– a story

The Tiny Weed stood clinging precariously to the barren rocks. Its leaves were carefully painted a beautiful green with the little moisture its tiny roots could gather from the surroundings. There was something about the Tiny Weed standing proudly against the grey barrenness of the rocks that caught the eye of the passing Dark Gray Cloud. It sent down a gentle shower. The Tiny Weed looked up in surprise.

“Hello…” said the Dark Gray Cloud

“Hello…” replied the Tiny Weed shyly.

No one had taken much notice of the Tiny Weed till then. She was happy and content in her solitude. The Tiny Weed did watch the plants carefully tended by the gardeners, the water and nourishment they got. Yet the Tiny Weed did not long for anything more than to stand proud and green against the barren rocks. Once in a while it dreamed of the Dark Gray Cloud and wished it would shower on her. Not for the Tiny Weed, the tame water from the garden hose in the gardener’s hand. She wanted the spontaneous joy-filled showers to fall on her from the Dark Gray Cloud itself. She was doubtful if she would ever make it as long as the Dark Gray Cloud’s arrival. She would probably dry up before that and fall off the rocky cliff as flimsy as her roots were. She smiled ruefully at such times and sent a request, ‘Dear God, give me better roots the next time and let me be born in a land where the Dark Gray Cloud resides.’

“Hello!!!” repeated the Dark Gray Cloud again, amused at the confusion on the Tiny Weed’s face.

“Hello…” replied the Tiny Weed in an even smaller voice.

Gently, for the Dark Gray Cloud knew how precarious the Tiny Weed’s position on the cliff-side was, he showered on her.

When the gentle shower fell, the Tiny Weed was transported magically to the land of her dreams. Her leaves now looked even greener and the Dark Gray Cloud seemed enamored of this magical creature she had transformed into.

The following days, the Dark Gray Cloud spent more and more time with her, gently showering her with drops of rain, taking care not to push her off the cliff side. He talked to her of the places he had visited. The Tiny Weed listened spell bound as much by the stories he told her as the magic she heard in the Dark Gray Cloud’s voice.

The happiest sight the Tiny Weed had ever seen in her life was the Dark Gray Cloud on the horizon gently moving towards her. Her happiest moments were when he showered rain drops on her. Looking down from high above the cliff-side, in her newfound joy, she felt she owned the Earth, that she was immortal. The Tiny Weed now grew stronger roots and greener, more luxurious leaves, in her contentment.

As days went by her joy took a downward swing. She found the appearance of the Dark Gray Cloud was getting rarer. And when he did appear, he spent less and less time with her. He had no more stories to tell her. The showers the Dark Gray Cloud sent her way became scarcer too. The Tiny Weed felt sadness fill her whole being. She quietly gathered whatever dampness of the showers she had left and kept her leaves as green as she could. One day soon, the Tiny Weed saw the Dark Gray Cloud in the distance, sailing off on his way, leaving her alone behind. The Tiny Weed knew, she would never see the Dark Gray Cloud again.

The Monsoons were over.

©Shail Mohan 2009