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.
