born a Rose, wilderness was her choice, for freedom is what she valued the most.

“Freedom comes with a price”, said her mother once.

“Everything and anything in this world come with a price Mother. Why single out freedom?” thundered the rebellious daughter.

“True my child! Yet freedom seeks the steepest price.”

“I don’t mind paying any price Mother, for nothing in this world can be more gruelling than the construes of conventional commitments, that binds the mind to play an age-old rehearsed ballet”

“Seekers of freedom are bend to be vulnerable my child! For some, you may be an indulgence, for some you are a scapegoat. Those who desist conventional roles are easy target dear. Wilderness may sound liberating. Was there ever a comfortable forest? Tricky shrubs, dangerous swamps, poisonous animals and trees that refuse to let the sunlight come in - everything you depend may become an obstacle. Seekers of freedom are demanded a price and the price is steep. The price can be hurtful. The journey can be lonely.” Mother did not plead. Her job was to state facts as they were.

Mother continued, “Freedom is a choice, not a choice for the feeble mind. Freedom is embarking on a journey to find your true potential, impervious to the judgements and taunts of the polished. Freedom is the willingness to explore beyond the obvious, unapologetically, uninhibitedly and unafraid. A terribly lonely journey that makes you question your path at every junction, where everything around may fall apart at the split of a second and gathering yourself is your only chance for survival. The fruits can be horizons, oblivious to the common, but the path can be treacherous”.

Mother finished with the satisfaction that she has warned her child of the perils. The decision is hers, but the early lessons had to be stout. Thou trepidation ran deep, she was proud of her daughter.

 

Her mother warned her well. As the last of the water washed her leafless stem, the Wild Rose remembered.

She remembered the day she sprouted in this Village of Sun amidst a sea of well tamed, well organized, bountiful Rice. Her roots weren’t welcome. Yet she persisted, refraining from cutting the barrage of roots that shoot her way.

Then one day, while she stood her ground and fought the battle alone, a farmer came as an ally. She was annoyed by his imprudence to shift her elsewhere, but the brashness was forgiven for the tenderness showered. The constant companionship he offered was an element of stability in her vagabond life. She shuddered at such unwanted attention, but fears were dispelled, in the day-long waits and evenings filled with conversations.

He laughed, he agonized, his endless future plans for harvest and festivals irked her. The farmer ran with time, does he understand the vicious circle of human misery he is being gulped into – wondered the Wild Rose many a times.

Then came the moment of reckoning – the Great Floods.

Just like that, the choice of abandonment was made.

Just like that, all those laughter and confessions turned to mere indulgences.

Just like that, she was left, for she was Wild and free.

 

Yes, wilderness is a lonely journey. Her mother had prepared her well. Seekers of freedom gather themselves, when everything around them has fallen apart.

Men have fled.

Cattles have scattered.

Trees were uprooted.

Remnants of a once prosperous human settlement was being swept away by the gushing ruthless water.

Havoc everywhere.

The Wild Rose shed her leaves and flowers – stripped to her bare minimum, embracing her deep roots. She didn’t close her eyes. She had to see what was coming, for the path to freedom can be seen, only by those, who kept their eyes open.

“I’m exhausted but strong. I may be lost, but I'm free”, Murmured the Wild Rose, a seeker of freedom.