A Meeting of Artists
On a serene day of a fading spring, many people came out of their homes to spend the day away from the bounds of their houses. It was as if the weather had beckoned them and almost all of them had obliged to it. At one of the sidewalks, along the channel of a river, stood a man who kept gazing at the pattern of the water. Soon he was joined by another man who was still in his night wears and had a bag of fruits in his hands. The following conversation ensued between them.
‘What a lovely day it is today! It is after ages I feel so pleasant! ‘
‘Yes it is - I am amazed how dull this water looked yesterday and how so bright and exuberant it looks today. What impact weather can make!’
‘True! True what you say. Have an apple here. Even it looks so beautiful today. I do not generally come to buy but the weather was so good -What should I say? By the way I am an artist. I paint and also act, you know the street plays.
‘Oh! It is so good to know that, I am a writer. I haven’t published a book, but I’m on my course. I work for the press, give them stories from here and there.’
‘So this is a meeting between two artists. Can I ask you, just out of curiosity, the title for the book you have chosen?’
‘It is called ‘Burden of choices’
‘That’s quite an incisive name. The title itself expresses the content. Don’t you think the title is shallow, for an author should have a mystified aura around himself?’
‘That is a quick judgment that you pass. What do you think the book is about?’
‘There is nothing to explain, its self explanatory. It must be about the burden one has of choosing from the options so as not to put himself into trouble.’
‘It is not as you put. It’s the story of a man who every time has to make a choice and he always chooses the wrong one’
‘The man must be stupid then, to not learn and make same mistakes again and again’
‘It so happens that sometimes all our learning fails us to choose wisely. You must have made such wrong choices too.’
‘Nothing that I can remember - I am an artist by instinct. The choices I make are also instinctive. Once I painted a scene where pain emerged out of tragedy, it was well appreciated by my fellows and they wanted me to sell it, for they thought it would fetch a good price but I felt something was missing. I didn't sell it. They still say I would have been better than what I am now but you know I merely go by my instincts.’
‘You must be a good painter then. What subjects do you like to paint?’
‘There is nothing particular. It depends up on what emotions I feel, it can be anything from a circle to our galactic universe.’
‘But your feeling cannot be appeasing to people all the time and your versatility could be because you lack focus rather than being eclectic.’
Just then their conversation was interrupted by a man who asked them for a certain direction. On recognizing
him as one of the musicians from the city, the three men made a brief acquaintance with each other and the following conversation ensued between them.
‘What a great communion of art this is. I am a writer, he is a painter and you are a musician. This is what good weather can do. It brings out the hidden from their burrows.’
‘Certainly it does, I was on my way to a music function at the city hall. There is a discussion there on the progress of music. Many other musicians will be coming too.’
‘How good it is to see so many people indulging in art! If it continues like this then surely we will see a blissful place rather than the wretched mess which exists. Through my street plays I evoke people to be prudent, to act more to their feeling rather than the deceiving ways of the world’
‘That is great. Art can have a great influence on people, in whatever form it may be. You see the music now is not merely for pleasing oneself. People look for some meaning in it, for they feel devoid of it in real life. We are going to discuss what message should we convey’
‘I think we artist always intend to convey the same message though we differ in form we express it. Through my writing I try to instigate people to take action, just by portraying a tragedy or some misery. How easily people connect to the tragedies’
‘Yes, we all do aspire for the same goal; of love and unity. We, through our art, reflect the hindrances one faces in its achievement.’
‘How beautiful the world will look if love was the motif of our actions!’
‘Yes, the oneness existing throughout the places.’
‘What a vision would that be!’
On this note they decided to part with each other and the rain began to pour. Just as they were wishing each other adieu, a man came running shouting for help. He passed the three men, stumbled and fell just a little distance away from them. Behind him, a chasing car stopped where he had fallen, two men came out of it and started beating the man mercilessly.
‘Do not teach us the rules - this is what you get for telling us right or wrong. What we do is right’ said one of the men who kept inflicting grave injuries with his bare hands.
After leaving the man almost lifeless they left. The rain began to come down harder as the dying man gasped for breath. The crowd had gathered around, each one put their opinions to the incident but no one came for his aid. The three artists who were silent observers as the others spoke to each other.
‘What a great tragedy this is! A man beaten for preaching! I will enact this in my play’
‘I pray that he lives. I must leave now, the rain is getting vigorous and the discussion will start soon’
‘The water has become turbulent too. We should go.’
And so the burden of choices left the three men to the deceiving ways of the world as they walked away to the sound of the splattering rain which washed away the blood as well as the memory of the incident.******