The Old Man and his Nightingale

This is a story that I have narrated to quite a few already. I still think a version of this story on this blog would be a great addition. Inspired from a story I once read somewhere... ...

_________________________________


Far away in a quiet, forested land, an old man lived in solitude with his pet friend - a white nightingale who sang the most beautiful melody across all lands. The nightingale loved the old man for his gentle soul and kind treatment. The old man loved his friend for the unwavering company it provided.

Every morning, the old man would hang the cage of the white nightingale on a low branch of the apple tree outside his door. The nightingale would sing. Then, he would lay down on a chair by the patio, immersing his soul into the melodious chirping.

One day, the old man's granddaughter came for a visit. She saw the caged bird became sorrowful.

"Grandfather, why do you lock such a beautiful bird in a sad cage?"

"Because I love my nightingale and he loves me too. If the cage is opened, he will fly away from me forever. " the old man replied.

The little girl as innocent and naive as she was, replied," But grandfather, if the white nightingale loves you too, why would he fly away and never come back?"

The old man was stumped.. He had never placed himself in the position of his pet. It had been tyranny that kept the bird with him. He was sad. It was a test. His fingers were shaking as he unlatched the door. It was really the final test.

Once the hook was free, the nightingale took to the air. Freedom lashed about his wings and he flew further and further and further away. The old man waited till there was only a speck of gold in the air, but the nightingale never flew back... ...

The old man waited everyday by the patio. At dawn when the light rose, he would be searching the skies for any faint glimmer of hope but it was always disheartening.

A year..

Two years..

Three years later..

A chirp. It was definitely a chirp, no, many chirps.. The old man was feeble and slow but he rushed to the window. Perched on the low branch, his old friend - the white nightingale; and there was another. A pair of white nightingales nestled against each other, singing that familiar old song. The old man laughed and cried.