Shadow Of The Black Rose

10. THE RED POUCH

    Raman read and re-read the letter. He had never received one before. And to get one from the mountains through a bird made it even more special. He rolled it and snuck it into his pocket. The monal chirped and took flight.

    Raman hurtled past the door, rushing to his bedroom. In between Uncle Prem and work, he had forgotten about the pouch. Raman rummaged the pouch out of his bedside drawer. He pulled its string, and little-grey grains sprinkled on his bed. Raman looked curiously at them. He had no idea what they were...

    But then he remembered Arun's words, "Something of use, maybe more to you than me." So he grasped on every one of those grains from his bed and ran straight to his back door. In the back of his house was a lawn. It was overflowing with oddly sized weeds. Raman went back to his kitchen and emptied the grains in a bowl. Next, he trimmed the bushes with his pruning shears and cleared a patch. Raman carefully planted the buds approximately one-fourth inch deep in the soil. He missed school, but working with all kinds of employers did bestow him with knowledge. He had no idea what was to grow out of them — but that did not keep him from planting them. He went back and fell asleep after having dinner.

    For the next few months, Raman had a fixed schedule. He watered the lawn, went to the village to work, and came home late. The monal visited him on several occasions: not always bearing a note from Arun. He saved almost all of his monthly earnings and gave them to Lord Kajju. But, still, a lot remained. Raman knew he had to work tirelessly to clear his debts.

    With spring's arrival little buds sprouted, and from them came seedlings. As time passed, the seedlings grew tiny leaves. With time the plants had strong stems and leaves clad all around them. Soon, erupted buds. From the buds blossomed roses. Not the regular white, red, pink ones — they were the mystical black roses Raman had once seen at the top of Jhilai.

    Raman started his day, as usual, getting ready for work and heading back to check on the plants. As he opened the back door, there they were, blossoming at him, dazzling in the sunlight, with little dew drops beaming as diamonds. Raman's heart pounded faster than ever: somersaulting inside. He plucked one of the roses and darted out of the house. Bouncing and jumping his way to the village. As he passed the market, all eyes set on his right hand. People gathered around him, gushing and eyeing the black rose. Raman rushed past the crowd, straight to the florist. "How much for this?" He asked.

    The florist raised his eyes, and the next second dropped the lilies in hand. He came forward adjusting his round glasses. With wide eyes, he exclaimed, "Anything in the world for this jewel ..."

    Raman sold the black rose to the florist for a hefty sum. Holding the money in one hand, he ran straight out of the village. He sprinted to the jungle and climbed the mountain to meet Arun.

    Arun was making a half-a-dozen woodpecker sharpen his spear. The monal was playing with twigs, cracking them with its beak. The sound it made was oddly familiar — the kind Raman had heard before — his eyes broadened in realisation. It was the monal who freed him from the twigs that night. Raman was still panting, holding onto the cash in one hand when Arun wheeled around and saw him. Raman rushed into a hug, with tears of happiness bursting, he said, "Thank you ..." He showed Arun the money and went on and on about how the people drooled at the sight of the flower.

    Arun's eyes twinkled, he gave Raman another pouch. As the night had fallen, Raman left Arun and headed home.

    From then on, he sold one rose a day; with the money made, he paid off his debts to Kajju. Soon, he was free of his claims. He rejoined school. On weekends he used to visit Gunka and Arun — his family. The monal too flew down to him, once a week. They had developed a bond, he believed.

    And Raman lived as a happy boy and the only boy who ever grew the Black Rose(Well, at least, that is what the people of Kullu thought).

THE END