THE PEACOCK THAT WASN'T 'BLUE' ENOUGH

Once upon a time, in the grand Aviary of Order and Obedience, there lived a peacock named Nadaan. For twenty long years, Nadaan strutted with purpose, spreading his feathers not out of vanity, but to brighten the dull corridors of bureaucracy that wound through the aviary.

Every inspection season, when the Great Owls came with their clipboards and stern faces, Nadaan dazzled them with order, efficiency, and feathers so well-arranged that even the pigeons whispered in envy.

And every time, the Owls nodded approvingly. “Excellent performance,” they cooed. “Truly exemplary!”

Nadaan collected medals of excellence like fallen feathers. He mentored sparrows, advised cranes, even taught the turkeys how not to panic before reviews. Life was good—until one fateful spring.

The Grand Selection Committee announced a Special Flight Assignment—the most prestigious task in the aviary. Naturally, everyone expected Nadaan to lead it. Even the parrots stopped gossiping for a while to agree, “Who else could it be?”

Nadaan brushed his feathers, polished his beak, and went to the Committee Room with quiet confidence.

Inside sat the Owls- wise, wrinkled, and wearing expressions of permanent concern.

They peered at his dossier.

They nodded.

They hmm-ed.

Then one of them cleared his throat.

“Mr. Nadaan,” he began in that slow, ominous tone that only people who already know the verdict use, “your record is indeed remarkable.”

“Thank you,” Nadaan said, bowing.

“However,” the Owl continued, adjusting his monocle, “the Flight Assignment requires… a particular shade of blue.”

Nadaan blinked. “Shade of blue?”

“Yes, yes. You see, while your feathers are– ah- admirably iridescent, they are not quite… the right kind of blue.”

“The right kind?” Nadaan repeated.

The Owls nodded solemnly, as though discussing an ancient prophecy.

“It’s a very specific tone,” one added. “Blue-with-a-bit-of-belief, if you understand.”

Nadaan didn’t. But he understood something else - something heavier than disappointment, and far less colorful.

He left the chamber silently, his feathers drooping under invisible rain. The parrots asked what happened. The crows snickered. The sparrows looked confused. Nadaan only said, “Apparently, I’m not blue enough.”

The following week, a Pigeon - famous mainly for not crashing into windows - was appointed to lead the Flight Assignment. The Owls congratulated themselves for their “visionary inclusivity.”

Time passed. Nadaan kept working, though his feathers lost some shine. He stopped waiting for fair skies and promotions that depended on color tones invisible to merit.

One day, a young sparrow asked him, “Sir, does it hurt, knowing you deserved to fly higher?”

Nadaan smiled - a tired, wry, but wise smile.

“Only if you still believe the sky belongs to those who painted it,” he said.

Moral of the Story:  When the keepers of the sky start judging wings by their color, it’s not the birds who fall - it’s the sky that loses its height.