The Flowering Girl

by Shivangi Srivastav

PROLOGUE
“It’s going to be okay, Nal.” My mom rubs my back. Her hand harshly travels up and down
my back like she’s trying to beat a washed cloth. My heart is beating wildly in my chest like
it’s going to burst out of my throat any minute now. I gently slide her hand down to my waist,
her warm hands too hot under the touch of my shivering, cold hands as I focus on my
breathing. “I’m okay now,” I try to convince her but the hitch in my voice betrays my words.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m here for you.” My mom kisses my forehead and holds me closer so she
can wrap her arms around me, “Do you want me to tell you a story? You like stories.”
“Yes,” I agree. You’re never too old for stories. The memory of me listening to my mom’s
stories and made-up lullabies flashes before my eyes and for a second, I let myself feel like
it’s okay. That nothing is wrong. It’s like I’ve gone back in time when I wasn’t like this. I was
innocent. But how can she still be so kind to me after knowing what I’ve done?
I silently thank her for starting before I acknowledge the heaviness at the pit of my stomach.
Maybe this was all supposed to happen. Maybe this story will tell me why. God, I hope that
there’s some good in this that I can’t see right now.
“Your Nani used to tell me this story when your father and I were trying for a baby. This was
before you were born, obviously. This story was about a flowering girl who could grow
magical pink tulips on her hair.
“These were not ordinary tulips either. In fact, they gave her the power to smell people’s
intentions just by getting a whiff of their energy, like one smells the fragrance of a flower.
People used to say that she loved herself so much and held such high standards for herself
that God had ordained her with the power to protect herself from people and their bad
intentions by giving her these flowers. For it may be difficult for one to love but it’s even
harder to love oneself.”
“Deep.” I whisper. I think about myself and just for one second, I feel wronged. I feel like I
should say something in my defence and I have many arguments but every time I open my
mouth, I remember what’s really true.
“Yeah, not just that but those flowers had other powers too.” Mom’s voice drags me back to
the present, “Those tulips gave her the power to be one of the greatest natural empaths. The
more she loved herself, the more she became happy in her own life which made her want to
help others and make their lives better too. She became a healer eventually. She was believed
to be a human Goddess who later on passed her instinctive and empathetic healing powers
down to females, mothers in particular.”
“So, she was real? This is a true story?”
“I don’t know. To be honest, at times I used to feel like your Nani was just talking about
herself. She was a lot like this flowering girl that she told me about. So, I don’t know if it’s
true or something she made up to get me through that phase when I wasn’t getting pregnant. I
haven’t heard anyone else talk about this flowering girl, just your grandmom.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting is that the night before I found out that I was pregnant with you, I had this
dream. It was your Nani talking to a girl with long shiny black hair and pink tulips wreathing
her head…”
“The flowering girl?” The disbelief in my voice saying it all.
Mom nods, “Your grandmom said, ‘I knew my daughter would have a baby after 10 years, so
what if I’m not there. I know you’ll take care of her. Thank you so much, Goddess. I thank
you for I had asked for a grandson, and you gave me a granddaughter. I’ll forever be
grateful.”
I knew my mouth was open but I didn’t care. I couldn’t seem to believe it. “You’re joking,
right? You actually saw that?”
“I couldn’t believe it either. But then you showed up in my belly and you made me fall in
love with myself. It was a sign. The flowering girl’s sign to me. I started taking care of
myself, I started eating well, sleeping well and you were the same. Just like your Nani and a
lot like the flowering girl. You were always so in love with yourself and everyone around
you…You were so happy all the time and so helpful, you lovely child.”
Tears begin to brim my eyes. My mom doesn’t know my whole truth. She wouldn’t say this if
she knew what really happened. What I had done. “Mom-“ I begin to say, in the hope that this
time I won’t lie.
My mom shushes me like I’m a baby, “You were such a sweetie pie, do you remember what
you used to tell guests when they used to come visit us? You used to give them a written note
with our address and our landline phone number, saying that if they ever wanted help, they
could call you. Don’t you remember that at all?”
I bow my head down because I can’t bear to hold my tears or the loving look on my mother’s
face any longer.
“I don’t know why you were so obsessed with helping people all the time. Even strangers!
You loved yourself and you loved everyone and everything, and that’s why everyone adored
you. That was another sign. You were the sign. After that, I couldn’t help believing in the
story of the flowering girl.”
I smile, my eyes pooling and turned away from mom so that she doesn’t see. But I know that
won’t last long. Nothing gets past mothers. “Thank you for telling me this story.” I tell her,
my heart full.
“That’s why I named you Nalini.” She says and I look at her with a puzzled face when she
explains, “You’re named after the tulips that the flowering girl used to wear in her hair.”
“Oh.”
“You know why I told you this story?”
I look up at her and wait for her to tell me.
“I didn’t know at the time why your Nani was telling me this story either. But I guess I know
now. At that time, I was really struggling to love myself. But when you came into my life, I
found love because you were filled with love. But look at you now.”
I frown. “I’m not-”
“You’re so harsh on yourself all the time, and I want you to know, this isn’t your fault. It’s the
society. The Flowering Girl gave us, women, these powers of instinct and empathy and
healing but we forgot about them and chose to not believe in it because from a young age,
women have been told to be less. Be small. Be kind…and you’re so kind! Sometimes I worry
that you’re kind to everyone but yourself.”
I looked down at my sweaty hands that were now cold and dry as ice and rub them on my
pants, trying to warm them up. I’m hard to myself because I can’t let myself slip up again.
“Mom,” I hold my breath. “I lied to you.”
My mom doesn’t say anything.
I release the sob choking me and the tears start falling down like never before. “I lied to you
when I said that I sent that man on the internet my photos by mistake…” I look at my mom,
waiting for her to respond. She doesn’t say anything. “He asked for it. He told me that he
wanted to know what I look like. I thought he is a friend...”
I stop speaking. She won’t believe me. She knows I’m making excuses. She knows me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, rubbing my back again.
“You’re safe now, beta. But what I don’t understand is why didn’t you tell me before.”
I look at her, my face hot in her hands that are now pooling with my tears as they cup my jaw,
knowing that she will not believe me. “I forgot.”