the rose plant

The Rose Plant

I was busy doing math when I realized I was too saturated. As a much needed break, I got myself a cup of coffee and stared out of my window. It was a bright beautiful day and I found my younger brother in the garden in my backyard. As I stood there and watched him watering a rose plant which bore blood-red roses, memories came flooding.
It was five years ago when one day, on my way home from school, I saw a wounded pigeon on the road outside my house. My heart went out for it. But I didn't know what to do and wondered what my mother would say if I took it home. So I just walked on. Later when I was in my room studying I heard a lot of commotion in the hall. I went to see what it was all about when I realized my brother did what I could not. He had brought in that pigeon and now he and my mother were fussing over it with ointment and spirit. One of the wings was terribly bleeding. I joined in and together we cleaned and dressed the wound gently, all the while my brother holding it tenderly in his palms.
Then we got an old tub to put it in so that it could not possibly walk away, it could not fly anyway. My brother brought some grains in his palm but the pigeon refused to eat; he even tried spreading them around it. He then brought in a small bowl of water and placed it beside the pigeon. Still it did not move. By now my mother went back to her work and we stood watching, hoping it would eat or drink, but in vain. After an hour my mother asked us both to go to our room and do our homework. I left, but my brother didn't. He sat right there and did his homework, in front of that pigeon.
Close to dinner time. My brother came to us and starting whispering excitedly. The pigeon drank some water! Soon enough it slept. And the next day at breakfast my brother tried feeding, and the pigeon ate a couple of grains, off my brother's palm. He was so excited and returned home to feed it again. He cleaned the tub and changed the water. The pigeon was now frequently sipping water from the bowl.
The next day he didn't have time before school to feed it. But my mother promised she would try. Voila! It ate from her palm too. So I dint want to feel left out and I fed it that evening.
And pretty soon, the pigeon was regularly eating grains off our palms and sipping water from the bowl. My brother would dress the wound everyday after school. It seemed to be recovering well and he said it sometimes even tried to flap its wounded wing. He spent most of the time in front of it and when he was not, he was talking about it. And days turned to weeks.
Just when we were thinking it was making a speedy recovery, it started decreasing the number of grains it ate. My mother spent her free time during the day trying to feed it. But it ate less and less everyday. We were all worried about it and my mother would try explaining my brother that it may be difficult for the bird to make it. He just refused to listen and patiently sat with his palm spread in front of it, hoping it would eat. It always ate from his palm, but little.
One day when we came back from school, my mother told us that the pigeon hasn't moved all day. She tried feeding it but it didn't flinch. It didn't even sip water. She didn't have to tell my brother. He took a few grains and ran to it. The pigeon lay still. First I thought it had died. But then when my brother started cooing, it opened its eyes. We all stood watching as he put his palm open with grains, in the tub.
With lots of difficulty, it stood up on its feet. It took a few steps towards him, pecked in two grains and gently put its head on his palm. Tears rolled out of my brother's eyes and down to his cheeks. Whoever said "bird brain" for dumb people must be dumb themselves. Now may be we should use "pigeon heart" for someone with a huge heart.
We buried it in our backyard in the middle of the garden and my brother planted a rose plant over it. To this day he waters it and cares for it. And every blood-red rose that springs up on that plant tells a tale of compassion, of care, of gratitude, of an amazing friendship and of love.