A whim of my imagination –

The masterpiece

Vikas had lived in the small town of Rajghar all his life. The ones who remember him as a child would be sure to mention as to what a strange boy he was… In fact, none of his mates from St. Johns would even remember him today…More than four decades have passed since he’s crossed the gates of the school – an orphan, lost and confused. As the headmaster Bro. Malcolm set his watery eyes upon the curious little 10 year old who stood before him, he noticed that although the boy was small for his age and seemed weak and fragile, there was something in his eyes that made him seem truly special.

During his first few years in Rajghar, Vikas hardly talked to anyone. He used to have an hour each Thursday with Bro. Malcolm, who was the only person around who seemed to care for him. Vikas was a bright child - observed several of his teachers, but hardly showed any interest in studies. He didn’t understand the need to read or learn something that has already been thought of by someone else. Each day he looked around him his bright eyes shining curiously for something new, something he could think about the whole day, forgetting the boring hours in class studying pointless and silly rules and laws that served no purpose to anybody. In the midst of all these hours, there was one thing that excited Vikas the most, the art class. There he could see things that were true creations from the soul. Vikas couldn’t afford to buy colors for himself, so he would spend each evening searching for pieces of charcoal and then scrawl away to sleep.

It was when he was sixteen years old that he got his first set of paints, a gift from Bro.

Malcolm. It was a brown wooden box with SIXTEEN different colors and a green quilted brush to go with it. Soon Vikas began selling his paintings in the art exhibition s held at the city 5 km away. Several years passed in this fashion and Vikas grew out of the little timid boy that he was into a huge giant of a man quite unlike his childhood self. Half the town of Rajghar was terrified of this giant who spoke to none, while the other half stared after him in awe. Soon with the money he made over the years, Vikas managed to get a small shack for himself.

One day, Vikas was returning back home from the city and found that sky seemed a pale shade of gray, the color of the bottom of the ponds of Rajghar in the summer when all the water had been drunk up by the skies. There was a sense of urgency in the air and Vikas feeling that something was amiss, quickened his pace.

As he reached the outskirts of Rajghar, he found the little town in an unusual sense of gloom and a shadow of darkness seemed to surround the place. He slowly moved on to the crowd gathered in the middle of the town chattering noisily. As he walked by, he overheard an old man mutter “What a pity... what a pity, Malcolm was a good man” The next two hours were a void patch for Vikas, It was like the world had stopped for a second, like time had gone on leaving caught between two time periods. He never did see Bro. Malcolm's body, didn't ever go near the black coffin bordered with gold. He stood unnoticed like a shadow enveloped into the reflections of the setting sun as the whole town prayed for Bro. Malcolm's soul and expressed their sorrow around him. Vikas stood by with a distant look upon his face, His eyes dilated, breathing irregular and with a fixed expression. He didn't hear the priest giving the sermon, he didn't see the the coffin being lowered into the ground. He simply stood in his dark spot with no expression of sorrow or grief, pain or loss. Suddenly, thunder broke out in the empty sky and it began raining heavily - showing all chances of it being a rough night with the strong winds that has begun to blow. The people moved away and the priest moved up to Vikas and handed a brown envelope to him. In it, Vikas found a paper that entitled him the ownership of all assets owned by Bro. Malcolm including his huge mansion where Vikas had spent so many Thursdays discussing the different nuances of life.

Vikas left slowly , walked to his shack and picked up the painting that he had promised the curator of the exhibition next week. He found himself staring at a beautiful painting of a serene and warm landscape, where white birds flew across a blue sky, a lush display of green, each part of the painting enriching the other. Vikas stared at it for a second and then, tore the beautiful painting into pieces. It lacked ‘heart’ he felt…he’d put too mind into it and missed out the “heart”

An hour later he moved into the old mansion with a white canvas and the box tucked under him arm. He walked to the room with a huge crystal chandelier above him. Each crystal of the chandelier was a hexagonal crystal. As Vikas stared at it, it shone back at him with vivid shades of green and violet in the moonlight. It was here that he’d spent some of the best moments of his childhood. He didn’t bother to use any light and simply began by opening his thirty year old paint box. As he reached into it, the moon shone brightly on the two colors left in the box, the ones he’s saved for a special piece of work. To left of the palette he spread some ‘midnight black’ and to the right he smeared some ‘Angelic white’ and set to work. The storm now grew stronger and the gales began knocking on the big wooden door. Vikas began to dab the canvas with shades of black and white moving slowly from one part to another. The door which was unlocked was thrown open by the raging winds and the cold air came flowing into the room. As the wind wrapped her arm around Vikas, spread across his face a look of glee and his hands started moving faster. It was almost as though he had gone into a daze with the brush moving effortlessly across the sheet with practiced ease. He moved faster and faster and soon he was almost enveloped by the consummate frenzy brought on by the cold air. The chandelier shrieked loudly now, tinkling along with a rhythmic chant… then suddenly the room was enveloped by darkness.

The old lady across the street slowly opened her door to let in her dog that had been caught out in the rain. The little doggie ran in letting out a yelp that was drowned by a deafening crash from the dark skies followed by a sudden tinkling noise. Within minutes the storm breathed a sigh and fell quiet, fading away as thought it was never there.

A week later…

Ramlal asked his master who was a reputed art collector and had been to the art exhibition the day before, “Akash saab did you buy anything?” . “Well…” replied Akash “I bought the best piece of work in the place” then he unfolded a canvas from his briefcase. Ramlal stared in wonder and an intricately weaved array of black and gray with a hexagonal hole write in the middle of the painting and then as he stared amazed at the crimson red border which seemed to make the whole piece come alive, he heard his master utter “You know something? It came from this small town called Rajghar… A true masterpiece”