Tulips stretched their petals like the arms of a newborn and winked at the morning sun. The fog bathed the petals and left them clean and fresh. The damp smell of the mud, mixed with the tulip fragrance and minute dewdrops made the air redolent with magic. Colours played all around, creating a rainbow of imaginary strokes and the ripples of the river silently observed the heavenly canvas of Nature. Suddenly, the tulips paused as they heard the footsteps of someone proceeding towards them. It was a stranger, a handsome youth whose face seemed distorted and his eyes were full of grave silence. But his thoughts resembled the growing wings of a fledgling, for they wished to venture far and wide. All became upset when he stopped, making him feel like an unwanted intruder. The portrait became charged with the feelings of the tulips, secrets of the land and whispers of the grass. He sat upon the frowning grass, aware of having broken upon an atmosphere that in itself was celebrating happiness. His black jeans were dirty and its fading colour dampened his looks. Messy brown hair and lips as moist as the sweat covering his forehead, and everything about him implied weariness.

The tulips exchanged glances and they became curious about the secret tale the youth had hidden in his heart, as they watched him changing colour from a corner of their delicate petals. He took out a photograph of an aged lady kissing a smiling child and stared at it for a long time. He felt the red sunbeam dancing over the picture and mocking at him. This wasn’t unusual. He was used to this mockery that he had himself created long before. Fate had carved in his veins a curse, a sin which he carried all along his life. He had chosen it with desperate unwillingness- not for the love of colours, but for the lust of a life heralding an illusionary Spring. With cold laughter and tears full of blood, he tore the picture to infinite shreds and handed them to the wind to carry. He looked up and stretched out his left leg, pulling some more papers out of his pockets. It was a silver, glossy plastic paper and the writing on the pages smelt of old ink. He read each and every word with a blank look and threw the pages away. He firmly grasped his hands together and mumbled something that not even the grass could hear. He then opened the bag that was hanging from his shoulders. He placed his hands inside it and pulled out a white showpiece of two pigeons cuddling inside one heart. Placing it under a purple tulip, he stared at it with the pale essence of a dead promise. He let out a deep moan. When he regained control, he took out his bass guitar and played it for sometime with such high notes that it scared the tulips. They felt his profound grief merging with the music and making the atmosphere vibrate with reminiscences. Like thunder, he stopped, suddenly stood up and smashed the guitar on the ground. He let out a shrill cry again as the guitar cracked and broke. His actions proved his pain as tears coursed down his cheeks.

The tulips felt sad, very sad indeed for the enemy of the motherland, the poor soul whom they couldn’t console or offer some solace. He was no longer a stranger for them. He had narrated his tale in front of them, asking no sympathy in return. As he started walking, a tear drop fell on a tulip and shone like a yellowish pearl. He knelt down and adoringly cupped his hands around the tulip and placed a wet kiss on its uppermost petal. A painful smile escaped his lips as he trod westward, where the mighty river forced its way out. The tulips treasured the view of the river’s serene waves that shone in the sunlight like a carpet of sparkling diamonds. The tulips wanted to call him back, cocoon him in their petals and absorb all his grief, to provide him a new life. But he had already chosen his path, where only a single monochromatic colour drew the portrait of solitude and bereavement. The chameleon in him had snatched everything and even himself.

The tulips pushed their tender petals aside and watched him transform into a single dot, his belongings already changed into rubble and debris near them. He stood there, and then turned back at them and smiled again. It was the same smile of a happy child lost in motherly warmth, and the weight of duty and fear of the unseen tomorrow had disappeared from it. The tulips understood his intention, they frowned! He turned back towards the water, uttered a silent something, not a prayer, and… he vanished… somewhere amongst the ripples.

Though he played with red, blue still remained his favourite.

Jupitara Goswami & Kaustav B Kashyap