The Little Bud and the Flower

A slow breeze rose quietly and ruffled the leaves of the rose plant. As the branches shook, one pale leaf dropped to the ground. A flower was shivering in the cool touch of the gentle breeze. It was a slow breeze but the little bud warned the flower, “dear one, this breeze could knock you down. Didn’t you see the pale leaf?” 

The withered flower heard the concern in those words. The breeze was weak, but the flower was weaker. Its stem was already in decay, ready to lose its prized possession, the glorious queen of flowers. 

“In every moment of our existence, we move a step closer to death,” professed the sun as it was leaving its throne, accompanied by the crimson sky and golden clouds. A faint glimmer of a star was visible on the horizon. The night was fast approaching. A few women left the nearby tomb, struggling though unsuccessfully, to muffle the sound of their cries. Their teacher was laid in that tomb. 

“That was a virtuous man, at the prime of his age. But look at him now, dead and gone,” the little bud remarked. There was a tone of resigned melancholy in his voice. “The sun was right,” the bud continued. “All of us are slowly inching towards the ultimate destiny, death. Is there pain in death?” 

The withered flower sighed deeply. From the tone of its voice, the bud was in fear of death. The breeze was gaining strength and the flower realized that at any moment, it would face the destiny, the stem would no longer be able to hold it and finally, it will rest on the dusty ground. It pained the flower to think about leaving the plant that had nourished it and helped it to bloom so fully. The beauty of its petals and the fragrance of its honey was only due to the diligence of the plant in nourishing its flowers. So the flower said a silent prayer for the plant and mumbled, “Thank you for holding me in your arms for so long. I may be gone soon. But I will nourish your roots from the soil. When my soul becomes one with the cosmos, I will see with satisfaction your branches and buds nourished with my petals.”

The plant slowly nodded in acknowledgement. The little bud didn’t hear the conversation though. It was worried, a heart-splitting agony clouded its face, thinking about death, all crimson in the dying sunlight. 

The withered flower didn’t know how to console the young bud. All it knew, it had said to the plant. The death he was awaiting wasn’t painful in the way the bud thought about it. Death wasn’t the end, it was a journey into eternity. But only when you pass on to the other dimension with consciousness, it becomes easy. The bud needed to know, thought the flower. It was still a young bud, with a long life ahead of it. 

Then the flower saw something. The heavy rock on the doorway to the nearby tomb was rolling on its own. There were two bright globes of light standing on each side of the tomb. 

The light emanating from the globes was brighter than the light of the sun, but it wasn’t hot. Slowly the globes grew in size. From inside the tomb, the teacher walked outside. His robes were shining whiter than the whitest clothes the withered flower had ever seen. 

“Look!” it said to the little bud. “He overcame death. See for yourself.”

The bud, as it heard the cry of the withered flower, turned its head and saw the otherworldly brightness emanating from the nearby tomb. 

The withered flower prodded the bud with a thought. It said, “Do not fear death. Death is….”

“Resurrection,” the little bud intervened in awe. 

That was not what the flower wanted to say. But what the little bud realized was true. The sight filled the flower with excitement. 

“This is not what I thought about death. The teacher whose body was in the tomb was crucified. He was dead, but look! He has risen!” the young bud screamed. The breeze blew with invigorated life as if it was inspired by the event that transpired in the now-empty tomb. 

“Can you walk his way?” the bud turned in the excitement in the direction of the flower. Upon the stem, the flower was no more. With a shock, the little bud realized that the breeze had finally plucked the flower off of its stem. It now rested on the ground, with a serene smile on its face. 

The little bud realized that death is a doorway to a new reality. Soon, the petals of the flower would be part of the soil and the roots of the plant would integrate it with the existence of the plant. 

The night gave way to morning time. In the early morning, some disciples of the teacher came back to the tomb to pray. They too saw that death was resurrection too. The little bud was happy and so were the people. 

_The End_