Priceless - A Short Story

Priceless

Chandrakant was sitting idle looking at the blank wall. His apartment in the Park Lane Area of Central London was quite a landmark. The past few months were a sort of turbulence in his life. A paper was lying in the table across ready to fly but was bound by a paperweight. He imagined himself to be like that paper which wants to set itself free and fly around aimlessly but was tied by attachments. The paper was actually a letter written by his wife who had separated from him. She wanted to be back in his life.

When the chips were down, the market came crashing down from nowhere. His flourishing enterprise suddenly came to a grinding halt. His reputation was in tatters. His wife Isabella had also separated from him at such a juncture and left alongwith his son. He was hounded by the media and the law authorities. Once a famous personality, he was surrounded by controversy. He was a bitter man. He got to realise his enemies, reworked his strategies with his business acumen, auctioned off the rare artefacts he had in his possession to meet his debts and recoup his losses and his life was getting back on track. One such painting he held dearly fetched an unbelievable $105 million. Everyone were taken aback when he announced that he will use the entire proceeds towards a trust for free education of aspiring Arts students in India. Life can be so cruel yet funny. His wife kept calling him several days, messaged him, emailed him and now this letter. He kept ignoring her but could not stop himself from reading this letter. She may have ditched and left him fighting all alone but how could he forget his love for Isabella? He picked up his phone and spoke. Isabella was sobbing at the other end. "Why don't you join me Isa with our son at a function hosted by the City Mayor". He was happy that he will be getting to see his young son Sam. Sam was his sole comfort who kept calling him everyday during his bad days.

It was a grand function with several dignitaries especially from the Arts world. Several NGOs had also lined up for the occasion. It was a celebration arranged for his noble cause by his friend who was also the city mayor. Everyone seemed to make the right noises as he walked in quietly towards the stage without any pretence. On the dais, the painting that once adorned the wall of his central hall occupied the center stage. The bidder, a wealthy businessman who bought the painting at an astronomical price was seated along with the Mayor along with several dignitaries. But all eyes were on his wife Isabella seated on the front row. He embraced her warmly and kissed her cheeks amidst a million flashlights. He rolled over the head of his son Sam by his fingers and whispered something and moved towards the dais. The paparazzi was stumped to see no drama on the family front. Chandrakant was a picture of poise as he sat calmly but seemed not so keen to listen to each of the dignitaries as they began speaking. He was lost in thoughts.

He remembered his visit to India few years back. He had just taken over the enterprise from his ailing father. His business meets were scheduled at Ahmedabad and in Mumbai. He took a walk down the Hotel Oberoi leaving his car behind. He wanted to walk around and breathe some free air. It was night time around 10 pm. He lazily walked towards Flora Fountain along the deserted footpath dressed casually in Tees and jeans. He was talking to his love Isa on the other end. Anyone would mistake him to be a College going teenager as he gazed around merrily talking endlessly on his cellphone. Mumbai may be a buzzing commercial capital but the streets around Flora Fountain towards the famous Gateway of India wears a deserted look once offices and establishments wind up by 8 pm. Chandrakant found this unusual but loved this serenity. Across the Flora fountain he could see few makeshift hutments. Little children were running around naked. A young man was sitting and painting something. He was scantily dressed and was shivering in the Mumbai winter. He was very much unlike the others around him. His jittery fingers were moving the brush over the canvas.
"Are you alright? It isn't much cold over here"
He replied, "Where are you from?"
"London..."
He looked at Chandrakant for a while and laughed wildly.
"Do I look mad? You don't look like a foreigner "
Chandrakant had a quick smile
"Ya my Dad was from India "
Chandrakant was looking at his painting. Though that man's fingers were jittery the brush was doing magic on the canvas.
Chandrakant took his cell phone and rang his driver Jitu to come over there. He instructed him to take a blanket from his bag and giving him directions to come where he stood.
He turned towards this painter.
"What's your name"
"Bhola"
"Bhola!"
Bhola had a quick laugh.
"Doesn't it sound like a name?"
"Where do you stay Bhola?"
Bhola again laughed.
"You are already standing inside my house without permission"
Chandrakant laughed
"You have quite a big house. Don't the Police shoo you away?"
"The Police do come. Others pay them money to be here. I don't "
"Why? Are you something special". Chandrakant mocked.
"No they saw me drawing. I promptly sketched an image of one of them. Since then they tell me to draw sketches and pay me" Bhola laughed heartily.
It was filled with innocence of a child.
"Do you want me to draw your sketch" Bhola asked
Chandrakant was about to say something
"You should not be standing over here Sir. This place is not good. It's India not London " His driver interrupted
Chandrakant smiled at Jitu.
"Where is the blanket Jitu"
Jitu promptly gave him the blanket
He turned towards Bhola
"Take this blanket. You don't seem well. Keep yourself warm."
Bhola wrapped the blanket around him and took out one painting
"Take this with you to London "
Chandrakant took out his purse.
Bhola stopped him.
"You were kind enough to give this cozy blanket for me. I have nothing other than this painting to give you. I will be happy if my painting reaches London "
Chandrakant smiled at Bhola.
He could not understand art but there was something about this painting that stood out.
He kept it carefully as one of his prized possessions.

Isa had come to greet him at the London airport.
"What have you bought for me from India? "
She was bubbling with enthusiasm like a kid. He loved Isha for her innocence.
He took out this painting.
She jumped with joy and kissed him.
"Looks marvellous. How much is it dear? "
"Priceless"
"What. . .?"
"Ya, this painting is priceless like your kiss"
Isha blushed.
Soon they were to be married.
He took over his father's enterprise like a fish to water.
He was soon hailed as among the top 100 influential persons in the decade. His love Isha delivered a baby boy. They named him Sam. He was basking in success for years. But his relations with Isha was getting frosty and he was taking her for granted. His success in the financial world masked the deep fissures that were cracking up on his family life. Soon oil prices began fluctuating. The Chinese markets had collapsed. The solid foundations upon which he cultivated his business empire got a severe jolt. His wife Isha separated from him. Chandrakant's business went bankrupt. His legal advisors and team of consultants were busy preparing an exit plan for him. Chandrakant announced an auction of the artefacts collected by him over the years. It was a painful decision for him. The Arts world were around for inspection of the items on auction . One of his rooms was maintained lavishly like a museum and was not open to anyone till then except him and Isa.
The date for Auction was finalised. His business too saw signs of revival. What surprised him was they also wanted the painting that adorned the wall of his central hall to be included in Auction.
They asked him the base price for it.
He hesitated and said, "It's priceless".
The photo of the painting went viral on social networks.
Something like this was unheard off in Auction. Bids crossed $100 million for the painting.
The deal was fixed and he stunned the world by announcing that he intended to use the money towards a trust for free education of aspiring Arts students in India. Here was a man whose business empire sunk in liabilities was just on the path of recovery and talking charity.

The applause around the hall woke him back to the present occasion. It was his turn to speak at the function. The proud owner of the painting and others were all ears. He spoke about his visit to India and how he got this priceless gift from a painter living on a street. As he kept speaking, everyone went silent. The owner was wearing a deep frown and looking towards the Arts world for assurance. There was a mixed reaction in everyone's mind.

As Chandrakant finished speaking, Isa climbed the steps and hugged him. His son Sam kissed his right hand as they took leave of the audience .

As they entered the house, Chandrakant hugged Isa. He looked relieved to be back with her. He wiped out her teary eyes. She kissed him.
"Kiss me again. It's priceless"

Written
by Suresh Iyer

 

Writing short story after quite long time