A Tale Of Varied Perspectives

It was the month of June. Mist was playing hide and seek with the rhododendron bushes. The flowers in these bushes were ruby red and dancing with the wind. Standing against the stark, snowy background, they looked picturesque. In this month, they were in full bloom. The bushes twined and intertwined forming narrow and romantic tunnels under their not-very-tall branches.The tunnel with mystery was thus created and extended for miles. On the higher reaches of Arunachal Pradesh, above the land of the Sherdukpens and the Monpas, the fragrance of these rhododendron bushes intoxicated all those who passed by. And generally, very few passed by except for a few ghorawallas and fewer travellers. The rhododendrons were always a pleasurable sight for them to behold. Many songs and folk tales were associated with them.
One such is told about a ghorawalla who was walking past and admiring the beautiful red flowers. Ghorawallas are those who walk their yaks and ponies, running errands or carrying loads.
He admired the red bushes for some time and then said, "It is so sad that you bloom alone, hidden away from innumerous admirers. I would have loved to pluck you and offer you at the feet of the Buddha in Gaya. Or if not so far away, at least take you with love and care to the gompa, temple, in my village where I could have offered you. I would have taken you to the Lord in both cases. Or, if none of that, I would have loved to take you to my beloved and offer you to her. She would have been ecstatic to see such beautiful flowers. But alas, I can do none of those. You have to bloom unseen, unknown, unsung and alone."
The rhododendron bush was hearing all that the ghorawalla was saying and replied, "Don't feel bad for me. So what if my branches, leaves and flowers have poison in them? It is because I have poison that you have not plucked every part of me and ravaged my bushes. That is why I am intact and you and others like you are able to admire me. Or else you would have seen a broken bush with no leaves or flowers. The poison is my protection. You know my leaves also turn red often. They are beautiful too."
"Ah!" exclaimed the ghorawalla, "but you are of no use to anyone. What is the use of just being pretty?"
"My dear," whispered the rhododendron, "you did not think me worthy enough to be plucked for your sweetheart, nor do you deem it fit to take me to your gompa? Of course you did not even consider taking me to Gaya. But I feed the bees that live here and make their home in hives close by. The bees still suck my nectar and take it to the Lord in the form of honey. Your sweetheart cannot take me as honey but takes me as a medicine when she is unwell. My sweetness reaches everyone. I am still loved by the Buddha...so do not worry about me nor lament on your inability to take me to the world."
With a fresh gust of wind, the red rhododendrons seemed to laugh and sway happily.
The ghorawalla kneeled to the beauty which was also aware of her reasons for existence. It had awaken something within him. He, like the rhododendron bush, had to find his purpose. Behind that lonely and beautiful appearance, there was a deeper purpose. The ghorawalla understood that he should not assess from the perspective of how useful anything is to him, but look at the larger scheme of things.
Authored by: Sudhamahi Regunathan