Had he lived today - depending upon his city of residence - he would either have been a successful director with several sentimental hits about physically challenged maidens and drunkard lovers under his belt. Or he might have made a fortune on his first novel about chutney smells and mango orchards from a London publisher.
But in that was an age of limited opportunity he would spend days and nights brooding the past and speculating the future. Analysing and reanalysing what went wrong. Now each gust of wind that blows into the mountains from the plains together with dust and allergies also carries with it new experiences. So one day when the wind blew in really hard, it brought new tidings... A new voice. A new smell.
- "Who's this?," a startled Crow asked.
- "I'm the White Rose of the Seven Islands," came the reply.
It was a fragrance and tone the like of which he had neither felt nor heard in a long time. It was comforting and filled his vacant soul with profound hope. Something that had drained up years back.
Even though, they weren't supposed to talk... He was a bird and a crow at that, whilst she a flower. Today in the Islands roses decorate the scarce private garden and drawing rooms. And in a year of 365 days make the only day earmarked for love, St. Valentine's, special. While bottled as expensive perfume its essence enervates many a tender pulse. Besides, everyone loves a rose while they just about tolerate a crow. They are too noisy and aggressive.
These days, the only job of some consequence they perform on the Islands is foraging for titbits with rodents in the municipality bins before the arrival of garbage trucks.
Yet the Crow and the White Rose got talking and talked and talked and talked through the seasons.
- "Why don't you relocate to the islands?," she asked him one day.
- "What's there for me to do?"
Even as he said that he felt the icicles that had pricked his heart for long melting. He clutched to her words. They felt warm and nice. Like other young men of his day he had also grown up on tales of the Seven Islands whose streets were paved with wealth and opportunity. Now they had one more attraction - his sweetheart.
So our dear Crow continued what he knew best - thinking. All his thoughts were now centred on the White Rose and her suggestion. These thoughts at times left him scared. Was something wrong with him? He had never planned it. Yet, the same feelings that had abandoned him years back had returned. He didn't know how to handle them.
- "Propose to her. Tell her that you love her," the few friends he had advised him.
So on a cold winter evening he picked up his courage and asked:
- "Rose, hope you won't misunderstand me if I asked you something?"
- "Not at all. It'll only make me stand," she said bursting with laughter..
- "Rose, we've been talking to each other for so long... Err... I was thinking... Err... If we could convert this friendship into something more permanent... Err... I mean Lifelong...?"
- "Friendship... For life? Oh!"
- "Please don't get upset. It's ok. We'll continue to be a friend even if you refuse."
And their conversation veered to other things.
After that day both got caught up in the rush of their respective lives. But the crow still pondered over Rose's words. Finally he decided to tell his father about her.
His father, the Wise Crow, who had gotten used to the sullen look on his son's face, was startled to find him looking so fresh. The vigour of youth seemed to have returned to his features.
- "Tell me son, what's the big deal?," the Wise Crow asked.
- "Father I love this White Rose of the Seven Islands."
The old crow heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Though his heart was overjoyed he maintained his composure.
- "Son, you really like her?"
- "Yes father."
- "Then move in there. Establish yourself and become the Islands' best crow. You've my blessings."
The Crow arrived at the nursery where the White Rose lived on a muggy summer day.
Readers I'm sure you would ask, what next?
Before I continue any further, just imagine a crow in love. Is it not something that is completely unbecoming of his ilk? I am of the firm view they are any day better off cawing and feasting on carrion.
But our Crow, the hero that he was, would daily perch himself on the boundary wall of the nursery to talk to the Rose. Little did he know that the salt laden breeze that swept through the islands absorbed all words of tenderness.
The Crow would miss home and remember the aroma of pine and oak wood smoke. Of hillsides covered in rhododendrons in the spring. Of brooks and streams from which you could drink directly without fear of a bacterial infection. But the fond memories were followed by silence and even more silence. Days added up into weeks, weeks into months, and a year got over.
The Crow continued talking. The White Rose would be there: bright and fragrant as ever and pride of the entire nursery. However, her old heart had made way to a new one with the changing seasons.
Most of the times she wouldn't respond. And on those rare occasions when she would, yes, no, okay and fine were the only words that would part her luscious mouth. Her newfound indifference continued even when he sought her views on surviving in the Islands.
- "Rose! Can't I even depend on you for some advise?," he couldn't take it no more.
- That's your problem, not mine!"
He was shocked and hurt. He considered leaving the Islands forever. But, then, like most one-track romantics emotions got the better of him.
One day perched on the wall he repeated the same old things to her all over again.
For the first time in many days the Rose looked up. The Crow thought it was sunshine again.
Looking deep into his eyes the Rose paused and said:
- "I'd love you if only you would turn me crimson like the Setting Sun."
A greying horizon coloured the sea black as the Sun plunged into the sea. The Crow was flummoxed. How could, he a Crow change someone's colour? Genetics was unknown around that time. Despite living in an age of miracles he was neither God nor a prophet.
He felt limited and very ashamed of himself. Maybe it was a mistake after all. Perhaps he had read too much into her words.
He looked hard at the Rose. He remarked all the petals in her form, her thick green stem and her full-blooded serrated leaves and sharp thorns. He still loved her as much as when they had exchanged the first words. He looked around and his eyes finally rested on the shards of sailors' whiskey bottles that stuck out of the boundary wall to keep intruders at bay.
Being a full-moon night the waves sang closer to the shore. The Crow went and gently started rubbing his body on the glass. Having made several deep gashes on his body he flew up to a tree near the Rose and found a branch that hung directly overhead her petals.
The Rose lay half awake. The dewdrops that fell on her petals felt heavy and warm tonight. Being spring the nursery was in the middle of its annual flower show. The event attracted visitors from the Islands and beyond in hundreds and each flower tried to outdo the other in looking its best.
And then there was this weird crow that she had befriended perchance. Now that he was around she was trying to figure out the best way of tackling him. Being a career-minded flower all that she sought after years of lonely relationships was a friend. But here he was asking for something more. She hoped that he had finally got the hint. Why can't some people move on with times, she thought.
Anyways, the flower show was more important. She knew whatever others might do, she would remain the prized attraction of the nursery for some more years. Random thoughts gave in to sleep..
She was awakened from her slumber by the excited talking of other flowers.
- "Hey Rose... How did you manage to change your colour overnight?"
- "Great! From perfect white to a perfect shade of red."
- "Must've cost a bomb."
- "Tell me who did it? I'd also like to go in for a makeover."
- "My-o-my. How nice."
She looked at her petals. Each was brighter than a ruby. She suddenly remembered the crow.
- "Crow! Hey, Crow! Where're you Crow?
No answer.
- "Crow! Hey, Crow! Where're you Crow?
She called out again.
- "Crow! Hey Crow! Where're you Crow? Answer me!"
No response. It was weird. She knew it for a fact that the Crow would be more than eager to answer to her call.
- "Crow. Hey Crow! Where're you? Answer me."
- "Crow. Hey Crow! Where're you? Answer me... please."
And then she saw. A lifeless bird close to where her nubile stem sprang out of the earth. She first took it for a white pigeon. Then from his beak and other features she realised it was her Crow.
- "Crow, my dear, get up. Get up please. Are you ok?"
The ground around his body was dyed deep red. The serene calm of open skies after a thunderstorm rested on his face.
- "Oh dear, no." Tears streamed from her petals to down her thorny stem and touched the dead bird.
The scene that greeted the first arrivals to the nursery took them completely by surprise. Flowers of its prized rose bush were the colour of a massacre. Her once-proud branches were protectively wrapped around the dead body of an albino crow. The head gardener's servants buried the unusual bird at the same spot.
For some reason they couldn't bring themselves to throw it to stray cats outside.
- Finis -
first published:February 26, 2007, 10:38 ISTlast updated:February 26, 2007, 10:38 IST
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Once upon a time... For there is always a time for anything and everything... From germination to repetition to resurrection... In one such time there lived a crow in the mountains far, far away. There was nothing special about this crow except that he, like most romantics, had been badly hurt in love. And this had turned him into a thinker.
Had he lived today - depending upon his city of residence - he would either have been a successful director with several sentimental hits about physically challenged maidens and drunkard lovers under his belt. Or he might have made a fortune on his first novel about chutney smells and mango orchards from a London publisher.
But in that was an age of limited opportunity he would spend days and nights brooding the past and speculating the future. Analysing and reanalysing what went wrong. Now each gust of wind that blows into the mountains from the plains together with dust and allergies also carries with it new experiences. So one day when the wind blew in really hard, it brought new tidings... A new voice. A new smell.
- "Who's this?," a startled Crow asked.
- "I'm the White Rose of the Seven Islands," came the reply.
It was a fragrance and tone the like of which he had neither felt nor heard in a long time. It was comforting and filled his vacant soul with profound hope. Something that had drained up years back.
Even though, they weren't supposed to talk... He was a bird and a crow at that, whilst she a flower. Today in the Islands roses decorate the scarce private garden and drawing rooms. And in a year of 365 days make the only day earmarked for love, St. Valentine's, special. While bottled as expensive perfume its essence enervates many a tender pulse. Besides, everyone loves a rose while they just about tolerate a crow. They are too noisy and aggressive.
These days, the only job of some consequence they perform on the Islands is foraging for titbits with rodents in the municipality bins before the arrival of garbage trucks.
Yet the Crow and the White Rose got talking and talked and talked and talked through the seasons.
- "Why don't you relocate to the islands?," she asked him one day.
- "What's there for me to do?"
Even as he said that he felt the icicles that had pricked his heart for long melting. He clutched to her words. They felt warm and nice. Like other young men of his day he had also grown up on tales of the Seven Islands whose streets were paved with wealth and opportunity. Now they had one more attraction - his sweetheart.
So our dear Crow continued what he knew best - thinking. All his thoughts were now centred on the White Rose and her suggestion. These thoughts at times left him scared. Was something wrong with him? He had never planned it. Yet, the same feelings that had abandoned him years back had returned. He didn't know how to handle them.
- "Propose to her. Tell her that you love her," the few friends he had advised him.
So on a cold winter evening he picked up his courage and asked:
- "Rose, hope you won't misunderstand me if I asked you something?"
- "Not at all. It'll only make me stand," she said bursting with laughter..
- "Rose, we've been talking to each other for so long... Err... I was thinking... Err... If we could convert this friendship into something more permanent... Err... I mean Lifelong...?"
- "Friendship... For life? Oh!"
- "Please don't get upset. It's ok. We'll continue to be a friend even if you refuse."
And their conversation veered to other things.
After that day both got caught up in the rush of their respective lives. But the crow still pondered over Rose's words. Finally he decided to tell his father about her.
His father, the Wise Crow, who had gotten used to the sullen look on his son's face, was startled to find him looking so fresh. The vigour of youth seemed to have returned to his features.
- "Tell me son, what's the big deal?," the Wise Crow asked.
- "Father I love this White Rose of the Seven Islands."
The old crow heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Though his heart was overjoyed he maintained his composure.
- "Son, you really like her?"
- "Yes father."
- "Then move in there. Establish yourself and become the Islands' best crow. You've my blessings."
The Crow arrived at the nursery where the White Rose lived on a muggy summer day.
Readers I'm sure you would ask, what next?
Before I continue any further, just imagine a crow in love. Is it not something that is completely unbecoming of his ilk? I am of the firm view they are any day better off cawing and feasting on carrion.
But our Crow, the hero that he was, would daily perch himself on the boundary wall of the nursery to talk to the Rose. Little did he know that the salt laden breeze that swept through the islands absorbed all words of tenderness.
The Crow would miss home and remember the aroma of pine and oak wood smoke. Of hillsides covered in rhododendrons in the spring. Of brooks and streams from which you could drink directly without fear of a bacterial infection. But the fond memories were followed by silence and even more silence. Days added up into weeks, weeks into months, and a year got over.
The Crow continued talking. The White Rose would be there: bright and fragrant as ever and pride of the entire nursery. However, her old heart had made way to a new one with the changing seasons.
Most of the times she wouldn't respond. And on those rare occasions when she would, yes, no, okay and fine were the only words that would part her luscious mouth. Her newfound indifference continued even when he sought her views on surviving in the Islands.
- "Rose! Can't I even depend on you for some advise?," he couldn't take it no more.
- That's your problem, not mine!"
He was shocked and hurt. He considered leaving the Islands forever. But, then, like most one-track romantics emotions got the better of him.
One day perched on the wall he repeated the same old things to her all over again.
For the first time in many days the Rose looked up. The Crow thought it was sunshine again.
Looking deep into his eyes the Rose paused and said:
- "I'd love you if only you would turn me crimson like the Setting Sun."
A greying horizon coloured the sea black as the Sun plunged into the sea. The Crow was flummoxed. How could, he a Crow change someone's colour? Genetics was unknown around that time. Despite living in an age of miracles he was neither God nor a prophet.
He felt limited and very ashamed of himself. Maybe it was a mistake after all. Perhaps he had read too much into her words.
He looked hard at the Rose. He remarked all the petals in her form, her thick green stem and her full-blooded serrated leaves and sharp thorns. He still loved her as much as when they had exchanged the first words. He looked around and his eyes finally rested on the shards of sailors' whiskey bottles that stuck out of the boundary wall to keep intruders at bay.
Being a full-moon night the waves sang closer to the shore. The Crow went and gently started rubbing his body on the glass. Having made several deep gashes on his body he flew up to a tree near the Rose and found a branch that hung directly overhead her petals.
The Rose lay half awake. The dewdrops that fell on her petals felt heavy and warm tonight. Being spring the nursery was in the middle of its annual flower show. The event attracted visitors from the Islands and beyond in hundreds and each flower tried to outdo the other in looking its best.
And then there was this weird crow that she had befriended perchance. Now that he was around she was trying to figure out the best way of tackling him. Being a career-minded flower all that she sought after years of lonely relationships was a friend. But here he was asking for something more. She hoped that he had finally got the hint. Why can't some people move on with times, she thought.
Anyways, the flower show was more important. She knew whatever others might do, she would remain the prized attraction of the nursery for some more years. Random thoughts gave in to sleep..
She was awakened from her slumber by the excited talking of other flowers.
- "Hey Rose... How did you manage to change your colour overnight?"
- "Great! From perfect white to a perfect shade of red."
- "Must've cost a bomb."
- "Tell me who did it? I'd also like to go in for a makeover."
- "My-o-my. How nice."
She looked at her petals. Each was brighter than a ruby. She suddenly remembered the crow.
- "Crow! Hey, Crow! Where're you Crow?
No answer.
- "Crow! Hey, Crow! Where're you Crow?
She called out again.
- "Crow! Hey Crow! Where're you Crow? Answer me!"
No response. It was weird. She knew it for a fact that the Crow would be more than eager to answer to her call.
- "Crow. Hey Crow! Where're you? Answer me."
- "Crow. Hey Crow! Where're you? Answer me... please."
And then she saw. A lifeless bird close to where her nubile stem sprang out of the earth. She first took it for a white pigeon. Then from his beak and other features she realised it was her Crow.
- "Crow, my dear, get up. Get up please. Are you ok?"
The ground around his body was dyed deep red. The serene calm of open skies after a thunderstorm rested on his face.
- "Oh dear, no." Tears streamed from her petals to down her thorny stem and touched the dead bird.
The scene that greeted the first arrivals to the nursery took them completely by surprise. Flowers of its prized rose bush were the colour of a massacre. Her once-proud branches were protectively wrapped around the dead body of an albino crow. The head gardener's servants buried the unusual bird at the same spot.
For some reason they couldn't bring themselves to throw it to stray cats outside.
- Finis -
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