That was the last he had seen her in two months. After she had gone out, he had slumped back in a chair and buried his head in his hands. He had let the tears flow out of his eyes. Not a manly thing to do and especially embarrassing at his age. But who was there to witness it? Why should he care? Then he had looked at all of her paintings he had made in last twenty years. There was at least one for each year of her life. Probably he should pack them all up and send them off with her. But… He couldn’t do that. He figured that those would be his lifeline from then on. For as long as he was cursed to live.

His drinking had become more pathological, he had even skipped the board meetings for last two months and he hadn’t painted anything new. He had tried bringing in models – old and new. He had tried reading for inspiration. He had tried his favourite haunts in the city for that. Nothing worked! Now even his beloved room felt suffocating to him. Frustrated, he got up and decided to take a walk in the garden.

—

Piyali entered the room with feelings she could not comprehend. Never before in her life had she stayed away from this room for more than three days. Two months! If she could, she would never get out of it again. She would roll up in one corner and sleep off. Peacefully!

He wasn’t there. He didn’t know she was coming. Else he would have waited for her. Or would he have? After running away from her wedding like that! It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about her wedding. But he did nothing to stop it. He didn’t even ask her to stop it. If he had said it even once…  And he didn’t try to contact her in these two months either. She looked around the familiar room. Nothing had shifted from it place since the last time she was here. There wasn’t even a new canvas around. In such a situation, one unfamiliar thing could not help catching her eye. There was a diary lying on the table. Curious, she picked it up. As soon as she turned the page, she realized that it was his personal diary. Manners dictated that she shouldn’t read it. But she could not stop herself. She leafed through the pages. There were some short entries about the business. In some others he had detailed in words some inspiring scenes. Piyali could relate them to some of the paintings he had drawn later. And then she noticed references to a woman. Always in pronouns. “She”, “her”, never a name.

“Her expressive eyes. Can I ever get them right in a painting?”

“She makes me want to be normal. To love, to marry, to have a family. But no. I can’t. Because seeing her also fuels passion. And passion can become dark soon. Very soon. Especially when violence is in your blood. If it was only my conscience I had to fight, I would have taken a chance. But how can I take a chance with her? If I become the monster I am capable to becoming, what would happen to her?”

What was he talking about? And whom?

Piyali flipped through until she found a reference to “her” again.

“’Why don’t you sell any of my paintings?’ she wanted to know.” Piyali forgot to draw breath as she read that. It was her! “What should I have told her when she asked if those paintings were not good enough? Should I have told her that once, only once, had my agent gotten a glimpse of one of her paintings. ‘Mr. Thakur,’ his eyes had shone greedily, ‘Where have you been hiding this gem?’ I had to curtly tell him that it was personal and not for sale. How disappointed had he been! But I could not tell her that. She asks uncomfortable questions these days. This one would have opened a can of worms. I just told her what I had told the agent. That I consider them personal. That I never tried to sell them. I did not tell her that I cannot imagine sharing her with anyone. Even if it is a painting. How could I have told her that? It is such a foolish thing to wish for. She won’t remain with me forever. She can never become mine. Why burden her with my impossible wishes! She must live her life, and live it well.”

Tears welled up in Piyali’s eyes. What would it have taken for him to give her the wedding present then? Anyone else would have been surprised to see the painting. He had painted her, in her wedding attire. How could he do that without ever seeing her in the dress? Others would have wondered. She didn’t. He had always painted her like that. He had never asked her to pose. She had never thought much about it. But it dawned on her now that how extraordinary it was. It was as if all her features, all her expressions were itched perfectly in his memory. That painting in the wedding attire… She could see her anxiety and confusion reflected perfectly in the facial expressions he had given to her. Did he understand her feelings? If he did, why didn’t he talk to her even once? Or was it his own anxiety and confusion that he had painted on her face?

“And as if the monster in me is not enough of a problem, I can’t help feeling how perverse it would sound to anyone. She is so young! She has grown up before me. I was twelve when she was born. What business do I have having such feelings for her?”

A lump formed in her throat. She flipped through some more pages. And then she came across the entry after which she could not stop the tears from flowing down her eyes.

“’Why not me?’ she asked. How innocently does she torture me? I shooed her away. I couldn’t have told her that if I ever saw or painted her nude, I would not be able to do it with an artist’s eyes. I will see her with a lover’s eyes. And then… All hell will break loose.”

She started sobbing. She didn’t have the heart to read more. What would he have written about her wedding? It was bad enough to make him run away on that day. She couldn’t read it.

She heard some footsteps approaching the room. He must be coming back. And her face must be all puffed up from crying. She reached out for the tubelight switch. She had switched it on while picking up the diary. He wouldn’t find it odd if it were switched off. That’s how he had left it. It was just getting dark. There was enough light in the room to not make it necessary to switch the lights on. And it was dark enough so that he won’t notice her swollen face.

—

To be continued