Lal sat silently beside the red window. Outside, the sound of rain filled the air — he could tell it was raining heavily. The rain stirred a childhood memory.
When he was five or six years old, his mother had told him that on the day he was born, it had rained fiercely as well. She had stood by the hospital window, looking outside. The hospital had been filled with all kinds of sounds — some people laughing, some crying — a mixture of voices that filled the atmosphere. His mother had also told him that she disliked hospitals.
Back then, a long-suppressed question in Lal's heart finally escaped his lips. He asked his mother,
"Mom… why did you name me Lal?"
After hearing her answer, he fell silent. Then his father said to him,
"Your mother's favorite flower is the red lotus. She wished that if she had a daughter, she would name her 'Padma'. But since you were born a son, she named you after her favorite color — red."
Lal then asked his father,
"Father… what is red like?"
His father, Nesaruddin, truly wanted to say:
"As long as you do not see it with your own eyes, you will never understand the beauty of red."
But he did not say it. Hearing his son's question, he remained silent.
Then Lal's mother, Naima Begum, spoke softly,
"Very soon, you will know. Now eat your food, Lal."
Nearly ten years had passed, yet the question had never left Lal's mind. It still circled endlessly in his thoughts. He wanted to know what red truly was. Why was the red lotus his mother's favorite flower?
With a heavy heart, he sat listening to the rain. Each raindrop felt like part of an unknown song being created. He wanted to understand this world, to see it, to feel it. He wanted to merge those raindrops into a song of meaning. He wanted to live his life — but he felt incapable.
He could hear the birds, but he could not perceive their beauty. He wanted to see their beauty — but he was unable.
So he sat silently, accepting his own helplessness. He knew that nothing in this world lasts forever. Perhaps even this helplessness would one day disappear. With that hope, he remained seated.
Just then, his mother called out to him,
"Lal, your friend Shahriar has come."
Shahriar was a calm-natured boy. His father owned a shoe business. They had recently moved into the house next to Lal's. A close friendship had already formed between them.
Shahriar took Lal for a walk by the riverbank. Whenever Shahriar was with Lal, he described the surroundings to him in detail. Lal loved this.
Shahriar said,
"Do you know, Lal? This riverbank is full of diversity."
Lal didn't understand and asked,
"What kind of diversity?"
Shahriar replied,
"Every person's happiness and sorrow is mixed into this riverbank. Look — that newlywed couple over there. You can tell they've just married. Their life of happiness begins on this riverbank. And I've also seen people whose happiness once began here — but after losing the ones they loved, they still come and sit by this same river."
Lal said,
"That's diversity of human life, not diversity of the riverbank."
Shahriar smiled and answered,
"I knew you would say that. Yes, it is human diversity — but these emotions merge with the river's waves and the sweet twilight light. The twilight glow and the river's waves blend into human feelings and become one. Then everyone can feel the river, feel the dusk. That is the diversity of the riverbank. To each person, the river is different — that is its diversity, Lal."
Then Shahriar said,
"Come on, forget it. Let's go have some tea at that shop."
They went to a tea stall. While drinking tea, Shahriar said,
"You know, Lal — the man who served us tea opens his shop at dawn and closes it at night. He spends his entire life beside this river. So many people come and go. Everyone carries a different life. No one's life matches another's. That is the beauty of the world — the beauty of people, the beauty of life."
Lal said nothing. He drank his tea silently. His heart felt heavy with sorrow. He wanted to feel so many things, but he was incapable. At that moment, he thought —
*If I died right now, wouldn't it be better?*
A question formed in his mind:
*Is there any way to know when death will come?*
Seeing Lal's sadness, Shahriar understood the situation. He said gently,
"Lal, what you need now is to learn how to enjoy life. You must learn to enjoy every moment of it."
Lal replied,
"How is it possible to enjoy every moment of life? Life has so many bad times. How can anyone enjoy those?"
Shahriar answered,
"When someone passes through a bad time, they cannot enjoy it. But when that time passes and good days come, they realize — without that bad time, they would never understand the value of the good one. If everything were always good, no one would ever feel goodness. Then, even in memory, you will learn to appreciate that bad time. And Lal… I truly wish that one day, you will be able to see this beautiful red sun."
Lal asked,
"Shahriar… what is 'red' really like?"
Shahriar replied,
"Red is warmth."
Lal asked,
"Does it have a scent?"
Shahriar answered,
"Yes. Do you want to smell it?"
Lal replied,
"Yes. I do."
Shahriar said,
"Then finish your tea. We'll go to the river."
They finished their tea and went to the riverbank. Shahriar picked up a sharp stone and said,
"Lal, give me your hand."
Lal did.
Shahriar cut Lal's hand with the stone.
Lal screamed in pain.
Shahriar said calmly,
"To obtain what you desire, you must endure some pain, Lal."
Then he said,
"Bring your wounded hand close to your nose."
Lal did.
He smelled the fresh scent of blood.
Shahriar said,
"This… is the scent of red."
---
"That Day A Butterfly Was Born"
The scent felt strange to Lal. He knew he had smelled it many times before — but he could not remember where. He had never noticed it this deeply.
But today, he understood.
This was the scent of red.
He knew he would never forget it.
And he had already decided that this would be his favorite scent — even though he did not know whether it truly was his favorite… or not.