Caressing
the fawn which lay in her arms, she said “All this house work and this field
work do not please me. I want to go, somewhere away from all this and start a
life of my own. But it seems impossible. There are many in my house who can do
this work, but not me. Every year is the same, every season is the same, the
only thing different is the time.” The fawn squeaked a faint ’meh’ as if to
give his consent to the talk. Ila laughed and fondled the fawn’s ear. The
torrent that flowed nearby reflected the clean ray’s of the sun towards her. Its
warmth was all, to give her imagination a boost. Some time passed, while she sat
there with the fawn, she heard her mother’s call. Hurriedly she got up,
adjusted her sari and ran towards her house as fast as she could. That day the
women of her house had to go to Eknatha Temple. Ila had to go there too. It was
the time of her betrothal. The search for a suitable boy was a matter of glee
for all her six elder brothers and her parents as she was the only girl in her
house. While Ila would blush, whenever this topic would arise in front of her,
she would run to the nearby Narayana Temple in excitement. There she would
recite the Narayana Strotam:
”Narayana, Narayana Jaya Govinda Hare
Narayana, Narayana Jaya Gopala Hare.”
This
gave her some peace of mind and she would forget all the other things at that
divine place. Although her parents were devotees of Lord Ganesha, she was more
attached to Lord Vishnu and Goddess Lakshmi. The Narayana Temple was her second
home.
Ila
dressed up in a beautiful sari, a new one, to visit the temple. Her Mother
wanted her to wear it because she knew one day or the other she would find a
nice match for her daughter. She believed that a man who worshipped the lord and
served him would be the best husband for Ila. All the eight women reached the
shores of the Godavari River. To reach Paithan they had to cross the river in a
boat. The rays of the sun were now falling directly over the boat. Although Ila
was used to these early morning journeys, this time she felt tired and nervous
too. Finally after an hour they reached the other shore of the great river
Godavari. The beautiful city of Paithan, a place with such a divine background and
tranquility lay before them. They walked and walked until they reached their
destination. The women touched the grounds of the pious temple and then placed
their hands over their forehead to seek the divinity of the serene place. Light
came in with a yellow drape inside the temple just like heavenly stairs. Ila
could see their shadows on the floor, as they entered. The atmosphere was so
pure and peace prevailed inside the temple.
They
moved towards the depictions of various gods and prayed. Ila was familiar to
each and every corner of the temple. She wanted to do everything so fast, she
wanted to run around as she used to do when she was a small child, but the
reason of coming here, didn’t let her do so. Moreover she was a girl of 18 now.
Yet Ila wanted to move away from her family and go towards a place which had
been the best spot for relaxing herself, just before the Samadhi of Sant
Eknatha. But today something else occupied that place. It was a painting. A
painting where a mother held her child in her arms while the child was asleep.
The
mother’s eyes were shining and glowing while looking at her child. Ila
remembered her olden days, when she would sit like this in her mother’s laps,
bound by her arms, while her brothers played in the ground. The painting was a
reflection of her childhood. She raised her eyes and saw the mother actually
holding her child like that. It was a live painting, matching exactly to the
real ones. She was so mesmerized that she didn’t notice someone calling her.
“Excuse
me young lady!” spoke the voice but Ila gave no response.
“Lady!
Would you mind if I ask you to excuse please. You have been casting a shadow on
my painting.”
This
time Ila looked at the person and realizing where she was, she instantly drew
her veil near her face.
The
person, the painter, could easily trace the sharp features of her face in that
glooming light even from behind the veil. He was enchanted by her beauty but
didn’t go near her. Yet he could not take his gaze off her. As he spoke to her
once again, instead of speaking up, Ila instantly ran away towards her family.
The painter smiled and went back to his work. When Ila reached near her mother
she looked back at the painter, who was not to be found there, nor was his
painting. She saw him go away from the gate.
Everybody
was busy listening to the devotional tracks and singing along them, but Ila’s
mind was continuously thinking of the painter. The painting had a spellbound
effect on her while the painter had allured her. Finally she found her secret
man, whom she will love forever if he is her’s. But alas, how, where and when
will they meet again, none of them knew. Back at her home, Ila could still not
take that painter out of her mind.
“Who
was he?” she thought but had no answer to her own question.
“Do
I love him?” she asked herself and blushed.
Time
and again she would talk to herself, sitting somewhere away from the others in
isolation. This loneliness suddenly seemed to her the most precious gift given
by her love. She would giggle something on her own or would smile in seclusion.
But this was not just because of her love for the painter, it was for the
painting as well. Art was a long time friend of hers which had now hidden
itself somewhere deep inside the oceans of her heart. The paints had dissolved
in water while the brushes had gone old. Yet her half burnt paintings seemed to
be a paradise for her. She loved to paint but was not allowed to. She loved the
colors but her own life was devoid of them. She wanted to be a renowned painter
but her father’s disapproval shattered her dream. She stopped drawing, she
stopped painting and she stopped living. It was as if she stopped breathing.
This painting had given her a new hope and surely the painter would give her a
chance too.
Few
days later when the traders started visiting from Paithan, she sat near
Godavari River. It was her daily early morning routine. Every day she would get
up after the sun but today she woke up with the passing night. Everybody was
asleep, when she took a step out of her house at the time of the dawn. She saw
the birds getting up in their nests, their chirping, she heard, was melodious.
She saw the cock ready to coo with the first ray of the sun. She heard the
water splashing in the river; she felt its cool touch. She saw the sky turning
its texture and color from black to blue and then to a beautiful mix of orange,
red and yellow. She saw the rising sun with its golden rays scattered
everywhere. In the nearby fields she saw the cotton harvest which was to be
collected before the arrival of traders this day. She moved forward, towards
the river, when she saw the painter once again.
She
went up to the place where he was sitting to see what was he painting now. It
was the scene of sunrise where one could see lush green grass, trees, the
river, cattle, birds and almost every beautiful creation of nature.
“Namaskara!”
she spoke. The painter turned around to see who she was. This time Ila didn’t
drew her veil near her face.
“Namaskara!”
he greeted her back.
“You
paint very well.” She complimented him.
“Thank
You! May I know who you are?” he asked hesitantly.
“My
name is Ila, and I live nearby.” She replied totally unhesitant.
“Hmm…
I’m Budhiraj and I’m a painter.” He spoke; Ila laughed and said “That I can see
very well. It’s a beautiful painting.” Her eyes gloomed as she spoke.
“Thank
you! Do you paint too?” the painter asked sensing her happiness.
“I
did.” The smile vanished from her face as she spoke in a low voice bowing her
head.
“Don’t
you do it now?”
She
agreed.
“Do
you want to?” he questioned again and she nodded. The lost happiness could be
seen back on her face.
“Then
take the brush and complete the painting, Ila.”
Ila
couldn’t believe what she heard. She couldn’t even imagine that she who knew
nothing about the strokes would paint in front of a professional artist.
“But…
I don’t do live paintings. I do the imaginative ones.” She spoke.
“Imaginative!
So imagine something and beautify this painting. Tell me what do you like the
most? Out of anything?”
“I…
I like the big colorful arch which forms in the sky… A rainbow.”
“A
rainbow, but my painting has a rainbow in it… See!”
“Where?
I can see none.”
“Look,
a rainbow has all the colors which are there in my painting. The violet and
indigo colored sky, the blue colored river, green grass, yellow jowar, orange and
red Sun. you understand what I mean to say?”
“Yes,
imagination is just not an image; it is an image with feelings and emotions,
formed in our thoughts, brought on to a paper.”
“Exactly!
So now would you complete my painting?”
“Yes
I will.” Ila said and sprung up with joy.
She
painted until the daylight was at its extreme, even exhaustion didn’t stop her.
She drew birds and cattle, she made the cock squawk, she flaunted the jowar
fields and painted the fish. The outcome was beauty at the hands of an Indian
woman.
“How
does it look, Budhiraj Ji?” she asked in a happy voice.
The
painter smiled and replied in affirmative. Ila blushed like a red rose.
“It’s
been long since I’m out from my house. My mother would be worried. I take your
leave now.”
And
she bowed down to express her gratitude.
The
painter held the Painting in his hand and started going away when an idea
struck Ila.
“Budhiraj
Ji!” she called out. The painter turned around.
“Would
you mind, if I ask you to please lend this painting to me. You can have a share
of anything you want.” She wanted to make a deal.
“I
want nothing Ila, you can take it away. But before that you have to own this
painting.”
“Own
the painting?” she asked in astonishment.
“Yes,
you have to paint your name in the corner.”
“But…
I… I don’t know how to write my name.” she repented.
“Not
a big deal, come here with me.” He took her to the banks of river Godavari.
“Now
sit here.” He said and went to find something.
First he came back with a wooden
stick and went back to fetch some water. The water was then spread on a small
portion of sand where he wrote her name with the stick, for the first time.
“Is
this my name?” Ila asked somewhat surprised.
“Yes,
now you write it. Just like this one.”
“I
don’t know, I can’t.” she said sheepishly.
“You
can… Just do it like this.” He insisted her. Ila moved her head from one side
to another.
“Ok…
I’ll make you write it.”
He
stood behind Ila and looked from above her shoulder. Then handing her the stick
he held her hand and made her write the first letter of her name ‘I’. Moving to
the other letters they wrote it together ‘L, A’.
She
got excited. “Oh! That’s my name! That’s… that’s my name! What do you call
these?”
“We
call them letters.” He answered. But Ila was thinking, how Budhiraj would write
his name.
“And
how would you write your name?”
“I
write it with the letters ‘B, U, D, H, I, R, A, J’.”
“Show
me!” she said and he wrote his name just below Ila’s name.
Ila
starred at it for some time and then went to write it on the painting.
“I
did it Budhiraj Ji. Come here and see.” She shouted.
The
painter went and was transfixed by what he saw. Ila had not just written her
name, but his too. On the corner right side, He saw the writing as beautiful as
a pearl ‘Ila Budhiraj’ written over the painting.
“Now
both of us own it Budh Ji” she spoke innocently and all the painter could do
was smile, because he got a sign that even Ila loved him.
“Would
you come to my home? Today?” the painter nodded and took the painting along
with him.
As they moved towards Ila’s house they saw people greeting each
other. The traders had arrived a day earlier, and today was the time for some
work. Ila was tensed thinking how would her parents and family members react on
meeting her new friend, who was not a friend anymore.
They
reached together near the fields of Ila’s house when she saw her father
standing at the entrance. Still she mustered some courage to go near him and
eventually brought her veil over her head.
“Illa,
where had you been all day, my child? And who is this man?”
“Father
I was at the banks of the river and he’s my friend Budhiraj.”
“Namaskara!”
Budhiraj greeted the old man.
“Namaskara!
What do you do my son?”Asked Ila’s father.
“I’m
a painter.” He answered.
“A
painter!” The old man raised his brow.
“ Ila
go inside.”
“But
father…”
“I
said go inside.”
Ila
shed some tears and rushed inside. Budhiraj saw this but couldn’t do anything.
“Do
not look there and never try to meet my daughter again. Go away.” Ila’s father
yelled.
“But
sir, what is my fault?”
“Your
fault is that you’re a painter.”
Ila
came back and begged her father not to shout at him because she loved him.
“We’re
a very simple family, painter! Do not try to break us.”
Budhiraj
was heartbroken. A few minutes earlier he was like a son to Ila’s father and
now he was just a painter for him. But why? He didn’t knew, nor did he try to.
He
listened to her father without speaking a word in his defense. Even the
painting which was made by both of them together was burnt in front of them.
All the feelings and emotions were burnt with it and he went away.
Ila
cried the whole night in her room, all she could save from the painting was
their names written together. She knew that her family would never approve of
them being together because they believed that their family would get divided
with the interference of an outsider and that too a painter, whom they think is
trying to mislead their daughter. But Ila was not a captive bird anymore. She
ran away from her house to meet Budhiraj.
“No,
Ila. That’s not you, neither is it me. It’s about the values. If you run away
with me, would you be able to live without seeing your family all those years?
Would you be able to face the world? At least I won’t be able to. We artists do
not live in this world, nor do we follow any conventions but we never forget
our values, it is they who define who we are. Running away from your family
tells that you want to fight them for me. But you know what, fighting doesn’t
only means fighting for your rights, it also means to move on a good path and
get what you want. Being capable of giving your dreams a life of their own is
also a fight against the society. So what do you understand now?” Budhiraj
questioned.
“That
I go to my home and with everyone’s consent I be with you.” She replied.
“Yes!
But not like this, with a smile on your face.”
Ila
had now understood the true meaning of her life. She wanted to be with Budh,
become a painter but not at the cost of her family. She went back insisted and
convinced her father of her choice. Her father being concerned for her asked
Budhiraj to give him some time after which he agreed and married Ila off to
him. Ila was now happy because she was now doing what she wanted to and
Budhiraj proved to be a good husband for her. After all Budh and Ila were
destined to be together facing every odd in their life.
Copyright © 2015 by Niharika Mathur
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.