ZAHANA

CHAPTER 2 - THE INTRUDER

A Year Ago

Friday – February 21, 2014

Morning- 8:00 Hrs.

Villa Ada, Rome

'Francis, watch your brother.' A woman commanded her daughter.

'I love you.' She heard a man expressing love to his beloved.

'Yes, I'll be there in twenty. Please hold Mr. Damiano in my cabin.' requested a man to someone on the other side of the call.

Apart from these there were various other sounds which she heard- the sounds of ratcheting paddles of bicycles, the chattering and chuckles of kids, clanking forks and knives on the plates, chirping birds flying over, barking dogs and foot strides of joggers in the park. She heard it all. In fact, to put it right, she felt it all. Including the cold breeze and chills topped with warmth of the rising sun as its rays touched her body.

Lost in her thoughts she nearly forgot where she was. Like some mysterious divine energy was leading her into a different world. A world far away from the one she currently sat in. The world that was much more beautiful than the one she lived in. The world she would encounter upon opening her eyes was nowhere near as pleasant as the one she was visiting with her eyes closed.

'Is this the world everyone keeps talking about?' she thought. 'The world they say exists in some distant land. The land one can't get a visa to while alive. The world that exists beyond this one and these people, perhaps they possess the life that exists beyond death.' Thoughts were passing in her head like a shot. Sure, there was some beauty in what she was witnessing- she is a visionary after all. But was this beauty rampant or extinct, there or nowhere, alive or dead.

Thoughts can be crazy sometimes. Though in her case it was majority of the times, and clearly something she did not mind. In fact, she loved it. Her thoughts gave her a way of life, a driving force, a different outlook which she adored and would not trade for the ubiquitous ones. She relished the taste of it. The sudden jolt of Goosebumps coming from a weird thought or the rush of something completely incredible- something that would let her question her own thought or make her search the relevance of it or find the answers to the questions arising out of her thoughts. Isn't it fun? Seeing the outputs of your creative brain before anyone out there in the world could see. This was exactly what was happening to her then. She had a clear picture of something mesmerizing, engaging and every bit amazing. Being the first one to see it, she simply could not wait for the world to see it as well- 'A bud from her psyche that would be reveled in another part of someday.'

As she opened her eyes, the sight that followed was exactly the sight the almighty must have faced before creating the entire world- the sight of a blank canvas. She picked the brush and dipped it in colors, twirling it across the canvas like a magic wand. Seconds passed by in her maneuver and were replaced by minutes, and as minutes sprinted away, they were replaced by hours. But she sat right there, inside Villa Ada, lost in her art. Staring adorably at the bottom sculpture which needed color, she drifted away momentarily to brood. White has always been a sculptures favorite color. And why won't it be for white is the color of marble, ancient marble. But that did not stop her from applying her own theories. After all, that is what she was- a part of her thoughts just as the thoughts were a part of her.

So instead of white, she resolved to go ahead with a gray. The painting needed it. To define how hearts go gray from white with time. She formed the color it demanded by mixing a tad of black in white. Soaking the brush in paint she dashed it on that sculpture. Engrossed in her work she stroked another dash of gray when she heard a voice behind her.

'If I were you, I wouldn't do that.'

Without bothering to turn and look at the man she replied:

'If you were me, you wouldn't listen.'

She was not the one to take advices when her heart governed the righteousness of any matter. She would go on her own accord for she was an artist who created art off her vision. She would take advice from others, sure she would, but only in such circumstances where she has surrendered her vision and decided to be led. The chances of which were scanty considering her acutely creative vision.

Numerous brushstrokes later it finally came to a closure. The painting was complete. Her vision then rested beautifully in front of her eyes. She adored it. There was one thing though that bothered her. 'You look beautiful... If only I had seen your face.' She thought about the angel from her vision that rested floating in the painting. 'But then' she was enlightened by another thought, 'A face is a reflection of someone's psyche. Only that the psyche is not of the person bearing that face but of the one looking at it. Let your viewers create your face. Let your face be vastly unseen.'

Her smile contracted as soon as her gaze falls on that gray sculpture in the painting. The thought of that intruder, the man with that unsolicited advice struck her head like a thunderstorm. But then another realization hit her gently and she concluded-

'Perhaps that man knew nothing about art.'