Taj Mahal
It was 12.20 AM. Chris looked at the cover of the book in his hands. The magnificient edifice of marble on the cover reminded him of the potential of human will. The book had been his companion through the past few months. Months of endless days and sleepless nights. The story of the masterpiece accompanied him through a period of what he considered the gestation period of his own master piece. A piece that shall be unparalleled when born. He could not wait to walk the red carpet when his baby will be hailed by the world. He smiled broadly at the picture in the book - a sketch of a Moslem ruler under whose rule the marble mausoleum was built. He picked up the book, wore his spectacles that was hanging around his necks and looked at the picture closely. The ruler’s name was Shah Jahan. He felt a surge of pride when he thought - ‘I shall be immortalized, like this Mughal, by my masterpiece’. He proceeded to read the section under the picture once again.
Chris looked at the time-piece on the table beside the bed. The clock’s panel glowed ‘4.00 AM’. He picked up the cordless and dialled a number. The digits on the number pad were fading. He thought - ‘Just once more’. Andy was awake. He placed the book on the bed,ambled to his bathroom, opened the shelf and picked up the vial. He looked at his reflection in the mirror on the shelf and saw a stranger glaring back at him.Picking up his jacket from the living room, he checked to see if the car keys were in there and walked out of the house after locking the door.
Andy was always welcome to receive him. Numerous were the nights when both of them had not slept a wink and spent the nights discussing the passion of their life. At that point of time, both had just one purpose for existence - the masterpiece. Though the masterpiece was primarily Chris’s, Andy had made it his sole reason for his living and it was evident the way the masterpiece was shaping up. He had felt a huge void when his marriage fell apart and Chris’s masterpiece was all that he had. While Chris was falling back on his book to keep him connected to sanity, Andy had to resort to psychiatric presciptions to ensure he stay connected with the real world. He was often found babbling although the lines spoken were familiar for Chris. It was Chris who had admonished Andy and made him realize the monstrosity of his obsession with the masterpiece. He had been there for Andy during his trips to his psychiatrist.
It was 5.00AM. Chris realized Andy would be taking his prescribed dose sometime soon. As ever, Andy was talking passionately about how he was thinking about making the masterpiece absolutely flawless. Chris said ‘ Andy, isn’t time for shrink’s prescription?’. Andy smiled in return and said ‘Chris, what would I do without you? Its you who got me into this and probably thats why it hurts so much, isn’t it? ‘. He was turning his back to Chris and picked up the box having his prescriptions. He proceeded to place them on the table facing Chris. He opened a vial and out came a white pill. He ripped apart a tablet cover and placed another yellow colored tablet next to the pill. Then came another capsule and finally one more pill to complete the concoction. This cocktail of drugs was what that had kept Andy in touch with the real world. They were talking about the days to come and like anxious fathers, they could not help the restlessness they were experiencing these days as their baby was about to be born. Andy got up to fetch some cold water for himself and a beer can for Chris.
Chris was walking towards his car and he felt he was sweating profusely though the temperature would have been around 30 degrees F only. He looked at his watch and saw it was 5.30 AM.
Chris woke up flustered. He felt as though the migraine was going to split his head. He realized he had left TV on before he slept. A presenter was talking animatedly. Then he caught sight of the letters - ‘Andrew found dead in his apartment!’. He got himself up from the sheets and looked at the book in his hand, with his fingers serving as the bookmark. He opened the book and saw the page he seemed to hold on to tightly - A sketch of Shah Jahan seemed to look at him ominously. He wore his spectacles and read the letters in small font under the picture
“It is described often in horrific detail, the deaths, dismemberments and mutilations which Shah Jahan supposedly inflicted on various architects and craftsmen associated with the tomb so that the masterpiece can never be reproduced. But there has been no evidence to prove ..”
Chris looked at the jacket draped on the back of the chair in the room. He knew the vial was in the pocket !
