The easel was set-up. With a colourful palette, a ready brush, a myriad ideas and a plethora of strokes in his repertoire, the artist was ready. Movements so elegant, so graceful, so profound and ever so sublime would have the audience spell-bound and rapt at attention. There was a surreal touch to his work. Oh the finesse of it all! His actions were exquisite and par excellence. More often than not, the way he would go about his job would be lucid and ethereal… For, his competitors would be left far behind gaping, seemingly tactless and wondering what had just hit them. Such was his dominance when he and his challengers took stage.
All but one. It is known that Mother Nature has her own unique way to deal with dominance. And so, it seemed only too fair that such great a talent should be bogey to someone. Enter the warrior. One who was not to be intimidated by any show of invincibility or ‘Godliness’. One who gnawed at the artists back. One who more than just troubled poetic pulchritude with a polar brilliance- puissance. Reminiscent of the tireless Heracles himself, this raging and rampant marauder was no cheap mercenary or bounty hunter. He was on a mission, too.