Story of small sculptor
There was a small sculptor in a city called selsagi. He was interested in making sculptors of his surroundings. He used to study the styles of architecture in his hometown temples. But, neither his little eyes nor his mind could differentiate the styles of aryan, dravidian, Indo-Islamic styles etc..He was not bothering about those also.He was simply enjoying himself in carving sculptors. Those tiny,thogh childish looking sculptors were a mere representataion of his hidden but may be mighty talent. Who knows, he might be developing his own style. .
But he was unaware of his calibre. He was considering himself as a superhero who could carve anything he observes into beautiful realistic sculptors.. He was crawling in terms of maturity of his sculptures.Day by day, he started walking. . He grew up without any guide or Inspiration. Only he was the master of himself correcting his small mistakes and finetuning himself.Everything went fine for him until a day when he thought to show his sculptures to a renown experienced articulate sculptor of that time, Bhatji in his hometown.Bhatji never used to cool the confrontations of his works. He was famous for his unique style of art. So, the boy liked him very much and liked his various works.
He was very much thrilled by the thought of getting small appreciation for his works.He was awaiting much of guidence.But was unaware of the mighty future which had some other plans itself for him. Finally that day came. For the good or bad, happiness or sadness to give nector or bitterness in his life.who knows? Not atleast the small sculptor.
Bhatji was a famous scluptor of selsagi province. His works were honoured by many people including the king. He was approched by many younf scluptors for suggestions regarding their work. There were many innovative young minds who never missed any of his exhibitions which used to be held often in that province exhibiting new works of him ansd his fellow scluptors. One of such lads who attracted bhatji’s mind is Swaroop. Once Swaroop met bhatji in a market. Swaroop was very happy on seeing bhatji. Heexpressed his desire to show his works to bhatji.Bhatji was happy to help always. So he agreed to meet next day.
Little boy swaroop could not sleep sleep well that day in the thought of meeting bhatji. Finally sun rose with braight rays tearing clouds of darkness.Whether he was bringing rays of hope to swaroop or not. Only the almighty knows. Unaware of the future swaroop went to meet bhatji carrying his small bag. They were of wooden , clay, stone,metal.. many varieties of small sculptors waiting for recognition.
Bhatji saw all works of swaroop partientlly. He admired some of them. But critically examined many of them, advising him to study works of great sculptors. One of the words of bhatji struck young boy’s mind.”Dear Swaroop,what you are doing is not great sculptures.You have a long to go.But Don’t stop creating new ones”.Swaroop came back home with those words deep rooted in mind.
He forgot the last line and considered first two so seriously that he stopped creating new sculptures. Tried to understand big words.But could only fill his mind with few drops from the wast sea of art. Started trying to imitate works of other known artists. But was lost in journey unable to dicover himself. Meanwhile he used to create new ones. Got admirations mixed with critics. But he could not filter the good ones from the bad ones.With each comment he started developing inferiority complex.
Time passed without any works by swaroop. Nobody was missing it, not even swaroop himself. One day in the early morning he saw a spider’s web. A boy was curiously observing it and drawing it. It remainded swaroop of himself. The young bvoy was not bothering whether he is going to become Leonardo , Ravi verma or anyone else. Was Simply enjoying himself in painting. Swaroop observed a singing nightingale and harsh sound of crow happy of finding foof near by. None of them were bothering about the harshness or the sweetness of their sound. Then swaroop thought. If these things won’t worry about themselves, why should I? whatever I have is good only. Why to bother about what I don’t have. Why can’t I simply go on as I used to in earlier days. How can I Improve unless I try?
This struck his mind. One more transformation was about to happen. An image of a boy painting with full involvemnent was framed in the riverside clay.Sweat was pouring all over his face as if washing all dirt, bad thoughts of early days.It was pouring as if it will unleash a new person hidden beneath it. Sun was smiling behind the trees watching the little boy return to his track.