The Last Moringa Flower

The Last Moringa Flower

“Tell me a story about before the earth dried up, and before life faded!”  Chirped a young boy, sitting on a hard slab of wood in a small, earthen hut. Shakily standing over a boiling pot of water, was a withered old woman. “Alright, Vihaan.” The old woman agreed with a forlorn look in her wrinkled eyes as she began the story.

“Quite a time ago, when the trees grew bountiful fruit, flowers burst from rich soil, and life bloomed everywhere, there lived a prince named Aarav, who lived in a kingdom in the Himalayan foothills.  Everywhere Aarav went, nature followed.  It was legend to all that Aarav carried the power of life.  There was a kind girl in a nearby kingdom named Moringa, who was as beautiful and delicate as a velveteen rose. One day, while Aarav was on a trip to her kingdom, she caught his eye. Instantly they fell in love, and for awhile life in the kingdom was as plentiful and beautiful as ever. In Moringa’s honor, Aarav created a beautiful flower named moringa.  

Despite good times, and Moringa’s love for the prince, she missed her family dearly. Moringa begged Aarav to let her to see her family, but Aarav refused, saying that if she left, he would die of heartache.  Of course, like any sensible person would, Moringa thought Aarav was lying, and left immediately, only pausing to pluck one moringa blossom from a tree.  Within the hour of her departure, dreary clouds covered the kingdom’s sky like a shroud.

Eventually, realizing Moringa was gone, the prince whispered his last words, “nature’s balance can be disturbed by the smallest ant to the largest lion,” as he lay on the bed, dying of true heartache. Instantly, the kingdom grew as dry and lifeless as anything could be, and stayed that way until this day.”

The story’s spell was broken as the old woman revealed a shriveled flower in her palm. She looked Vihaan in the eye and croaked, tears running down her wrinkled face, “This is the last moringa blossom, and I am Moringa.”