A Symphony of Colours

A Symphony of Colours


 “Grandma Friggy? When did you arrive?” Helga gazed at the wisps of smoke around the old lady. 

“As soon as I saw you tidying my bed!” Grandma perennially wore a rotten expression.

“But Grandma, it was in a mess all these days, ever-since you umm…passed.”

“So you thought of scrubbing it clean of my signature disarray?”

Helga sniffed apologetically.


Grandma Friggy disappeared, again.

Helga’s fat shoulders slumped. The slant of her sparse eye brows matched the frown dragging her cheeks below her jaw line. She continued scrubbing the clay pots in the sink. 

It had been a difficult year. Odin, her husband, the chief of Vikings of Melsonki had not been home for three months. 

“To claim all the land till the horizon!” The men had clinked their swords, as their ship set sail.


Freya’s honeydew voice beckoned her.

She sat on a barrel, stringing beads. Her eyes looked at a distance, blinking seldom.

“Mamma, check if I have strung them exactly like in a rainbow.”

She fumbled with a bead and it fell on her lap, rolling down her skirt on to the grass. As she bent to retrieve it, the bowl of beads tilted.

“Mamma, catch it!” Freya fell on her knees. Her fingers clawed desperately at the mud, looking for beads, blindly.

“Freya! I’ll get them for you.” 

Helga rushed to her daughter’s aid.

“Why can’t I see, Mamma? Why can’t I ever see a real rainbow? Why!” Freya was shaking with each sob.

“I don’t know, my girl, but let us keep praying each day, for a miracle.”

That evening after supper, Helga lit incense in the alcove, clasping her hands tightly. 

“Kind Lords, bless my child with a miracle.”   

The familiar burning smell stung her nostrils again. 

“Ah! Snap out of it, will you Helllgaaa!”

“Grandma Friggy!”

“I said; stop overdoing the grim prayer routine. The lords find it annoying. They’re threatening to throw me out of heaven if you don’t stop!”

“Forgive us o’Lords….” 

“Girl, get over your ancient beliefs. They are outdated! As are your clay pots and that funny buffalo headgear!”

Helga shuddered at the unfathomable blasphemy of her Grandmother.

“What do you think? You could just make magic?” Grandma snapped her fingers.

“No! Magic is something you or I can never understand!”She fumed.

“Will my daughter never get her wish?” Helga cried out.

“Ofcourse she will! As soon as you make way for it. Are you ready to receive a miracle?”



Helga woke to the melodious ballad emanating from Freya’s room.

She stood at the door, immersed in Freya’s soprano.

“Freya, you hit each note perfectly! Come, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Helga held her daughter’s hand, leading her to the garden. 

“What Mamma?”

“You know seven notes of music. Can you see them?”


“Can you sing red for me?”


“And orange?”


“Go on!”

“Do..Re..Me…Fa So La Ti….Do!”

“Mammaaaa….I can see the rainbow, and tie its ends together. Is it not magic?”

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2 thoughts on “A Symphony of Colours

  1. Loved the magic in your story laden with musical notes. I loved the character development of Helga even in this short story.

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