One Foot In The Grave

Chapter 8: The Welcoming Water

Ahalya, Day 11

A crow disturbed my thoughts. It cawed nonstop, sitting on the wall in front of me. It was afternoon, but the sun slid in and out of the clouds. I raised my head, shielding my face with my hand, and squinted at the bird. The crow's body had been camouflaged on the wall. I wouldn't be surprised if they say it was the longest wall in the temple.

The place was noiseless. Jagadeesh had asked the priest to close the outer gates so no one would disturb me. Folding my legs, I sat on the cement floor and continued staring at the wall. The last time I did a painting, it was for my college fest, where I had drawn a hip-hop dancing pair. My head of the department had lost his shit for the quality of the thing. But this wall was different. The last painting on it left a faded smudge of the colours red and blue, which stood out, mocking me.

"I think I should prime the wall," I said.

"That would cost a lot of primer," Jagadeesh replied.

He sat to my right, resting his weight on his left hand.

"I don't want to do the entire wall. Just the part I want to paint. I'd draw a rectangle and prime the inside. Once it dries, my work becomes effortless."

Jagadeesh said nothing. I turned my head and saw him lost in my notebook. It contained every sketch I ever did in my life. 18 years of madness.

I left him to flick through my book.

Vasu approached us carrying a ladder, which was twice as long as mine. He leaned it against the wall, yanked it sidewards to jam its position on the ground and said, "Hop."

I rushed to him and began climbing. I wore ankle-fit, brown cotton pants and a white half-sleeved t-shirt, which facilitated my climb.

Below, Vasu held the ladder, for I was shaking it harder. I hadn't climbed this high since that day in college. Back then, my friend Garima used to wobble the ladder to scare me and I would throw the paintbrushes at her. A shame she got married and lost all her sense of humour.

"Should we call this a mural?" Vasu yelled.

I reached the top of the ladder and the wall. When I peeked beyond, I found a land filled with bushes of wild plants and a thin stream of river flowing east, as if the Godavari had made a teeny tributary outside the temple.

"Yes, a mural it will be," I said, panting.

As the breeze went around, I remained still and let my one hand free. I ran my extended hand over the wall. The surface was rougher than I thought like a year-old tar road.

"We have to prime the wall," I said.

"We'll see what the temple committee has to say." That came from Jagadeesh. He was walking to the ladder.

I looked down at the two of them, running their fingers on my book, observing my model illustration of the Goddess. Who would believe that I had gained the acquaintance of a teenager and a married man? That too, in a village like Aranyavaram.

Two hours ago, as soon as I'd seen the weather, I hurried to Vasu to complete the lunch and drive me here. Jagadeesh asked for a tag-along, wishing to see my process. It was true I prefer working alone, but a change could be good. Vishwa and I had talked all night after Indira and Jagadeesh left. And all morning today about doing the mural. It wasn't, per se, an argument since none of us yelled, but we exchanged some strong opinions. He said I agreed to this unanimously, and I defended saying how bored I was in the house. Although, my mother-in-law chipped in no opinions. And I was tired of making him understand that a vacation would have to lead somewhere.