The Garden of Colours 

A while ago, in a black and white town, there lived a girl who liked gardening.

Wen I say black and white, I mean it in the literal sense of the word. The town had only the two tones.

Its streets were black and buildings, white. The sun was a faded white and the moon, a blackish dot in the sky. The people, both black and white and they were a gay lot. Now that’s something for us to learn, huh? The clothes, cutlery and cars were white and the animals and birds were black.
And the flowers too.
The girl loved her garden very much and she tended to every bud, leaf and sapling with the care a mother would bestow upon her newborn. Everyday, they brought her a two-toned happiness. Something that no person had brought her.

She had her share of suitors a few years prior, for though her beauty wasn’t remarkable, it was desirable. And these suitors walked out the door the moment they glimpsed the dirt caked nails and the raven hair or rather the raven nest of a hair.
Feminity, was not clothed in rags and dusty aprons.
But she paid them no mind. Afterall, any sort of an attraction towards the masculine, crumbled to indifference over time. Or that was what she grew up to believe. And that was what fuelled her compassion for the other kind of living: the plants.
As much as she lived to see a bud bloom, the girl was tired of viewing the interior blackness of a flower. She wished things were different. That each bloom would open to reveal something marvelous and unexpected. Something new and warm.
One morning, while she tended to her roses, she noticed something odd right away. There was something amidst the roses. Something that she had no words for. But when she saw it, she knew that it was the warmth she was looking for.

Atop the black stem, sat what looked like a rose. A rose that wasn’t black. Or even white.
It was what the girl soon came to call, Yellow.
She cradled the fresh bloom in her palms, gently, like a fragile creature that could disappear anytime. She studied it in awe, memorizing every detail, never wanting to forget this once in a lifetime occurrence.
And that day, happiness came in three tones.

The next week, it was four and the week after that, it was five until one day, the girl had a million flowers of varying colours.

That was what she had come to call them.
People flocked in large numbers to her garden. They were as much in awe as the girl when they let their eyes lay on the plethora of colours. Never had they sighted such a phenomenon. They all returned to their lives, telling awestruck tales about the Garden of Colour.
Many years later, when the girl reached the end of her life, she couldn’t tend to her garden. Her flowers were dying. But one night, she had a dream. A coloured dream. Of colours given life. When she woke up the next morning, she set out to do just that. Give life to her plants. Her colours. To make her Garden beautiful by restoring it, to its glorious, coloured self.
And one day, she achieved the impossible.
She spread all the colour.
Overnight, the world was colourful in various hues of blue, green and red and all over the world, a million hands were raising their windows to peer at a changed world in utter astonishment. People went crazy with joy looking at the sky, the grass and most of all, rainbows.
And that day, the entire world flocked to the girl’s Garden and thanked her.
For brining them happiness in a million tones.


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