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The Desert and the Rose |
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Thoughts
Without Boundaries Thoughts
of love & longing |
The desert was a great place. There were dunes that proudly bore their chests to the incessant winds, knowing that their time was unlimited. The crests and troughs of the desert were every bit as mighty as the sea, when seen through the eyes of the ancient. There were blazing sunsets and bloodshot dawns, there were blinding azures and golden seas. Every little grain of the desert was a nomad with his own story to tell. Every gust of wind flirted with the timeless stillness. The world of the desert was a world of anticipation. The heat waves in shimmering dance toyed with the oasis, and the little scrubs with anxious breath awaited the biennial drops of rain. The scurrying floor creatures added a misleading sense of hurry. The grandeur of the desert was slow and eternal. But it was a desert. On day a little rose grew in the desert. It was the absolute antithesis to the desert. It was petite, not scraggy, it was gentle, not weathered. It found root somewhere in the desert where the rocks had forgotten to suck out the last patches of moisture, and smiled happily at the sun. It seemed to radiate feelings. In the desert, this was unusual, as there were so few emotions in the desert, that desert folks were used to absorbing whatever little they could and hoarding it for decades. The desert folks couldn't understand the rose at all! The desert folks had a meeting. The cactii were there in strength. So were the dunes. The grains had their representatives. The vultures came in hoards. The lizards were sparse, as they preferred the night. The agenda was simple. What was to be done about the rose? I think we could ask the winds to uproot it and take it somewhere else, growled the leader of the cactii. It's a such a strange thing - it scares me. It looks quite tasteless agreed one of the few lizards. The dunes were of the opinion that they could in time, make the rose a cactus. I remember that year, last century when we had those funny rains for 2 days. There were lots of strange folks that came with the rain. But in time, they all became cactii. Every one nodded sagely. The dunes were the oldest members at these meetings and they always knew so much more. The
grains were the only ones who were willing to talk to the rose.
We've been everywhere, and we have never seen such funny creatures,
they said. It doesn't even know how to sleep at day. This was met
with vigorous nodding. Everyone in the desert In the end, the grains were appointed to speak to the rose. The options were made clear. The rose could become a cactus. Or it could learn to follow the rules of the desert. Else, warned the grains, there may be dire consequences. But why? Said the rose. The days are so nice here! The sun is so masterful, the air is so clear, and I have never seen a sky that is so blue? What if I were to stay awake and not disturb anybody? Surely that can't be a crime? The grains just glared at the rose, as they couldn't think of a good answer. But they were clear about what they wanted. So they threatened the rose once again, about the consequences of breaking the rules of the desert, and rolled away. The rose was sad. It didn't know what it had done wrong. It thought and thought but it just couldn't find the answers. It spoke to the sun and the sky, and it sought answers from the winds, but they had seen too much to help the rose. They knew that the rose had to find the answer itself. But the rose was young and unwise to the ways of the world. It worried and worried and started wilting. This pleased the desert folk. Its becoming a cactus, they said. But of course that was untrue, and the rose died soon, never knowing what its offence was. And the desert went on being a desert. 1998
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