The Curious Little Begonia

Oh, so THOSE are begonias!

THE CURIOUS LITTLE BEGONIA

 

 

Once upon a time, in a beautiful little garden, there lived a begonia bush. This begonia bush was planted right in the middle of the entire garden, as it was a magical plant, and was treated with the utmost of importance by the lady who owned the garden. She lived in a little cottage near the garden, with a straw roof and blue window shutters and a small green door. Everything was tranquil in the garden, and the old lady took care of it very much. She watered the plants every day, and spoke to the willow trees that lined the brick walls. Because they were the oldest of the trees, with their hunched backs and calm demeanor, they were the most intelligent, sharing knowledge with their brothers abroad through the wind.

 

However, today was a special day, for something truly marvelous was happening. Right in the middle of the begonia bush was a bud, waiting to bloom. And today was the day it bloomed into a great and beautiful begonia, with shining pink petals and strong green leaves. It awoke to the sunlight, which shone down on it and made it feel warm. And then, he was taken aback by the sudden outburst of squeals from the rest of the begonias, who were ever so thrilled that their new brother had just bloomed.

 

"Welcome, brother!" they shouted in unison. "We are your fellow siblings. We are begonias, and we live in this garden you see all around you."

 

The begonia's eyes widened with every breath he took taking in his surroundings. What was this place? The others said it was a garden. And what a beautiful place it was! The soft wind brushed against his petals and made him sway, and he found that he heard voices in the wind. Turning his attention to the other side of the garden, he spotted the large willow trees, as they too welcomed him into the world.

 

"What are begonias, my dear siblings?" the begonia asked, his mind brimming with questions.

 

"Begonias are us! We are flowers, and we're very special. We have magical powers which people use in medicines to heal illnesses."

 

"And how do they use us for that purpose?" asked the begonia.

 

"They kill us!"

 

They said that in a very enthusiastic manner, and the begonia did not know why they were so happy to die for others.

 

"But if they kill us, then we can not enjoy all of this beauty in the garden," he stated, quite certain of his answer.

 

"We must!" they said. "It is our purpose. The old lady who lives in the little cottage all the way over there is the one who planted us, and we are so very grateful to her. No matter how short our lives may be, we are thankful to at least pay witness to this garden of beauty, and know that we are dying to help others. The old lady told us so!"

 

But the begonia still wasn't sure. He did not want to die. He wanted to live here forever and ever.

 

"What do you think?" he asked the willow trees.

 

The willow trees ruffled their leaves and bent their bark as they thought.

 

"We know for a fact," the first willow tree said, "that the old woman who lives in the cottage is a witch."

 

"Yes, a witch. Our brothers have told us so," said another. And one after the other, they all said the same thing.

 

"But what is a witch?" asked the begonia.

 

"A witch is an evil crone with a long pointy nose and warts covering her face, and she rides a broomstick at night!" the begonias said, shuddering. "But the lady who takes care of us is nothing like that. She is so kind and gentle."

 

And that's what they all said. The begonia did not know what to think. On the one hand, his brothers and sisters told him that the lady was not a witch, for she was kind, while the willow trees, who were much wiser than the rest of the plants, said that she was a witch.

 

The begonia would not have to think on it for a moment longer, because out from the cottage door sprang an old lady carrying a shiny blue watering can. She walked along the winding lane towards the garden, where she smiled at the begonias.

 

"Hello, my pretties," she said, smiling a big smile, and pointing her eyes to the little begonia. She cupped a soft hand around him.

 

"My, aren't you the prettiest begonia of them all?" she said.

 

And with that, she lifted the watering can and down came a shower of cold water. The begonia found it very uncomfortable at first, but when the water flowed into the soil, and his brothers and sisters rejoiced at the meal, he felt a new energy flow through him. His roots moved about in the warm soil, and it felt so wonderful. Surely this woman couldn't have been evil like the willow trees said?

 

"There you go," said the old lady. "Drink it all up now, my dears. That water is special, and it will make you grow big and strong."

 

And when she finished, she went back into the cottage.

 

Night fell that evening, and the great warm sun was replaced by his cold sister, the beautiful moon. The begonia found all was quiet, except for something moving about near the cottage. It was the old lady, coming ever closer. And when she stepped into the stream of pale moonlight, the begonia was stricken with fear. She was clothed all in black, with a black pointed hat adorning her head, a broomstick in one hand, and a pair of hedge clippers in the other. She walked up to the little begonia, and she snipped him right from the bush.

 

The noise awoke the rest of the begonias, who began screaming and shouting for her to return their brother. But she did not listen to their cries. She mounted her broomstick, and with one kick from the ground, she swooped through the night air, with the poor frightened begonia in her hand.

 

The speed at which they were soaring in the wind nearly ripped the begonia's petals off. What was she going to do to him? Was she going to drop him? Oh, no, that would be terrible, thought the flower.

 

"Do not worry," said the witch. "I am a witch, just as the willow trees say I am, but I am a good witch, a 'white' witch. I help people, such as giving them medicines made from begonias, like you. The water I feed you is made in my magic cauldron, and it helps make you stronger."

 

The begonia was filled with relief. But still it wondered, why were they flying in the air? What was the point of it all?

 

The witch lifted the flower to the moon, and in one quick breath, she recited magical words of power, which the begonia did not understand. But...he felt himself growing. Where he had been snipped had now regrown its roots, and he felt his petals growing stronger and more colourful, gleaming in the moonlight.

 

When he felt that he could grow no larger, the witch flew back down into the garden, where she placed him carefully back into the bush, and his roots replanted themselves in the soil. The rest of the begonias were so happy that he had come back safely, and they hugged him and kissed him with all their might.

 

"The spell I performed on you was a Spell of Wisdom," said the witch. "From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special. You are more curious than all the rest of your brothers and sisters, and so, I have given you the power to look after your siblings, and take care of them till they too grow up to be big and strong like you."

 

It was then that the begonia understood. In return for his curiosity, he had gotten knowledge, and along with it, responsibility. The responsibility to accept that he had a purpose in life, to help other people. And when his purpose was fulfilled, he would be reborn in a different life, to further behold the beauty of death and creation.

 

 

THE END

Author's Note

Another old one. I remember writing this haphazardly in an English exam, and I liked the story so much that I had decided to rewrite it at home. Perhaps it's worth mentioning that I had written this with no particular image of a begonia in mind; I had absolutely no idea what they look like, but maybe there's a literary point to that.

Written 5 May 2010.