My eyes fell on the prickly cactus on my balcony. Fleshy, bulbous, and very prickly, but so very undemanding. Was it my imagination, or was there a glistening drop of moisture trembling at the end of a spine – a teardrop perhaps? And then the cactus spoke.

Long, long ago…

“A desert is where I was born. But it wasn’t always a parched land. The whole family would sit around my grandfather as he recited tales he had heard from his own grandfather—of a land of greenery, a land of plenty. A land of water, and trees and shade. Then the river shrank, its water slowed to a trickle and then it dried. Entire families died. They withered slowly, starting from the tip of their leaves till their limbs became emaciated dry sticks. The landscape, once green and verdant, turned into shades of brown and dingy yellow; the soil was bare, the air dusty. The wind blew mercilessly, bringing in swirling grainy sand.

But we weren’t ready to die. We wanted to live. To survive. We couldn’t leave as the animals and birds did, for we had been given no legs to walk and no wings to fly. We were rooted there, at that one spot. This was our home. A home that had been devastated, but it was the only home we had.

The transformation

We stayed. We learnt to do with less. Much less. The scarce drops of life-giving water that came our way, we conserved and hoarded. We shed our limbs and glossy foliage, beautiful as they were, for there was no room for vanity. Our tender leaves transformed into the prickly spines that you now see. Ugly, yes, but they served their purpose. They were undemanding and frugal and protected us— the few animals that remained were desperate for a nibble of green. But we could no longer give them food, or shelter or shade. And thus we came to be known as ‘the prickly cactus’ disliked and shunned by all.

The summer heat almost shrivelled and starved us, but we lived. And finally, came the life-giving rain. We gathered up all we could greedily, swiftly, thirstily. But with our leaves gone, we needed to find ways of making and storing the reserves of food and water we would need for the long, tough months ahead. Our bodies were all we had. They grew misshapen and thick, grotesquely so! Bulbous, ridged, swollen and deformed. And covered all over with those prickly spines.

Then came the humans

But we needed them more than ever. For there came the rampaging humans—always on the lookout for what they could get from others. They cut me down to protect their cattle, their meagre farm holdings, and their dwellings. They ate my young tender flesh, picked my juicy berries, made intoxicating beverages out of the food we stored in our trunks. They found that brilliant cochineal dye on the insects that swarmed on me.

Those were the ‘natives’. Then came those they called ‘the conquerers’. They gawked at us in amazement; they had never seen monstrous ‘plants’ like us before. They marvelled at our unique shapes, they were fascinated by how we lived. They uprooted some of us and took us back to their homes—frigid lands of rain and fog and snow. They called us ‘exotic’, they made special arrangements to keep us warm and comfortable. We travelled every corner of the the world. From the wilderness of the desert to the luxury of hothouses and terrariums, it has been a long journey indeed!

A prized bloom

There are some who still don’t look beyond our prickly exteriors. But, for those who spare the time to get to know us, we have a prized secret deep within us. Inside our misshapen and twisted bodies we nurture some of the most beautiful blooms known to man. Vivid, bright, even flamboyant; they light up our lives and those of others. More precious still because they appear but once a year, and die so very soon.”

So saying, the prickly cactus bloomed.