The Flower That Never Bloomed and Why I Still Wait

This isn’t just about a flower.

It’s about memory. Presence. Grief. An old mechanic who told me something wild by a river. And a silent cactus that’s been sitting outside my window for ten years, daring me to believe it still has a soul.

The Mechanic, the Moon, and a Cactus?

Ten years ago, at a river campsite, we met a car mechanic who started talking passionately about the Bakawali—the mysterious flower that only blooms at night. We happened to need a minor car repair, so we agreed to follow him back to his workshop the next day.

While his crew worked on our vehicle, he kept spinning this spellbinding story about the flower’s magic:

"It only blooms once a year, often during a full moon, past midnight... The scent is so strong, it could summon the unseen."

We were enchanted. I shyly asked if he had a pot to spare. He smiled and handed me one from his garden.

I took it home. I watered it. Waited. Prayed. Hoped.

Ten years later... it still hasn’t bloomed.

Not once. Sometimes I wonder... was it even the real thing? Or just a cactus with an identity crisis?

Still… I can’t throw it away. Maybe because somewhere inside me, that man’s story did bloom.

Why I Can’t Let It Go

Despite the plant's stubborn silence, that mechanic’s story has bloomed in me. His words seeded something deeper than botany.

The Bakawali, sometimes called the Queen of the Night, is wrapped in many myths. Traditionally, it must be witnessed in silence. No touching. No flash photography.

In an old Javanese legend, a crown prince of Mataram couldn’t ascend the throne until he plucked a blooming Bakawali. An act of spiritual legitimacy, of earning the blessing of both realms.

It wasn’t just a flower. It was a rite of passage. A healer. A mirror.

Some even believed its dew could cleanse the eyes. Its petals healed wounds. Its dried stems, taken with banana or betel leaf, were said to treat high blood pressure or diabetes. It was used in rituals, especially for those spiritually disturbed.

Now?

Most of my generation doesn’t even ask for it when landscaping. They’ve forgotten its name. Its power.

But somehow, I haven’t. I still believe this flower has a soul.

The Long Road of the Flower: From Persia to the Archipelago

My reading led me down its path. In 1722, a Persian court storyteller named Izzatullah wrote Dāstān-e-Gul-i-Bakawali, meaning The Tale of the Bakawali Flower.

There was a prince, Tajul Muluk. A magical flower that could cure blindness. A fairy princess is guarding it.

Love. Loss. Rebirth.

The story then travelled through India, Bengal, Tamil Nadu… and finally to the Malay world. That’s when it became Hikayat Gul Bakawali, a classic Malay literary tale (hikayat).

It was likely brought into the Malay world between the late 18th and early 19th century, translated into Jawi script, and retold in the familiar rhythm of local myths. Complete with spiritual trials, celestial women, and dreamlike journeys.

It is not a short story. It is a saga. At the center of the hikayat is a mythical flower: the Bakawali.

Said to bloom in the celestial realm, Kayangan, this flower has the power to heal the blind and reveal truth, but only if you’re pure of heart, brave in spirit, and willing to lose everything. And the man who goes searching for it?

A prince. Of course.

And like many hikayat, it sits between the sacred and the theatrical, part myth, part moral, part cosmic love letter.

And something about that stuck with me. The idea that maybe not everyone gets to bloom. Not every love gets to name itself. Not every prayer gets an answer.

But that doesn’t make it any less sacred.

By the time it reached me…

Something had changed.

Maybe the story.

Maybe me.

The Flower That Doesn’t Heal—But Reveals

In my own writing, the flower has become something else entirely. It doesn’t sparkle or grant wishes. It doesn’t cure blindness.

It blooms only for the broken.

For those who’ve held on too long. For those who burned through every truth, except the one they needed most.

And when it does bloom?

It’s not to save them. It’s to show them what they’ve lost.

The Woman Who Waited by the Flower

In the original stories, she was Puteri Bakawali. A celestial healer. A beloved.

In my retelling, she is Mambang Puteh. She’s not possessed. Not claimed. Not a prize for the brave. She guards the threshold between life and whatever waits after. Exiled to the sky for loving the wrong soul. Banished from the earth because her heart dared bloom.

When she sees him again, she sees not just the man who once loved her. But the one who never stopped longing, the one who stayed loyal through lifetimes, even as time itself punished him, cursing him to walk a thousand years as the White Tiger.

Why I Still Water This Stubborn Plant

Because it reminds me of my excitement on that night by the river.

Because I still believe that one day, under the right moon, it will bloom.

And I’ll be there to witness it.

Silent. Still. Ready.

📖 White Tiger and the Full Moon is Book Two of A Tale of Twin Flames.

Now blooming on Kindle, Paperback, and Hardcover.

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