Lotus fragrance...

(Baonghean) - This is lotus season, and in my hometown, the lotus ponds are probably in the harvesting season. The lotus ponds are vast, seven ponds surrounding the village, and they look very beautiful. So, every lotus season, my whole village seems to be infused with fragrance.

Waking up in the morning, opening the door wide lets the sunlight and the fragrant scent of lotus flowers flood into the house, creating a strangely peaceful and serene feeling. My grandmother often sits by the bamboo bench, chewing betel nut, gazing out at the lotus pond with a melancholic look in her eyes. I tease her, "Are you missing Grandpa?" She laughs and says, "Oh, my dear, I'm old now, what's there to miss? But in the old days, every lotus season, Grandpa would row his boat at dawn, picking lotus buds for me to use in tea." She sighs, her breath so fragile, and I suddenly feel a pang of longing for her lotus seasons…

The lotus ponds in my hometown have remained unchanged for years. The lotuses bloom and then wither, their season ending, leaving behind a desolate sight of lonely white egrets in the pond. During the lotus season, I often swam in the pond with my friends, inhaling the refreshing fragrance. Sometimes, on cool days, I would row a boat out to the middle of the pond and take a peaceful nap. I wouldn't return until my grandmother sent my cousin out to call me. Later, as a young woman, I no longer dared to sleep in the lotus pond, but there was always a large vase of lotus flowers by the window near my bed. The girls from my village were known wherever they went, their hair fragrant with the scent of lotus blossoms, easily captivating hearts. They would delicately brew a pot of tea infused with lotus stamens to offer to guests. That's why my hometown, despite the hardships of farming, still retains its unique and elegant beauty.

Illustrative image - source: internet.

During lotus season, the flower carts carrying lotuses to distant markets would be swept along by the wind wherever they went. My mother sold lotuses in bunches, and almost everyone she met bought them, regardless of whether it was the 15th or 1st day of the lunar month. Sometimes, when she met acquaintances from the neighboring village, she would give them lotuses, telling them to take them home and place them on the ancestral altar so that their ancestors could enjoy a little of this precious earthly fragrance. Many times, my youngest brother would grumble, "Why do you keep giving away lotuses when it takes so long to pick them?" My mother would laugh and say, "Lotuses aren't something to be bought and sold. Giving them as gifts is what's truly precious, my son. There's only one season each year."

My older sister, upon reaching marriageable age, insisted on getting married during the lotus season. Before her wedding day, she bathed in warm water, scattering a few pink lotus petals on it. The lotus flowers became her wedding bouquet, and even the groom's lapel was adorned with lotus petals. When the wedding procession reached the edge of the village, near the lotus pond in full bloom, she insisted on stopping to gaze at the pond for a long time before weeping. No one understood why she cried, only I knew that her unfulfilled first love was intertwined with the lotus seasons. She was probably wondering, now that she belonged to someone else, where was her past love? That alone was enough to evoke profound sadness…

I'm far from home, and I miss my homeland, the wells and village communal houses, and the scent of lotus flowers. Even the afternoon at West Lake during lotus season isn't enough to ease my longing. Where is the scene of my mother rowing her boat every morning at dawn, picking the finest lotus buds to infuse into tea for my grandmother? Where is the peaceful scene of me sleeping soundly amidst the lotus pond on a quiet afternoon? Where are the tears of my sister on her wedding day, where is a fragment of my homeland's soul, carried by the fragrance of her dark hair…?

Vu Thi Huyen Trang