The Purple Flower

Just like any other evening in the quiet, mist-covered valleys of Tibet, 13-year-old Dodjee walked towards the woods to gather firewood. It was his usual chore, nothing out of the ordinary. He lived with his father near a small village on the edge of a monastery, where the distant sound of monks' chants echoed through the mountains. Life was simple—though not exactly easy. His father worked as a daily labourer, just scraping by. Dodjee’s mother had passed away when he was very young, leaving behind nothing but memories of her warm smile and soft voice. Every night before bed, Dodjee would talk to her in his thoughts, imagining she was still there beside him. It was his way of keeping her close, even though she was long gone.

That evening, as the last light of day faded, his father once again asked him to gather firewood from the nearby woods. Dodjee didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed the quiet solitude of the forest. His thoughts would drift, and at times, it felt as if his mother’s presence lingered with him, comforting him in the stillness. With his old axe in hand, he set off towards the trees, the path ahead as familiar as his own heartbeat.

He was deep in thought when a strange noise caught his attention. He heard a noise from the bushes, but it didn’t sound like the usual forest sounds. Dodjee paused, looked closely into the shadows. Was it an animal? Maybe a wild boar or a deer? There were plenty of them around here, but this… this was different.

He looked closer. Through the trees, he saw a man. Or rather, a figure. A monk. His face glowed with an almost otherworldly light, his features soft yet filled with a quiet power. The monk was staring right at him, his smile serene, as if he was expecting Dodjee.

For a moment, Dodjee just stood there, frozen. Was he dreaming? Or maybe seeing things?

Not sure what else to do, Dodjee did what felt natural—he bowed. "Who are you, sir?" he asked, his voice unsure but respectful.

The monk didn’t speak at first, but then, he smiled again and pointed into the distance, toward the woods. Then, as if he’d never been there at all, the monk vanished into thin air.

Dodjee blinked. What just happened? Was it his imagination playing tricks on him? He quickly gathered the sticks he needed and hurried back home, his heart still pounding. When he told his father, he simply shook his head.

"You and your never-ending stories," he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "Probably just a monk from the monastery passing by, nothing to worry about."

But Dodjee wasn’t convinced. That feeling in his chest—it wasn’t just a story. There was something strange going on. That night, as his father slept, Dodjee couldn’t shake the need to find out what the monk had meant. He had to see where the monk pointed. What was out there?

As quietly as he could, Dodjee slipped out of bed. Sheru, the stray dog who always slept outside their hut, got up and followed him, wagging his tail. It was late, but Dodjee didn’t care. He grabbed a lamp, carefully holding it in his hand, and started toward the direction the monk had pointed. Sheru hurried along beside him, his paws light on the ground.

The moonlight was dim, casting long shadows over the path. After a while, Dodjee saw something—a soft, flickering light in the distance. His pulse quickened. It looked like a small hut, far away, tucked in between the trees.

Sheru barked, as if sensing Dodjee’s nervousness, but the boy pressed on, his heart racing. He moved faster now, drawn to the light. Before he knew it, he was standing right in front of the hut.

The monk was sitting there, still glowing softly in the dark, his eyes closed in deep meditation. Dodjee’s breath caught. He was finally here.

"Hello?" Dodjee called out hesitantly, his voice shaking slightly.

The monk opened his eyes slowly, locking his gaze with Dodjee’s. Then, with a calm smile, the monk raised his hand, silently inviting Dodjee in. Dodjee glanced around—Sheru was right beside him, still wagging his tail, but not showing signs of fear. Taking a deep breath, Dodjee stepped forward, pushing the curtain aside and entering the hut.

Inside was simple, with just a few mats and candles casting soft light. The monk sat down again, and this time, Dodjee sat too, nervous but curious.

And then the monk spoke- “Your mother says hi.”

The words hit Dodjee like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. “What? How do you know my mother? Where is she? Have you seen her?” he stammered, barely able to contain his confusion and excitement.

The monk’s face softened with a gentle smile. “You will get all your answers, young one, but first, you must complete a task.”

“A task?” Dodjee asked, confused. “What task?”

The monk’s smile didn’t fade. “There is a temple at the top of the northern hill. You must go there and find the purple flower that blooms only tonight. But be warned—there are dangers on the way. Lions, snakes, and wild animals roam the path. If you succeed, you will have your answers.”

Dodjee’s heart raced. A journey full of dangers? Lions? Snakes? The things that terrified him the most? He didn’t know if he was ready, but the idea of speaking to his mother again—of understanding what had happened—was too important to pass up.

“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice more determined than he felt.

Sheru barked as if to say, I’m with you, and Dodjee nodded. They were in this together.

The journey ahead wasn’t easy. The first obstacle was a wide river, its waters teeming with crocodiles. Dodjee stared at the water, feeling his stomach churn. Sheru barked and darted ahead, leading the way to a large log. Dodjee, heart pounding, carefully stepped onto the log, holding his breath as he crossed. Sheru stayed close, his eyes alert.

The path didn’t get easier. There were howls in the distance—the unmistakable growls of lions. Dodjee’s legs wobbled with fear, but Sheru was there, his presence a constant reassurance. And then, Dodjee stepped on a snake. He froze. His breath caught in his throat, but Sheru lunged forward, scaring the snake away. With shaking legs but newfound courage, Dodjee pressed on.

After what felt like hours, Dodjee finally reached the top of the hill. He looked around, scanning the moonlit area. And there it was, glowing in the darkness—a single, perfect purple flower. It shimmered like something out of a dream, planted there for this exact moment.

Dodjee carefully plucked the flower, a sense of victory flooding him. Sheru sniffed around, wagging his tail as if he too felt proud. With the flower in his hand, Dodjee turned and ran downhill, faster than he ever thought possible, the fear that once held him back now gone.

By the time he reached the hut, he could hardly believe how fast he had made it back. He barged in, the excitement bubbling over. But when he looked around, the monk was gone. Dodjee felt betrayed.

Confused, Dodjee’s eyes landed on a letter on the floor, where the monk had sat. His hands shook as he picked it up and opened it quickly.

“Hello, Dodjee. Today, you have become the boy I always wanted you to be—intelligent, fearless, and kind. I came to prepare you for the journey of life. Now you know how to deal with your worries and anxieties. If you ever feel stuck, this is where I live. With love, your mother.”

Dodjee’s eyes welled up with tears, his breath catching in his throat. His heart pounded, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something else—something deep and tender like a piece of him had been healed.

Just then, he heard his father’s voice from outside, calling him.

“Dodjee! Dodjee! Wake up! You’ll be late for school again!”

Dodjee blinked, his heart racing. He sat up in bed, confused. The letter was gone, his hand empty. His heart pounded in his chest as the realization slowly settled in.

It was all a dream.

or, Was it?

For a long moment, Dodjee sat still, staring at the empty space where the letter had been, wondering if the monk was real—or if he had just been a figure of his imagination. He didn’t know. But one thing was certain: Dodjee felt different now. Stronger. Ready to face whatever life threw his way.

Just when he thought he'd found the strength to move on, his fingers brushed something—beneath his pillow, there it was again: "The Purple Flower"!!