The Little Bird
Once there was a house, one of whose windows looked over a rich garden that was full of trees, bushes, shrubs and other plants that housed a variety of creatures. There was a young woman who lived in that house. Every morning she would gaze outside that window at the sun rising upon her beautiful garden and be grateful for the simple pleasure it gave her. One day, she noticed a lovely little bird she used to see quite rarely. She knew the voices of all the creatures in her garden, but had never heard the voice of this shy little bird before.
She invited him to her windowsill and, though hesitant at first, the little bird flew over to join her. They sang together till the sun set, each revelling in the other’s company. The next morning, they eagerly met at the windowsill, hoping for a similar enjoyable experience; which they had. The same happened for the following days of the week. The lady and the little bird had by then developed a deep affection for each other.
However, the little bird was quite miserable on that eighth evening. He had an ache in his heart, a longing; a thirst that would not be sated. He poured out his sorrows to the lady, as she was now his closest friend, and asked for help with tear-filled eyes. She knew the remedy for his pain, for she had been through it too.
“There is nothing that can heal you”, she said; and quickly added: “But there is a someone who can.
“Someone who’ll fill up those gaps, someone who’ll smoothen your rough edges, someone who delights you and whose company is all you could need. Someone to sing with, someone to be merry with, someone to cherish. Someone who can bring colour to your skies. Someone who you care for and who cares for you in equal measure.
What you need, dear, is someone to love.”
The little bird gaped at his lady friend, for she seemed to fit perfectly the description of the “someone”. It was then that he realized that he was, quite surely, in love with her.
And so he plucked up his courage and asked her, with wide eyes, in a voice that trembled with anticipation: “Dear lady, will you be that someone for me?”
“Alas, little bird!” said the lady. “I had not finished. I was about to say ‘However, someone but me’. I was broken by love and have not the strength to venture towards it again.”
“Please, dear lady, do so for my sake”, pleaded the little bird. “I promise you this time will be different. I will never hurt you nor bring you pain.”
But the lady was adamant. Once burnt, twice shy they say; and she had come to fear the very thing which she had once spent nights sleepless in longing for. It hurt her to see her little bird in pain; more so because it was she who was causing it, and she hated to do so. With all affection, all gentleness she tried to convince him that she could not, should not and would not belong to him. He begged and pleaded and reasoned with her, in matters alien to logic, that she, and only she, was to be his someone. It was heart-wrenching for her to deny him this one pleasure, for deep down she knew that she was denying herself too; but she put on a brave face and, in interests of greater good, put her foot down.
The little bird heaved a sigh of defeat. “Well”, he said, “At least I can thank God for giving me such a good friend”, and hid his dejected face in his bright plumage.
And teardrops fell through the lady’s lashes to join the puddle her heart lay in.
