Beauty and the Beast
& The Bat and the Blossom

Once upon a time, in a grand city in France, there lived a wealthy merchant who had twelve children — six sons and six daughters. They lived in a magnificent house and wanted for nothing.

Of all his daughters, the youngest was the most beautiful. People simply called her Beauty, and the name suited her perfectly — not just for her face, but for her heart, which was kind and gentle and true.

Her older sisters were beautiful too, but they were proud of it in a way that made them cruel. They mocked Beauty for spending her time reading books instead of dancing, and they laughed at her for being kind to the servants.

Then misfortune struck. Their house burned to the ground, and the merchant's ships were lost at sea. The family of thirteen moved to a tiny cottage in the countryside, with barely enough food to eat.

Two years passed. Then came news: one of the merchant's ships had returned to port! Before riding off to claim it, he asked his children what gifts they would like.

His older daughters demanded silks and jewels. But Beauty asked for nothing — except, when her father pressed her, one single rose.

At the port, the merchant discovered his colleagues had already sold everything. Penniless, he turned home through a howling snowstorm — and soon became hopelessly lost in the dark forest.

Through the trees, the merchant saw a light. He followed it and found himself before a magnificent castle, surrounded by statues so lifelike they seemed to breathe.

Inside, the great halls were warm and empty. Tables were laid with steaming food, as though the invisible master of the castle had been expecting a guest. The merchant ate, rested, and slept in a bed of silk.

In the morning, as he prepared to leave, he passed through a garden blazing with roses — the most perfect roses he had ever seen. Beauty had asked for a rose.

He reached out and plucked one. A single bloom, for his beloved daughter.

And that is when he heard the terrible roar.

The creature that came crashing through the garden was nothing like a man. It was enormous, covered in dark fur, with horns curling from its head and eyes that burned like hot coals.

"You ate my food! You slept in my castle! And now you steal from my garden?!" the Beast bellowed. "For this, you will die."

The merchant fell to his knees, trembling. He explained about his daughter and the rose, and begged for mercy.

The Beast was silent a long moment. Then: "I will spare your life. But one of your daughters must come and live with me willingly — knowing exactly what she faces. She must not be deceived. Go home. You have one week."

Back home, the merchant wept as he told his children everything. His sons said they would go and fight the Beast. His older daughters — who had been jealous of Beauty all her life — told her coldly that it was her fault for asking for a rose.

But Beauty had already made up her mind.

"I will go, Father," she said quietly. "You went to fetch gifts for us. If anyone must face the Beast, it is me."

Her father begged her not to. Her brothers pleaded. But Beauty kissed them all, picked up the rose, and climbed into the carriage waiting outside — knowing full well what lay ahead.

To Beauty's great surprise, the castle was full of wonder. Every comfort she could imagine appeared — gowns, books, music, enchanted rooms that rearranged themselves to please her. Invisible servants waited on her hand and foot.

Every evening, the Beast joined her for dinner. He was frightening to look at — enormous, fur-covered, with those burning eyes — but he listened carefully when she spoke, and his voice, though rumbling and rough, was never unkind.

And every night, without fail, he would ask her the same question:

"Beauty, will you marry me?"

And every night, she would gently say no. She liked him — perhaps more than she admitted — but she could not say yes. Not yet.

Months passed in the enchanted castle. Beauty grew fond of the Beast — fonder than she understood. But she missed her father terribly, and one evening she asked the Beast if she could go home.

The Beast's great shoulders fell. "If you stay away too long," he said softly, "I will die of a broken heart. Promise me you will return in two months."

He gave her an enchanted ring. When she turned it on her finger, she woke up in her family's cottage, dressed in fine clothes, arms full of gifts.

Her sisters — green with envy — secretly plotted to make her stay past the two months. If the Beast grew angry, they thought, it would serve Beauty right.

And so the weeks slipped by. And Beauty stayed.

One night, Beauty had a dream so vivid it woke her in tears. She saw the Beast lying alone in the rose garden, the roses all wilted and dark, his great chest barely moving.

He was dying. Just as he had warned her.

Beauty turned the ring on her finger at once. She woke in the castle and ran through every silent corridor, calling his name until she found him collapsed among the dead roses, barely breathing.

She knelt beside him and took his great, rough paw in her hands. "Please," she whispered, tears falling into the dark fur. "Please don't leave. I didn't know — I didn't understand until now — but I love you. I truly love you."

But I found a new version of that story — the 2026 version.

My Beauty is the Pink Trumpet Tree — often called the "Cherry Blossom of India." Every spring she erupts in clouds of soft pink flowers, one of the most beautiful sights in any city.

My Beast is the Indian Flying Fox (Pteropus giganteus) — the largest bat in the world. The first time I saw him hanging from her branches, it was truly spooky. Old memories: Dracula, the vampire, the bat.

But here is the truth: do not go by appearance.

He gives the Beauty a future. Travelling up to 100 km every single night, the flying fox carries her pollen on his fur and scatters her seeds across the land — planting new pink trumpet trees in places no human ever planned. He is her long-distance courier, her secret gardener, working through the dark while everyone sleeps.

She gives him a home. Her high branches are his shelter. Her nectar is his food. Without her blossoms, he has nowhere to rest and nothing to eat.

They need each other completely — and neither one knows it.