Chiaroscuro
O. O. O.
In a suicide tree growing along the banks of the Kaveri River, a dove and a raven came to land on its branches at the exact same moment. It was a sunny day, so neither could pretend that they hadn’t seen each other. They both perched there quietly for a few moments, turning their heads around to see if a distraction was nearby. However, finding none, they at last looked one another in the eye.
DOVE: Hello, friend. What are you doing here?
RAVEN: I’m looking to get my talons on an othalanga fruit, so I can taste its juice and off myself. What about you?
DOVE: Just the same, as it so happens. May I ask why?
RAVEN: Why I want to die?
DOVE: Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. Wait, no actually, it pays to be specific: I’m not interested in why you’d like to die; I’d like to know why you want to kill yourself. Does that make sense?
RAVEN: Sure. I don’t mind telling you either. I’m rather bored. There’s nothing much for a bird to do at my age – eat, sleep, have sex, start a family, die. Where’s the romance, y’know?
DOVE: Some would say that life’s modest treasures are all the romance a person needs.
RAVEN: Consolations from those who have never known wonder to reweave destiny. What about you, why do you want to kill yourself?
DOVE: I’m a sacrifice. Once I eat an othalanga fruit and die in the ceremonial grounds up in the hills, the harvest will be ensured to be prosperous. It brings me great satisfaction, to know that my death will be of service to others.
RAVEN: And what grants you the knowledge that your convictions are not misplaced?
DOVE: Why, a sense of romance, of course.
The two of them laughed vigorously together for quite a while. Afterwards, they rested on the tree branch until the sun began to set beneath the horizon. As twilight fell, they helped each other snap off an othalanga fruit from its stem, and with a final farewell, flew away into the sky in opposite directions, careful not to drop their precious demise.
This is one more shape of joy.
(And yet, even when seeing themselves in each other, neither raven nor dove realised that what they’d truly flown in search of was the path to life’s transformation.)
The fable closes.
About the author
I am a pseudonymous writer based in the north of England specialising in surrealist- influenced prose fiction, with my interests ranging from contemporary literary fiction, translation and international experience, science-fiction and magical realism, and most prominently, short stories of any format or subject matter. I consider the greatest quality a writer can have to be the knowledge of how little they know.