‘Love is like a beautiful flower which I may not touch, but whose fragrance makes the garden a place of delight just the same.’
– Helen Keller (1880-1968); an American author, lecturer, and activist. She was deaf and blind at the age of 19 months due to an illness, yet she went on to achieve great accomplishments.
Like many families in our farming community, a young couple, Dom and Dina, split their time between the village and a cosy farmhouse on the edge of a wetland a few miles away. They did this to save time and energy from commuting on foot daily.
Their farmhouse was extra serene because there was a lovely pond nearby where white lilies grew in all seasons. If you have never before paid close attention to lilies, let me paint you a picture.
Picture this: at the top of a stem, there’s a single, elegant flower unfolding its petals like a delicate masterpiece. The flower is a study in contrasts, with its pure white petals gently curving outward, forming a perfect cup shape.
Every petal displays delicate patterns reminiscent of gentle brushstrokes in shades of faint yellow or gentle pink, enhancing its beauty with depth and intricacy.
Bees and butterflies from all around visited the pond, flitting from one flower to another, unknowingly pollinating them and ensuring the species’ survival. Dina wasn’t aware of this, but if she did, she’d probably thank the insects. She was drawn to the blossoms by their beauty and sweet, intoxicating fragrance.
Dina adored the flowers so much that without fail, as a kind of ritual, she’d start their time on the farm each season by uprooting a whole plant and transplanting it into a large earthen jar which, with its wide mouth, was a perfect home for the water-dwelling beauties. Positioned at a comfortable height in their front yard garden, the jar filled with lilies became the focal point of their home.
The story of the jar was as unique as their love story. Dom got it from a Chinese trader, whose shop was among a row of provision stores at Mile 27, Kuching-Serian Road (now part of the Pan Borneo Highway). Getting to the shop was no piece of cake. There was no road accessible by vehicle. What they did was traverse miles of winding jungle paths.
But Dom, fuelled by love, wasn’t deterred by the challenges. He and a trusted friend carried the cumbersome jar suspended from a bamboo pole between them. Their efforts weren’t driven by necessity but by love. Dom was committed to Dina’s happiness.
A patient man, Dom frequently dedicated his leisure hours to caring for the pond, ensuring its waters remained free of wild grass and vines while fostering the growth of several lilies.
During the annual paddy planting period, they’d stay on the farm from the second half of the year until the harvest season in the first quarter of the following year.
Now, you might be wondering what kind of person Dina was. Was she a good person? Was she pretty? Was she a loving wife? Well, she was all those things and more.
If I were to describe her in one sentence, I’d say she was as pretty as her lilies. As a child of the 1950s and 1960s, that was what I thought, and as I grew up, I realised I wasn’t wrong. The adults around me said the same.
So, meet Dina, a vision of elegance and grace, whose beauty matched the delicate lilies that bloomed in her peaceful pond. Her flowing dark brown (almost black) hair cascaded down her back, while her hazel eyes shimmered and mirrored the gentle ripples of her beloved pond. Her skin, kissed by the sun and adorned with a dusting of freckles, radiated a natural glow like the morning dew that glistened on the lily pads.
Dina loved her lilies with a passion as she tended to her garden whenever she was free from other tasks, nurturing the plants with tender care and admiration.
Around her farmhouse were several smaller jars strategically placed for maximum impact, but that one large jar was the centrepiece. The smaller earthen pots brimmed with blooms, their petals unfurling in a harmony of colours and fragrances that mirrored Dina’s vibrant spirit.
Her connection to the lilies ran deep, and she was often found among them, her laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft lapping of water in the pond. It was as if she was one with the serene beauty of her surroundings, a living embodiment of the tranquillity and grace that defined her.
People were drawn to Dina like bees to nectar, enchanted by her beauty and captivated by her serene demeanour. They affectionately referred to her as the “Lily of the Pond”, a fitting tribute to her enchanting allure and her devotion to the water beauties that brought her so much joy.
Beyond her outward beauty was her inner beauty that truly set her apart. Kind-hearted and compassionate, she possessed a rare empathy that allowed her to see the beauty in others and nurture it with gentle encouragement and support.
Around the time I grew close to Dom and Dina in the first half of the 1960s when I was a primary school boy, they had been married for about ten or so years but had no children. My mother said Dina kept having miscarriages, which was said to be quite common among several other women in her family lineage.
Tragedy struck one fateful day when Dina fell gravely ill after one of her miscarriages and eventually succumbed to her illness. Dom’s world crumbled. He mourned the loss of his beloved wife, her absence a constant ache in his heart. Yet, amidst his grief, he found solace in the memories tied to the lilies in the pond. In honour of Dina’s love for the lilies, he continued to take care of them.
Time and again, Dom found himself drawn back to the lily pond, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of nature. But with each visit, the sight of the lilies served as a painful reminder of his loss, their delicate petals serving as silent witnesses to his heartache.
Loneliness settled over Dom like a heavy shroud, weighing down his spirit as he wandered the paths around his farm, his footsteps echoing in the spaces left empty by Dina’s absence. The lilies seemed to follow everywhere he went, their pristine blooms haunting his every thought.
As the seasons changed and the lilies faded and bloomed anew, Dom’s yearning for Dina never ceased. Although she was gone, he clung to the memories they had shared.
In the quiet moments of dusk, when the world was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, Dom would sit by the lily pond, his heart heavy with longing. He would sit in silence, his gaze fixed on the still waters, searching for some semblance of peace amidst the turmoil of his emotions.
As he watched the lilies in the jars and pond, their petals swaying in the gentle breeze, Dom found solace in their timeless beauty for, although his beloved Dina was no more, the lilies remained steadfast and unchanging.
As the sun set one warm Friday evening, my father and I found Dom sitting on a log bench in his roofed gazebo overlooking the lily pond. We were on a night fishing trip and were heading for a narrow strip of swamp just beyond the southern side of Dom’s paddy farm.
Looking forlorn, his shoulders were slumped and his gaze downcast. On his face were lines of worry and he seemed to lack energy in his movements. He carried a weight in his demeanor, exuding a tangible aura of inner turmoil or sorrow.
We greeted him and Father asked whether it would be alright for us to accompany him for a while. He brightened up a bit and proceeded to pour us some tea. A few minutes into our conversation, judging by Father’s words and body language, I knew that our fishing trip was over before it began. He did not have the heart to leave no matter how good the excuse was.
Years passed, and life beckoned once more. Dom found himself drawn to the warmth of a new companionship. He found another woman, Intu, who understood the depths of his loss and the significance of the lilies in his life. Their first child was a daughter and Dom named her Lily in appreciation of the love he had lost and the love he had found anew.
Sixty or so years on, whenever I look back at my interactions with the couple, whose farm was perhaps a mile upstream of ours, I tend to think of their love, loss, and renewal against the backdrop of nature’s timeless beauty.
To me, Dina’s connection to the lilies is a symbol of grace and resilience. Dom, in turn, embodies great devotion and tender care, particularly evident in his ritualistic tending to the lilies and his silent tribute to Dina’s memory after her passing.
Putting myself in the position of the reader, I see some possible takeaways. Firstly, the reader could embrace the beauty of nature as the “Lily of the Pond” highlights the healing power of nature and encourages making connections with the natural world.
Secondly, Dom’s constant devotion to Dina reminds us to treasure the relationships that enrich our lives and express our love and gratitude to those we hold dear.
His journey through grief ultimately leads to a deeper appreciation for life and a newfound sense of purpose in caring for the lilies and nurturing new relationships.
As the writer, I use the “Lily of the Pond” to invite you the reader to reflect on the themes of love, loss, and renewal, urging you to find solace in nature, cherish your relationships, and embrace the potential for growth and healing even in the darkest of times.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
