The Four-Leafed Clover
The Four-Leafed Clover
“Hush now my dear boy, you are not supposed to cry…” a woman said sweetly to her little son. He had tears pouring down his small red cheeks, as he held his mother’s hand between his thin fingers. He was barely older than the tender age of eight. The woman gazed at him fondly, as if it was the last time she would ever see him. Maybe, it was. The woman was diagnosed with stage four cancer.
“I will be absolutely fine,” the woman said, smiling sadly as the nurses and the doctors ushered her out on the bed to the operation theater. The boy followed them, refusing to leave his mother alone.
“Mum… Mumma…” the boy whimpered
“You cannot go in there, little guy,” the nurse said to him, stooping down to his stature. Pity. The feeling of pity was mixed in her eyes along with sympathy. The boy was all too familiar with this look of pity. After all, it was the same look he had received when people learned about his father’s death.
“Go wait outside,” the doctor said, the same look of hopefulness and pity lurking in his eyes. The boy stared sorrowfully at the moving hospital bed carrying his mother.
Rain poured harshly on the window panes, the raindrops racing down to the sill. The boy, too, dropped down the wall, silent sobs shaking his tiny frame huddled in a corner. His big brown eyes were flooded with tears, as he bawled his heart out.
No one was left for him… no… no one will be left for him if his mother didn’t survive. But his mother as a brave woman wasn’t she? After all, she managed to raise him all by herself. Never had he ever seen her cry. Even when his father died, she was strong and didn’t shed a tear. She will survive anything, right?
“I saw your mother, little guy,” a voice chimed in his ears, like a wind chime. The boy turned his head to the side. A nurse clad in white smiled softly at him. He quickly wiped his wet cheeks and stood hurriedly.
“You ever heard about the legend of the four-leafed clovers?” the nurse asked him with a smile. The boy shook his head. “Well, I could tell you,” the nurse grinned, “Four leafed clovers are extremely rare. All clovers are tiny – like you – and hard to find. But most of them are three leafed. Four leafed clovers are said to be legendary and bring good luck and make wishes come true.”
The boy looked hopefully, as if he found a miracle box among the mud. A single golden ray shone on the polished tile floors, making a pattern through the raindrop covered windowpane.
“Mum… Mumma can come back?” the boy asked the nurse gleefully.
“If only you find a four leafed clover in time, you can make any one wish.”
The boy didn’t need to hear anything else. He rose from his seat and dashed out of the hospital. The nurse’s departing words ‘good luck’ jingled like bells in his ears. Raindrops fell harshly on his frail frame. Each one of his steps in the muddy garden, sounded desperate and yet at the same time full of faith. Faith… it was the faith in the god, faith in his brave mother, faith in the legend of the four leafed clover, and most importantly, faith in himself.
He searched and he searched. Through the bushes, in the brown-green ground, from the hospital to the surrounding miles, in the algal, fungal places, everywhere imaginable he searched. The rain soaked his clothes, water dripped from his hairs, mixing with the tears of desperation and sadness.
When he was finally about to give up after searching for hours in vain, a ray of sunshine shone over a plant. He plucked it curiously, as to see which plant has been blessed. It was a four leafed clover! He joyfully ran to the hospital, tripping over stones.
He reached in front of the operation theatre. Doctors stood there sadly. His smile dropped, so did his hand as he saw the scene.
The clover fell down in the mud he brought in. It wasn’t of much use for him. A petal of the clover had broken and fallen down…