“The Queen and the Purple Flame”

Long ago, in the heart of an ancient kingdom nestled between emerald hills and winding rivers, there lived a wise and beautiful queen named Anindita. Her kingdom, Varnika, was famed not for gold or weapons, but for the way flowers bloomed even in the harshest of summers and rains. People believed it was the queen’s heart that kept the land in harmony with the seasons.

Queen Anindita was deeply loved, not only because she ruled with justice, but because she had a magical gift: she could speak to the plants. From childhood, the trees whispered secrets in her ears, and the flowers swayed with joy when she walked through the royal gardens. Her touch could revive wilting vines, and seeds would sprout in her presence.

Among all the plants in her vast garden, there was one that never bloomed—an old, wiry tree with thick leaves and twisted bark. Every spring and summer, she whispered to it, watered it, and sat by it for hours. Yet, year after year, it remained barren.

One year, a great war threatened Varnika. A greedy neighboring king, jealous of the peace and prosperity in Anindita’s land, brought his armies to conquer it. The queen, being a woman of peace, tried to negotiate, but the invaders would not relent.

As battle raged outside the palace gates, Anindita turned to the spirits of the forest and sky, begging for help to save her people. The spirits answered—but at a great cost.

“If you wish to save your kingdom,” they whispered through rustling leaves, “you must bind your soul to the land forever. Your life shall nourish the roots, and your love will become bloom.”

Understanding what it meant, Anindita smiled with grace and acceptance. That night, while the moon glowed silver and the war drums throbbed beyond the valley, the queen walked into her garden one last time. She stood before the old, barren tree and placed her hands upon its bark.

“I give you my spirit,” she whispered. “Bloom, and protect them all.”

At that very moment, lightning split the sky—not in destruction, but as a divine sign. The ground trembled softly, and the once-barren tree began to shimmer. As the queen’s body faded into light, the tree burst into magnificent blossoms—vibrant purple flowers, their edges wrinkled like silk and glowing with an inner fire. The petals were unlike anything ever seen before, crowned with golden stamens like rays of a rising sun.

The invading soldiers, seeing the sudden miracle in the sky and the valley filled with the purple light of a thousand flowers, dropped their weapons in awe. The war ended without bloodshed.

The people of Varnika mourned their queen but celebrated her gift. The magical tree came to be called the Queen’s Crape Myrtle, and it bloomed every year with the same brilliance—as if the queen was smiling from beyond.

To this day, in villages and gardens where the Jarul blooms, grandmothers whisper the tale of Queen Anindita—the woman who loved her land so deeply, she became its eternal flower. Her legacy lives in every petal, in every bee that drinks its nectar, and in every child who looks up and wonders how a tree can look like a flame frozen in bloom.