A Feather and a Red Ribbon
- The Storyteller Mumbai
- 17 hours ago
- 3 min read
A Feather and a Red Ribbon is a story that explores continuing bonds after loss. Through the imagery of a river, a returning feather, and a red ribbon once tied by a beloved grandmother, the story gently models emotional integration — allowing sadness, grief and love to coexist.
Designed for navigating through loss, it invites reflection without moralising and offers a tangible metaphor children and adults can hold onto.
Ages 7 and up.
A Feather and a Red Ribbon
An Original story by Shukrita Sankaran.
Meera sat watching the river flow by in front of her. It had been exactly a week since Meemaw passed. She remembered… Meemaw combing her long dark hair, tying it into a ponytail with a ribbon for school, the gentle hands that filled her tiffin box, the aroma of Meemaw’s baked au gratin wafting through the house, and the sweet crunchiness of her apple crumble.
She wondered , “What happens now to all the love I have within ?
As she watched the river she saw a boat near the water’s edge. She went to the boat, which was a little larger than a canoe. In the boat on the wooden plank she noticed the most delicate white feather. She picked it up and examined it with awe. It was soft and perfect.
Suddenly a gust of wind blew the feather out of her grip and it fell over the water, floating away with the current away from her.
Meera bent down, trying to reach for it , but it was too late. The feather just floated away.
“Will it be safe? Will it survive?” Meera asked herself.
From that day, every evening when she came to the river, Meera thought about the beautiful feather. She could still feel the softness , the delicate arc of the fringe, and the innocence of white. Somehow it soothed her heart and made her feel lighter, as if the heaviness within her was dissipating slowly.
Many days passed , and one day as she was watching the river something caught her eye. Near the water’s edge, was the white feather bobbing along with the gentle current of the river.
Meera excitedly went and picked it up. “How can this be?”, she asked herself.
The wind replied to her, “ The feather has a journey of its own. So does the river. Nobody can predict where life will take it.
Meera smiled. “Yes, I cannot ever forget the impression the feather made on me. It was like my red ribbon that Meemaw would tie on my hair into a beautiful bow before school. It was like her baked au gratin and apple crumble. It was like the soft quilt Meemaw had hand stitched for me, when I was a baby.”
Tears gently rose in Meera's eyes and slid down her fair pink cheeks. Meera allowed them to flow, as she hugged her knees and sat on the grass.
After what seemed to be a long while, she got up. She felt something in the pocket of her skirt. She pulled it out, only to find the red ribbon that was tied into a bow on her hair by Meemaw. She untied the bow and felt the entire length of the opened ribbon with her fingers.
Then she got an idea. She took the feather and tied the red ribbon to it.
She took the red and white feather home and placed it on her table, near Meemaw’s photograph.
From that day on, Meera gradually learnt how to prepare a cheesy au gratin and even succeeded at a fair apple crumble. She laughed and she cried, with the memory of Meemaw and her love. It would never be the same again and yet, it would be a new way of being.
Xoxo
Therapeuticstories_Shukrita
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