Pomona Meets Her Match

Remember Professor Pomona Sprout from Harry Potter’s school? Well, here is the real Pomona, a wood nymph from the Roman myths.

Pomona was a wood nymph and a guardian spirit, which meant she was a goddess of sorts but not quite in the league of, say, Venus, the goddess of love, or Diana, the moon goddess. Pomona was the goddess of orchards and fruit trees and all she loved to do was wander about her gardens, tenderly pruning her plants.

Not for her were the forests and the riverside where most nymphs loved to dwell. She was happy in her own space—her orchards and gardens. Armed with a pruning knife or a spade, she would tend to her fruits—apples, pears and grapes. An errant branch was cut, the soil loosened, a twig grafted or troubling insects removed by her expert hands. Sometimes she led the streams to her thirsty plants but never ventured too far out.

Occasionally, her sister Flora, patron goddess of flowers and the spring, visited to spread the spring sunshine on the fruits and flowers. But mostly, Pomona kept her garden door shut for she did not want visitors and shunned company. But our lonely garden goddess was a beautiful maiden despite her dull brown dress and the wreath of leaves around her head. The latter was not meant to be a fashion statement; it was for the practical purpose of keeping the sun off as she toiled all day among her fruit trees.

Pomona grew prettier every day and warily watched Venus, the goddess of love, and her machinations from afar. She shuddered at the very thought of love.

Silvanus, the god of the woodlands, was smitten by her beauty and tried to woo her. Wearing a hunter’s robe, he came, hoping to impress her with his bravery but Pomona fled at the sight. Not one to give up, he came again, this time in a shepherd’s garb, but a terrified Pomona hid in her orchard and didn’t come out till he left.

The next one to approach her was Picus, the god of the grain fields. He thought he stood a better chance than Silvanus, who was an old man and was running after far too many woodland nymphs anyway. Picus knew how to sweet-talk any pretty nymph, but that didn’t work with Pomona, who firmly shut her orchard gate as she saw him come.

Soon she set about building a wall around her orchard so that none would disturb her this way. She had had enough of these eager suitors. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? As she went about building the wall, Vetrumnus, the god of changing seasons, happened to see her.

What exquisite beauty, thought young Vertumnus and resolved to win her over. He had seen old Silvanus and Picus seek her affections and fail. Since he was the god of the changing seasons, he could transform himself at will. So he approached the orchard gates dressed as a reaper, carrying a sheaf of corn as an offering. ‘Go away! I don’t need any corn,’ said Pomona and did not let him in.

Next, he appeared with an ox goad in his hand, as if he had just unyoked his weary oxen after a hard day’s labour in the fields. Another day he appeared carrying a ladder and offered to pluck all the ripened apples from the trees. ‘Thank you but no thank you,’ said Pomona firmly and shook her head, refusing to unlock her gate. She knew it was the same handsome god who seemed so persistent. Why can’t he simply understand it is of no use?

Pomona had, for all purposes, locked her heart and thrown away the key. And she intended it to stay that way. But the trouble was that she was just too beautiful. Vetrumnus was not going to give up, for he knew he had never felt this way for any maiden before. He had fallen in love for the first and, as he very well knew, the last time.

One day, as Pomona stood near her garden gate, she saw an old woman approach. She was wearing a headdress across her greying hair and hobbled along with the help of a staff. Pomona was a kind-hearted and gentle nymph and her heart went out to the poor woman. ‘Come in and sit down, will you?’ she told the woman. ‘You look like you need to rest awhile.’

She opened the gate and helped the old lady sit under the shade of a tree. Pomona brought her some fresh apples to eat. ‘Thank you, my dear, you are so kind,’ said the woman. ‘What a beautiful place you have here! Your garden is so cool and refreshing and your fruits are delicious. I’ve heard about you but you are even more beautiful than I imagined.’ As she said this, the old woman suddenly rose and kissed Pomona.

Pomona found it strange. Although the woman was old, the kiss was, well, very strange. Pomona quickly moved away and kept her distance. The woman smiled at her. ‘A girl like you, so pretty and kind-hearted, you should not be alone.’

The old woman slowly walked up to an elm tree. Pointing to the vine that clung to the tree, she looked at Pomona. ‘See this elm. Its value is enhanced because it supports the vine that clings to it.’

She touched a bunch of grapes that grew on the vine. ‘These two, the vine and the elm, their lives are enriched because of each other. Why don’t you learn a lesson from your beloved plants? You too need a companion, a mate.’ Pomona remained silent.

The old woman was clearly not going to give up. ‘Why don’t you let me find you a match? I know that there are many here, buzzing like bees to a flower. That old man Silvanus, he chases all the women he sees, despite his age. And that Picus, he’s in love with a new maiden every day. But I know just the perfect suitor for you.’ The old woman paused and looked at Pomona. She wasn’t getting angry and hadn’t run away as yet.

‘But Vertumnus—he’s young, handsome and can become anything you want him to be. He loves your orchard and your fruits, and will tend your garden if you let him. But more than anything else, he loves you, only you.’ The woman clasped Pomona’s hands as she said this and her headdress fell away. As Pomona watched, the old wrinkled face changed before her eyes to reveal the handsome face of a youth. It was Vertumnus himself, the shape-shifter.

Pomona tried to loosen his grip and run but he held her firmly. ‘Pomona, you are the only one I will ever love,’ he murmured. Pomona looked at his earnest face and felt her heart slowly melt. A warm and fuzzy feeling came over her and she knew that she was slowly but surely falling in love.