Sapling

Down the forest path lined with dried up red and yellow leaves, a lady made her way as dawn broke out over the sky and the little village in the distance vanished from sight.  She was dressed in a flowing white robe, tied up at the waist with a silvery green shimmering ribbon. Her long auburn hair, flowing carelessly in the slightly chilly morning breeze, was tied up with a similar ribbon – or was it a little vine? Her face was calm and smiling, but her eyes betrayed the sadness inside her, as a lone tear trickled down her cheek. In her hand, she carried a beautiful white lily.

.       .       .

(A month ago…)

(Daphne)

As I made my way down the forested path, the aura of the trees and animals surrounding me seemed to grow warmer, more radiant. The fading sunlight shone through the gaps in the sprawling green canopy above me. I could sense a clearing up ahead. As I neared the place, the blooms of a hundred magnificent magnolia trees welcomed my arrival to a pristine, blue lake. A pebbled path lined with long blades of grass led up from the lake towards a quaint little village located further away. I went and sat by the side of the lake, took some of its water in the palm of my hand and touched it to my forehead. The serenity of the lake seeped into my senses and soothed my soul. I sat in awe of the warmth this place radiated. It reminded me of a place I had visited long back in one of my travels. A lake surrounded by humongous vines and glorious trees, cradled in the lap of mountains near the southern city of Yildhum. As I sat there thinking about it, I realized that I had been travelling for so long – a few decades perhaps. And yet I had so many miles still left to go. I sighed.

The naïve laughter and shrieks of kids reached my ears. Looking up, I saw a bunch of 10-14-year-olds playing a few feet from me and smiled. The game they were playing seemed to remind me of something from my childhood, so I edged nearer, careful not to leave the cover of the trees, lest they spot me and run away. As I neared, though, my attention was captured, not by the game they were playing, but by a child, about their age, sitting in the lap of a tree some distance away from the kids. The tree’s huge roots, exposed above the ground, seemed to cradle the child, as he played with a couple of squirrels and fed grains to a bluebird perched upon his shoulder. I sensed no fear in the creatures surrounding him.

Suddenly the ball that the kids were playing with landed near the boy with the squirrels. The squirrels scuttered away. The sparrow flew to the safety of the branches. The kids followed the ball with their eyes, till they noticed the boy sitting by the tree. A heavy silence weighed down upon the queer little group. No one dared to approach the ball. After a few minutes of hesitation, a kid from the group finally went over to pick the ball, maintaining as much distance from the boy as possible, and rushed back to the group, after which they left to find another place to play their game.

Now that the kids had left, I found that a lot of the warmth that I sensed from the place seemed to emanate from the boy. I slowly approached him. As he noticed me, his eyes filled with fear. I had to act quickly. I bent down, touched the ground, curling my fingers ever so slightly. A trail of wild flowers sprouted up from the ground between him and me, with a radiant white lily in the center. I gave him a soft smile. The fear was still there, but with it was wonder, curiosity and a tinge of joy. I beckoned him to come to me. He seemed hesitant. I closed my eyes and fluttered my fingers in the air, and a rain of flowers floated down upon the boy. He rose with a startled cry of joy, looked up, and stretched his arms, twirling around in a circle.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Edward Paige”

“Do you live in this village?”

He just nodded.

“The kids sure seemed quite afraid of you, Edward. What was that about?” I asked with a smile.

He took a minute to respond. Then, looking me straight in the eyes, with a look that said he had nothing to lose, he said, “The whole village thinks strange things seem to happen when I am around. When I cry, it rains for days. When I am angry, trees fall, and animals around me, who are otherwise tame, grow agitated and attack the people in the village. But I promise, I don’t do any of it.”

“Your parents think so too?”

“Grandma says my mom died from a long sickness, and father left soon after.”

My heart grew heavier as I got a better glimpse of life through his eyes. “How is your grandma?”

“She is okay. She doesn’t shun me like the rest of them, but she does pray a lot to get rid of the demons inside me.”

I kept quiet.

“Are you a wizard?” Edward asked after a few minutes of silence.

I smiled. “Something like that. I learnt a few tricks here and there.”

“What’s your name?”

“Daphne.”

At this point, the two squirrels he was playing with earlier came back, nibbling at the nuts on the forest floor near his feet.

“These two are my best friends,” he proudly declared. “Tim and Jack.”

I extended my hand, touching it on the forest floor, and beckoned the squirrels. They came at once, running down the flower-laden path connecting Edward and me. They climbed up my hand and sat comfortably on my shoulder and head.

Edward stared at me, transfixed. I could sense a tinge of jealousy behind the ocean of wonder in his eyes, as his two best friends seemed equally comfortable with me. I laughed.

“Tim says you’re his best friend too. While Jack says she wants more hazelnuts.”

“Jack’s a she?! But wait, what?!! You can understand what they’re saying?” Edward asked, his eyes widening further with shock. He finally comes up and stands beside me, looking wistfully at the squirrels.

I nod.

“Can you teach me? Please!”

“Sure. It’ll take a while though,” I say, only just realizing how this kid, in a matter of minutes, had compelled me to stay in this place a little longer than I originally planned to. It suddenly dawned upon me that I had never taught anyone before. But something in the light in his eyes made me want to try to share my knowledge with him. He was a breath of fresh air, a reminiscence of the happy past, in the war-torn world I constantly had to deal with on my travels.

We played there for a while with the squirrels. I told him to try and analyze their reactions to his petting them, listen intently to the sound they made and the changes ­­­­in their posture – did it feel like they were relaxing and stretching more in his palm? Was it a happy quiver, or an admonishing look in their eyes? Was it a shriek to seek your attention, or to tell you it hurt them? As he listened and tried, I realized I had never seen someone progress that much on the first day itself. I had taken days to make the first step. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest was filled with the sound of crickets, the hooting of owls and the clamorous call of birds.

“Shouldn’t you be home before dusk?” I inquired

He clearly wanted to prolong this meeting. “Would you be here tomorrow?” he asked, scarcely allowing himself to be hopeful. I melted.

“Can’t go without teaching you how to talk to squirrels, can I?”

He beamed at that.

It had grown very dark now. “Let me take you home. Your grandmother might be worried,” I said, taking his hand. As we walked through the trees, he halted suddenly.

“But where will you stay?” He asked, suddenly afraid I might be lying about staying here.

I let go of his hand. I looked around and saw a giant magnolia tree with low lying branches. One of the branches hung low enough to graze the grass. About ten feet from the ground, five branches radiated out from the trunk parallel to the ground, with magnolia blossoms hanging on them like little chandeliers. I closed my eyes, and joined my wrists, opening my fingers in the shape of a lotus. A dim green glow lit up in the shape of a circle around the base of the tree. Strong, green vines coiled up from the ground and twined around the five branches, travelling up to where they rose from the trunk. A few wines parted to make a doorway into the little vine hut. With a wave of my hand, an orb of light gathered into a ball before me, and traveled into the doorway and up the roof of the hut, illuminating the little space.

All this while, Edward stood in complete silence, as if enchanted by the sight before him. In a trance, he walked in through the door and marveled at the magnolia chandeliers that lightly grazed his shoulders and hair.

“I’ll be here when you come tomorrow,” I said with a consoling smile.

He smiled, and we walked towards the village. It was about a quarter mile away from my new abode. We bid farewell.

.       .       .

The next morning, I awoke with the sunlight streaming through the branches overhead. I yawned and rolled over the soft, grassy bed that I had conjured the night before. I stepped out to wash my face with the water from the lake. It was then that I noticed Edward sitting near my hut, his back against a tree, looking up at the sky.

“You’re early,” I commented.

He grinned at me. “Teach me.”

We spent the morning learning how to observe more than what our sight or hearing or touch could detect. We meditated, letting our consciousness merge with the surroundings. Or at least tried to. Every ten minutes, I would look towards Edward to see how he was doing, and find him playing with squirrels, rabbits, pigeons or bluebirds. I’d throw him a stern look, which he’d return with a sheepish expression, and we’d burst out laughing. I knew how difficult meditation is at the age of ten. I had gone through the same thing myself, and got into trouble many a times for being caught while trying to slip out of lessons. I remembered how I used to think I’d be a more patient teacher once I was older…

He was growing tired, and his focus was failing him. I realized it was enough for a day.

“Eddie? Is there a marketplace in the village?”

“Oh, yes! There’s not many shops, but it’s got everything you need!” He said, glad to have a break from all the meditation he was being put through.

“Let’s go there. I needed to buy some things. And you can show me around.”

Edward lead me up the trail to the village. There were a few huts scattered around at first, which grew in number as we moved further. Most of the huts had a patch of land next to them, where all types of vegetables grew. A few hen coops were shared by the houses. Almost every hut had 2-3 fruit trees that provided shade to the crops. A river crossed the village in the middle, over which a patched-up bridge was constructed. I doubted it would hold up, but once I stepped on it, I realized how sturdy it was. On the other side of the river was the market place.

I couldn’t help but notice that wherever we went, people stared first at Edward, and then at me. They backed away, with curiosity and fear lingering in their eyes.

Around a dozen and a half shops were nestled amongst the trees on the other side of the river in a semi-circular pattern. From scrolls and ink to earthen pots to weapons – they had everything I needed to make my new abode a little more habitable.

We wandered from shop to shop. Every once in a while, Edward would tug on my sleeve and show me things he found interesting.

“Look, teacher! That shop has got colorful glass windows!” “That wooden deer! It looks so life-like…” “Teacher did you see? That guy there, his beard reaches up to his knees!”

I realized that in all his existence, this kid might never have had company to share his wonderous discoveries with. It would all be so new to him.

I turned towards him – he had been quiet for a while – and followed his transfixed gaze to a man buying sweets for his kid.

“Those look delicious. Why don’t we go get some?” saying, I lead him up to the shop. The owner was a heavy-set man with a greying moustache and no beard. His bushy eyebrows lined a set of deep set, glazed dark eyes. His coarse hair was a dusty shade of black. I could feel his stony eyes settle on us as we approached. I extended a few copper coins, taking which, he started preparing the sweets, his gaze scarcely leaving the boy.

As he handed me the sweets, he looked me in the eyes, and said in a deep hoarse voice, “You’d stay away from that kid if you knew what’s good for you. He’s nothing but a sack of troubles.”

I looked his squarely in the eyes. “ ‘What we don’t understand, we fear. What we fear, we condemn as evil. What we condemn as evil, we attempt to control. And what we cannot control, we attack’ , ” I quoted from a book I had read a long time back. 

Not waiting for his reaction, I turned and left.

.       .       .

A few days passed by. Every day, I would find the boy sitting near my hut by the lake, before the first ray of dawn touched the sky. I’d take him into the forest, to a clearing where two large white boulders sat overlooking the deep forest abuzz with energy vibrations (we later started referring to this place as ‘The Stones’). We’d start our lessons with meditation. As the sun rose further up over our heads, Edward sat on the earth, willing it to sprout up a vine, while I sat on the stone, reading a book I’d longed to read since a long time. It was titled the ‘A Traveler’s Decision’ and commenced with the tale of a traveler who’d scaled the peaks in the northern parts of the Orthowin Empire, in search of hidden magic, fantastical beasts, and fearsome monsters. We’d walk back as dusk began to fall. On the way, I’d tell the boy about the different places I’d explored in my travels and the interesting creatures I’d met. I’d tell him the tales of powerful wizards, brave warriors and fiendish monsters. I’d coax him to seek his own adventures one day, when he was old enough to step out of his village. As intriguing as my tales were to him, the thought of leaving the village always filled his eyes with unfathomable fear.

“The people I’ve grown amongst shun me as a monster. I cannot begin to imagine what the outside world would put me through,” he’d always say.

.       .       .

One day, while coming back from The Stones, we saw the same group of kids I’d encountered the first day, playing near the lake. Almost instinctively, Eddie hid behind the nearest tree. I hid with him, crouching down.

“Why are we hiding?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

He looked at me in disbelief. “Don’t you remember how the last time went? They look at me with disgust whenever they see me. They make me feel like I’m an abomination.”

“Did you try to ask them why? Explain your side of the story? Did you try taking the first step to mending things?”

“Hey! It was them who shut me off! I never …” he trailed off, maybe realizing for the first time that it wasn’t just them who shut him out. He gulped. “But they started getting mean to me. Their parents would shout at me whenever they saw me.” Seeing that he was already realizing he hadn’t tried hard enough to reconcile, I  didn’t press it further.

A moment of silence sat between us. He sat there looking at the ground, doodling spirals in the soil with a twig.

“Wouldn’t you be happier if you had friends to laugh with? To play pranks on? To share your troubles and sorrows with?” I asked.

He kept quiet. Finally, I saw him put on an air of defense as he said, “I don’t need anyone anymore. I can do everything on my own.”

I contemplated on how to get the message across in the easiest way for him to understand. It was then that I saw it.

“Eddie?” I called in a low voice. “See that?” I pointed to a point on the bark of the tree we were hiding behind.

“The ants, you mean?”

“Yes. See the one carrying that tiny grain up the bark? That grain must be twice her own weight!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Isn’t that wonderful? Oh, and look there! The four of them are carrying that huge insect straight up! That insect would be at least four times their weight combined!”

We sat observing the tough little creatures for a long time. Eddie held a dried-up leaf a little underneath the lone ant carrying the grain, lest it fall and has to start all over again.

“It’s incredible to be independent, Eddie,” I said, looking at the little ant he was helping. “To be able to do things on your own. To be the most reliable person in your own life. But,” I turned my gaze towards the group, who had almost reached their destination, “Sometimes, it’s good to have a friend. Someone who can help you when you’re lost. Someone who can tell you when you’re going down the wrong path. Someone who can help carry the burden you’re not meant to carry alone.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And I can see the longing in your eyes for company. You’re the one shutting yourself out the most, for fear of getting hurt, for fear of being rejected.”

At this he looked at me, and said, “How can I not be afraid of that?”

“Just remind yourself each day and after every rejection, that rejection is a bliss. It helped you keep away from a fake friendship. See the brighter side: a person who befriends you, is someone who stands with you despite the rumors about you, despite the hard stares he’d have to face from the ignorant people round you – he’ll be a true friend,” I said. “Also, you’ll feel good that you tried – that you had the courage to be vulnerable, ‘cause you believed in yourself that you’d be able to face it either way. There are very few people who can dare to be vulnerable and strong at the same time.”

“Teacher, I don’t understand many of the things you say,” Edward admitted.

“Neither do I,” I laughed. “Let’s just say, we shorten it to two things: try to find the silver lining in everything; and not be afraid to try for fear of being rejected. This holds for anything and everything.”

.       .       .

Another week passed by, and Edward had still had no luck with the vine. That day, as we meditated together, I opened my eyes, only to find him lying flat on the stone, staring up at the sky.

“What’s up?” I probed

“What if I’m never able to learn this stuff? I don’t feel I’ve gotten any better at it…”

“Well, I’d say you’re making great progress, and if you keep this up, you’ll be better than me in no time – ”

“But what if I just can’t?” his anxious voice cut me off.

“Then you do something else that makes sense at the moment.”

“But if I keep doing that, I might just keep jumping from one thing to another, and never learn anything!”

“Impressive that you figured it out on your own. That’s why you don’t give up so easily on something just because you feel stuck at some points. Everything comes with sticky points. That’s just a test of perseverance.”

He sighed. “I still can’t muster up the energy to meditate… or grow a vine…”

I got up and stepped off the stone. “Your mind is too tired. It needs rest. Let’s take a day off.”

He sat bolt upright at these words. “Really?”

“Of course! What would you like to do?”

He thought for a while, as his gaze turned towards his right. “How about a visit to the market?” I laughed as I saw the greedy reflection of sweets in his big brown eyes.

.       .       .

At last the day came, well into my third week at that place. After the usual daily motions, we had gone to The Stones to meditate. Rising out of my meditative stance, as I opened my eyes, I saw Edward with his eyes forced shut, lines converging on his forehead, and beads of sweat trickling down his face. His fingers were taut and focused on the ground. And then it happened.

From the earth in front of him rose a tiny little sapling! It timidly grew, shaking and falling limp on the earth more than once, but managing to keep climbing through. As it grew, a few buds appeared on alternate sides of the vine, at first, a pale orange-yellow in color, but as they grew, a fierce red hue slowly rushed through their veins, and they blossomed into little, bright red flowers. Coiling tendrils sprouted at an inch gaps along the creeper’s length. Slowly and hesitantly, it made its way up, until it found the support of a nearby plant and held on to it. Edward opened his eyes.

He’d finally been able to create his own vine!

“It’s a honeysuckle!” I exclaimed, crouching to touch the blushing little flowers blooming on the dainty, coiled stalk. I’d never seen him happier than he was that day. To celebrate, instead of following the usual daily routine, we decided to hike through the forest in search of more vines. Eddie showed me some of his favorite places in the woods, while pointed out some of the sweetest edible fruits and berries, and some of the poisonous ones that he should stay away from. He wrote it all down carefully – he carried his quill and parchment around with him everywhere.

“Which was your first vine?” he asked.

“A winter jasmine,” I said, lost in thought. I looked at the book in my hand: ‘A Traveler’s Decision’… and sighed. Even at a sluggish pace, I’d already finished three-fourth of the book.

.       .       .

(Edward)

I vividly remember the day Teacher came. The day my life first glimpsed a ray of hope. The fear and dread that filled me each morning as I woke up, slowly faded, and was replaced by the excitement of learning something new. I’d found in her a friend, a companion, a guardian and a teacher. She was someone who understood my nature and did not fear it like the rest. Once, when someone had tried to warn her about me, she’d stood up for me. The words she had uttered that time linger on in my memory and give me hope in the darkest days. I’d written some of her teachings on the scrolls she’d bought me that day.

Every day from then on had become a ritual. I’d struggle to get up early each day to reach the lake before she did. There I’d play with Tim and Jack till it was time to go to The Stones. It always started with her telling me to sit upright on one of the stones, close my eyes, and feel the presence of nature, without thoughts of the past disrupting my focus. She called it ‘meditation’. It was so hard to sit still for so long. Always thoughts kept interrupting me. Thoughts of my father, my mother; words from grandma’s prayers; taunts and hushed whispers of the elders in the village; the incidents that labelled me a monster; thoughts of Tim and Jack; and thoughts of the day when Daphne came. I’d open my eyes, and see Daphne sitting there on the other rock, completely still, with radiant white lilies growing around her as her aura brightened. Sometimes, I had noticed, she would unknowingly grow white lilies while sitting, talking, or reading a book. I’d then close my eyes again, and picture a calm white lily, and focus all my energy on that thought. The flower – with its dainty, pure look, soft but sturdy petals, floating, graceful anthers and a strong spine for a stalk – was her perfect symbol.

She’d frequently praise me on my progress, especially when I felt hopeless and frustrated. She seemed to have an instinct for it.

After the meditation, while I worked on growing a vine, she’d read a thick, moss colored book, while her fingers grazed the petals of the white lilies around her, as if petting them. She’d just begun reading on our first day at The Stones. I sometimes looked over her shoulder at the book, and glimpses of the beasts and little creatures, spectacularly blue, unclouded skies and frozen forests greeted me from its pages. 

On the walk back, she’d speak of her travels, bizarre tales of magic, enchantments, dragons, Gods and Demons. Despite what I said to her, I longed to travel, longed to see the sights she’d seen first-hand. But it felt like a far-fetched dream. How would I survive out there on my own? Those glorious beasts that shone in the pages of the book, how courageous would I be when facing one in front of me? The life in the village was all I’d ever known, all I’d ever been prepared for, all I could ever survive. It was safe. It was known. The outside world was nothing but a question mark.

The day I first sprouted a vine, I decided to learn how to grow a white lily and give it to her as a surprise. She had been a beacon of hope in the murkiest of times. This would be my little gesture to show how grateful I was for her teachings and her company. It would be a token of my respect and a keepsake of our friendship for her. Each day after dusk, I’d return home, help grandma with the chores, slip into bed and wait for her snores. As soon as I was sure she’d dozed off, I’d tiptoe into the garden at the back of the hut, sit cross-legged on the earth, form a picture of a lily in my head, concentrating on all its fine features, and will the earth to sprout up a replica of my imagination. The first day, I got nothing but weeds. The second, a few white flowers shot up, but they hardly looked like lilies. They were far too small and had a dusty tinge to the white. I would practice this for about an hour, after which I’d slip back in and sleep, for I had to get up early the next day.

I was making progress with the lilies as the days passed. By the fifth day, I had something resembling a white lily, but it lacked the radiance that Teacher emanated, and could do with a better shade of white. I practiced till late in the night, feeling so close to making the perfect lily, and yet, with each try, I landed up with a worse looking one. Perhaps all my energy was drained. I thought it best to sleep and try again the next day with fresh energy. I was positive I could make a presentable lily in a matter of days. Something worthy of Teacher.

The next day, Teacher announced we’d celebrate. I had failed miserably in the meditation session. I couldn’t even grow a sturdy vine today. She then told me to try and understand what Tim might be trying to communicate, from the agitations and squeaks in his voice, the changes in his heartbeat, the rising and falling of his fur. She told me to concentrate on shifting my mind into the little beast, feeling my soul converge with his. “If you can feel you’re one with him, understanding his language is similar to listening to your own thoughts,” she said. We had gone over this lesson many times in the last week. Since the day I’d been able to grow a vine, she’d been concentrating more on teaching me how to talk to animals. I had made some progress yesterday, when I was correctly able to tell that Tim had said something about the berry he’d nibbled on the day before. But today, sleep deprived and yawning, I had no idea what the squeaks and shrieks meant. While I sat with my back against the tree trunk, Teacher sat on the stone with the green book in her hand. I could see that she only had a few pages to go – almost all the pages were combed neatly to the left. I wondered how she would occupy herself while I practiced my lessons, once she was finished the book. Maybe she had another? I thought about asking her for the green book once she’d read it. Some of the pictures I’d glimpsed in it were unimaginably enchanting, and I wanted to get an idea of the general locations of all the places she mentioned from her travels. But then decided against it. I’d be confessing my dangerous secret wish to travel, and she was perhaps the only one in the world who could talk me into it once she knew that was what I wanted. The glimpses of the pages, however, slid into my thoughts and I imagined myself hiking through snowy paths and swimming in muddy waters.

“Ow!” I shrieked, as I realized that Tim had bit my finger. “Tim!” But then I realized I’d dozed off and was crushing him in my sleep.

Teacher laughed. She had come to sit beside me by the tree.

“Well, someone is definitely exhausted from all their lessons,” she teased, turning the last page of the book. It was blank, excepting the faded picture of a tree at the very edge, with carefree leaves, fluttering in the breeze, adorning the top of the page and roots that ran wildly down the page, threatening to flow out of the border. Other than the picture, the page was blank and starving. She looked long and hard into the blankness. For a long time, she was still, staring at the piece of parchment, a solemn expression on her face. Then she sighed and closed the book, putting it away into her bag.

“Let’s celebrate!” she smiled, once again assuming the serene, radiant expression she always wore.

“But, Teacher, I did horrible today,” I admitted. “Worse than where I was a week ago…”

“Then let’s celebrate failure!” She said like that was the most sensible thing to do.

“Celebrate Failure?” I repeated.

“Why not?”

“Well, if I celebrate failure as I celebrate success, how are they any different? How would I be pumped up to succeed next time if I know a celebration awaits either way?”

“Who said they are different?” she said simply, as I stared. “Success and failure are both but a proof that you tried to learn something new. Failure is as much a reason to celebrate as success, more so if I may say, for you aimed for something very big if you failed. Which means one day you’ll get it.”

I stood still for a while. “Is neither success nor failure a reason to celebrate?” I asked after a short silence.

She smiled. “Why, of course it is! For you’re observing, and letting the soul relax and rejuvenate. You’re celebrating life, respecting its challenges.”

“So, no matter what I do, it’s a reason to celebrate?” I asked, perplexed, but hopeful at the same time.

“Exactly! Let that be your lesson for today,” she beamed. “When you learn to see the silver lining in everything, everyday becomes a joyous occasion, every act becomes a reason to celebrate, and every circumstance shines like a blessing.”

We celebrated with a long hike in the forest that day, while she told a few more stories of her travels. She recounted a few encounters with bandits, monsters and thieves. We stumbled upon a few rare herbs and unimaginably poisonous berries, as we sometimes did on our hikes. We then went back to the village, where she got me sweets, like the first day when we had gone to the market, and some more ink and parchments.

As we reached the lake, dusk had started creeping through the forest. We sat by the lake, watching the ducks fluff up their wings, and Tim and Jack running up and down trees, chasing each other.

“Okay, kid,” she finally said. “Time to go home. It’s getting dark. Let’s get you home before your grandma starts worrying,” saying this, she took me by the hand and lead me down the village, as she did every day.

And like every day, after pretending to fall asleep, I slipped into the garden to try and grow a lily. The first few tries were not so bad, but I kept going. It was during the ninth try. As I opened my eyes, it stood before me – a perfectly radiant, pure white lily, with huge, graceful petals and shimmering anthers, supported on the strongest stalk I’d ever felt. I couldn’t contain my joy. I ran around the garden on silent nimble feet.

How on Earth could I wait for the dawn! I had this urgent need to show it to Teacher this very moment. But she would be sleeping.

Nevertheless, I carefully took the plant out of the earth, with some mud sticking to its roots, and covered the base and the roots in a torn, damp cloth that grandma used in gardening.

I paced around the garden. It was the longest night the village had ever had. My ears began to ring from exhaustion and lack of sleep, but my eyes were wide awake.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Throwing caution to the wind, I tiptoed out of the hut, cradling the precious lily plant in my arms. After I was a little farther away from the village, I broke into a run – partly because of excitement to show Teacher my gift, partly because the dark of the night scared me, as I had never been out alone in the darkest hour of the night.

I almost tripped about four times, in the short distance from the village to the lake, but every time, I managed to keep the lily safe. As I reached the lake, the outline of the vine hut greeted me, and I slowed down to a walk.

Now what?

Dawn was nowhere to be seen, and yet I was bursting with the sunshine inside of me. Should I wake Teacher? I had never even knocked on her door, lest I disturb her. I’d always waited by the lake for her. Overcome with conflictions, I went and sat by the lake. The moon glimmered on its silent waters, sparkling off the surface. But nothing shone as bright, as splendid as the magnificent lily sitting by my side. I decided to wait for the first ray of dawn to knock on the door.

But after a while, the fear of the darkness got the better of me, and I neared the entrance to the hut. I pulled up my hand to knock, but as I did so, my fingers just went through the flimsy vines at the entrance. It wasn’t exactly a door, more like a curtain.

Unsure what to do now, I was about to turn and go sit by the lake when the distant howl of a wolf froze me in place, and I stepped in, shaking a little. As I entered, I noticed the ball of light in the center of the room near the roof, in the glow of which the five magnolia chandeliers blushed pink. In the center of the hut was the solid trunk of the tree this abode was built around. Teacher had rearranged some branches and vines to form a table jutting out on one side of the trunk, like an elliptical plate around a circle. A similar wooden chair was kept directly in front of the table. A few fireflies lit up the hut in places near the vine walls, where the light from the ball in the center did not quite manage to reach. I walked towards the table to put the lily on the table, when I saw what was kept on the table. It was a bag, supported against the tree trunk. It was similar to the one teacher had with her, but different in color. Beside it was a large wreath made of honeysuckle vines, on the top edge of which was a piece of parchment. As I looked closely, it said ‘To Eddie…’

Lying in the center of the wreath was the moss-colored book. “ ‘A Traveler’s Decision’ ,” I read the title for the first time. “ ‘by Dante D’Melo’ .” There was another piece of parchment, peeking out from underneath the book, with Teacher’s handwriting on it.

I smiled. Teacher had prepared a gift for me too! But why would she… And why put a note on it when she can just hand it to me? Suddenly, fear crept in. I froze where I was standing, not wanting to confirm my fears. Why a note?

On the verge of tears, I turned, and looked around. There were vines all around me, and a grassy loft in the corner sat empty. I searched for her bag, but it was nowhere to be found in the hut – and neither was she.

“Teacher?” I called out, trying to control my sobs, walking around the tree trunk, looking all around, up near the branches, under the table.

“Teacher?” I called out again, this time the sobs trickling into my voice. I paced, then rushed, then ran about in circles around the trunk until the tears blinded me and the fear and exhaustion gripped me. I collapsed onto the grassy loft in the corner.

.       .       .

I don’t remember falling asleep, but as I opened my eyes, sun was streaming into the hut through the top branches. As I realized where I was, my only hope that it had all been a dream sank. I walked around the trunk once more, and finally sat on the chair by the table. My lily still sat, radiant and pristine white, on the table, looking ethereal in the light of the ball. But the ball’s light was slowly fading now.

‘To Eddie’… The note stared at me. I touched the thick green cover of the book, opening it to the first page. Slowly, I flipped through the book, not reading a word or seeing a picture on the parchments. I turned to the last page. I remembered seeing it the other day, depicting the picture of a wild tree at the edge. It was no longer blank and starving.

Scrawled upon the yellowing piece of parchment, in Teacher’s messy but soulful, flowing handwriting, was written:

Behind the clouds,

The sun is shining 

.       .       .

(7 years later)

Down the forest path lined with dried up red and yellow leaves, a young man made his way as dawn broke out over the sky and the little village in the distance vanished from sight.  He was dressed humbly in a greyish-green robe, that had a hint of fungus growing at the edges of the cloth. His brown trousers were tattered at the ends, but his face was radiant with excitement and a tinge of fear. His unkempt chestnut hair, flowing carelessly in the slightly chilly morning breeze, was covered with something resembling a cap, made of thin long pieces of green cloth wound around each other – or was it made of vines? In his hand, he carried a beautiful white lily.

As the village vanished from view, the forest grew denser, and denser, and then opened almost abruptly onto a road to the city, his eyes wandered, savoring every sight, treasuring it…

“Hola there, mate! You, a traveler?” He heard someone ask him as he neared a city, a place he’d only ever seen in books.

He looked at the stranger, a man in his late sixties, with thin white hair like snow and a jovial expression on his kind face. He nodded.

The stranger introduced himself as a sweet vendor, as they walked towards the city together.

“What’s your name, traveler?” The old man enquired.

He hesitated, as if he'd never given it a thought before.

“Eddie,” he finally said. “Eddie D’Melo.”

.       .       .