By Vimal Kapoor
Rajasthan has always been known for its glorious art and lifelike statues and in its golden age. King Vikram ruled with a heart that was passionate about the delicate curves of fine art. His obsession for sculpture was legendary. Once he was gifted three exquisite glass statues by the ‘Tsar’ of Russia. They were magnificent, capturing light brilliantly.
“These are not mere objects,” Vikram declared to his court. “They are my hearbeat.”
To guard these treasures, the King appointed Jagdish, a man known for his safe hands and unwavering devotion. For years, Jagdish treated the statues like his own children. However, fate is often as fragile as glass. One afternoon a momentary tremor caused one statue to slip. It shattered into a thousand glittering ruins.
When Vikram saw the wreck, he flew into a cold, murderous rage. “You have destroyed what was irreplaceable, Jagdish,” the King snarled. “For this clumsiness, you shall pay with your life. I sentence you to be hanged.”
Jagdish was put into a cold cell, the shadow of the noose looming over as few days were left for his execution. Yet, as the eve of his capital punishment arrived, he thought about a daring plan. He sent word to the palace, requesting a final wish.
“Speak,” Vikram commanded his voice devoid of mercy. “What is your final wish?”
Jagdish pleaded. “Your Majesty, I have spent years breathing life into those figures through my care. My desire is to hold the remaining two statues one last time before I depart this world.”
The king relented and ordered for the statues to be brought. In the eerie silence of the throne room, Jagdish took a statue in each hand. He looked at them with a strange, sarcastic smile. Suddenly, with a violent roar, he raised his arms and hurled them against the marble floor. The sound of exploding glass echoed like the shattering of a chandelier.
The hundreds of ‘darbaris’ were paralysed. Vikram leaped from his throne, his face purple with fury. “You scoundrel! Why did you perform such a dastardly act?”
Jagdish said nothing as the guards hadcuffed him and dragged him back to the cell. That night, however, Vikram could not sleep. The image of the shattering glass haunted him. Why? He wondered. Why would a man who loved beauty commit such an act of intentional vandalism?
Driven by an itch he couldn’t scratch, the King ordered his chariot to be readied before dawn. He arrived at the prison cell just as the sun was about to set.
“Tell me why, Jagdish,” Vikram demanded, standing before the iron bars. “Why destroy the very things you spent a lifetime protecting?”
Jagdish looked up, his eyes wet with tears but his voice steady. “Your Majesty, I am an old man, and my life is already gone. But those statues were fragile. Eventually, someone else would have been hired to clean them. One day—next year, or in ten years—another hand would have slipped.”
He stepped closer to the bars. “Had that happened, you would have sent two more innocent souls to the gallows for the sake of glass. By breaking them now, I have saved two lives. My death is a certainty; their safety is now guaranteed.”
The silence that followed was heavier than the stone walls of the prison. Vikram looked at Jagdish, not as a servant, but as a man of deep wisdom and courage. The King realised that his obsession had blinded him and there was nothing more precious than life.
“I have been a fool,” Vikram whispered. “I valued the reflection of light more than the light within a human soul.”
The King did not wait for the executioner. He unlocked the chains himself. “You are pardoned, Jagdish. A man who would sacrifice his reputation and face a King’s wrath to save strangers is a treasure no statue could ever match.”
(Vimal Kapoor, a Dehradun resident is passionate about literature, creative writing, cricket and exploration through travel)
