The spell of enchantress

THE SPELL OF ENCHANTRESS

It all happens like magic. One won't believe such a thing, until it happens with them. Until she visits them. And casts the spell that binds them.

"It's her words that bind you to what she utters." says a villager.

"Not the words, it's her soothing voice that does the trick." counters another.

"Not the voice, it's her glistening honey brown eyes that lure you to her will."

"Not her eyes, it's her gleaming dusky skin that melts you to fit according to her vessel."

It's a village named Zoar. People in Zoar had different perceptions about her. But everyone agreed that the enchantress always has her way. If she utters something, then anyone would yearn to follow it. As if they are bound by her spell. That's the power of the spell of that enchantress. She was called Evanora. Evanora, the enchantress.

Onome( pronounced as 'ono' 'may'), a 17 year old boy was always fascinated about her. Whenever people talked about Evanora, he felt as if he had seen her. As if she had told him something. But he couldn't recollect what she said. May be it was just a dream.

Am I bound by her spell! he would think at times.

"We are going to the town son," his father broke his thoughts as Onome was feeding grass to the cows.

"But there is no market fair today?" he asked in surprise.

His father smiled at him warmly.

"Really! Are we going to town to buy the!!" Onome stopped midway as his throat dried up in excitement.

"Yes! Let's buy that guitar you always wanted," his father said staring at their glimmering golden yellow paddy field. It seemed like a rich harvest that year.

As those words reached his ear, Onome threw away the grass which fell on the cow blinding it completely. Then he lunged towards his father and hugged him tightly.

As Onome entered the guitar shop, his mouth opened wide at the sight of numerous guitars. His eyes lit up when they fell on a finely polished wooden guitar with sharp finishings. Then, he let out a sigh in dismay as he looked at its price. His father noticed him.

"You like that?"

That guitar was so expensive that it's equivalent to 2 years of savings of his father. Two years of sweating out in farming.

"No. It's too extravagant. I want something simple." he said casually.

His father smiled at him.

"Alright! I liked that guitar. Your opinion doesn't matter. I am going to buy it whether you like it or not."

As Onome returned to Zoar cheerfully with that shining guitar in his hand, his friends and fellow villagers circled him in a merry.

"You always wanted a guitar Onome! Can you play it?" asked a friend.

"I don't know how to play it. But I want to. I really want to." he said feeling it's smoothness. "This is a big day for you. She might visit you today."

"Who?"

"Evanora."

The village of Zoar was known for its artists. It is said that Evanora is the reason for that. She visits people when the time comes and only when they are alone. She doesn't speak much. One has to probe her with an open heart and she would spell out the words.

The words that can change a life.

Sing your heart out - She used that spell on a mother who was trying to calm her crying child with a lullaby. And that mother went on to become a famous singer whose songs work like magic on the ears of listeners. Making them yearn for more songs. More magic.

Onome stood infront of the mirror in his room with the guitar in his hands. It was of the same colour as his skin. Almond brown. The chords were thick and strong just like his dark, dense hair. His hazel brown eyes glistened as he stared at the flashy curves of the guitar. He felt as if his soul was in it.

That night sleep evaded him. Lying on his bed, Onome pondered on the prospect of her visit. Evanora, the enchantress.

Would she come?

I should probe her to say those words.

The words that could change everything.

Onome doesn't remember how his craving for a guitar took birth. But he had been pestering his father relentlessly for years. He felt alive when he laid his hands on it.

Lying on his bed, he stared at the shining guitar that was kept in the corner. The air became colder. The rustlings of the wild winds filled his room. The windows rattled. He heard some faint footsteps.

Is it her? His heart pounded in anticipation.

He could see an approaching shadow on the floor through the opening of his door. 

She is coming! Evanora, the enchantress.

And then a tall figure emerged out of the darkness and stood in front of him.

It's not her! But! But!

It's him!

A tall figure of a man with eyes white as a rare diamond stared at Onome. He had long grey hairs and a thick beard. A smirk occupied his pale face.

It can't be him!

But it's him!

It's Azazel, the sorcerer!

Onome heard about him from the villagers. Azazel, the sorcerer. Notorious for the element of fear he carries with him.

"Even he is just like Evanora. You are bound by his spell." says a villager.

"Not at all. It's not a spell. It's black magic." counters another.

"It's his glittering diamond eyes that make you loose yourself."

"It's his cunning smile that throws your confidence into thin air."

People of Zoar knew that he was very different from Evanora. Even Azazel held the power to bind the people to his words. He was always ready to utter the words that people fear to hear. And once he utters those words, people are bound to do it even if they never wanted to do such a thing. It was done more out of fear. In the case of Evanora, they did it more out of hope and happiness.

Onome had heard about the story of the man who lives in a White House in Zoar. His name was Okoro. He was a budding painter. People said that Evanora visited him and said the words he wanted to hear. And that's when his paintings started to seem like magic. Drowning the observer in its depths. His house was more like an art gallery. Both the outer walls and inner walls were filled with colourful paintings.

And one night, it is said that Azazel visited him. Azazel, the sorcerer. And uttered the words. The words that changed things forever.

Erase the colours!

That was all he said. And Okoro turned his place into a White House by the morning. And since that day, he never touched colours. He rarely came out of his house. Onome saw him once recently. With a shabby beard and dirty hair, he looked like a 40 year old. But his age was just 30. With dark circles around the sunken eye pits, his facial hair covered most of his face.

As Azazel stared at Onome, all these things ran in his mind. The tragic story of Okoro who erased the colours from his colourful life occupied him.

Just then, the smile on the face of Azazel disappeared. He turned his head to the corner where the shining guitar was placed. Then he turned back to Onome. Onome's ribs clenched. A shiver ran down his spine. And then Azazel separated his lips inorder to utter the words. The words that can change things forever.

NO!! I shouldn't let him utter the words!

Onome got out of the bed and pounced on the Sorcerer. He tried reaching out to the mouth of sorcerer to silence him. To stop him from uttering the words. But, in a jiffy the sorcerer gripped Onome's hands which hung inches away from his mouth. Onome felt overpowered. And then the sorcerer started speaking.

"Break the.."

Is he going to say Break the guitar!!

Sweat drops trickled on Onome's face and in the blink of an eye he got his hands out of the sorcerer's grip and closed Azazel's mouth by forcing his palms on it. Azazel was left puzzled as he couldn't complete what he wanted to utter. His eyes opened wider.

Azazel closed his eyes for a second and then pushed Onome away effortlessly. Onome felt a brute force on his chest and in the next moment he found himself on the floor a few feet away from Azazel. Lying on the floor, he stared at Azazel in disbelief.

Azazel smirked at him.

"Please don't say those words. I beg you. Please." Onome felt a breathlessness.

A feeling of dread gripped him. He felt a choke as if his lungs were dead. His heart beat went wild and thudded his ribs. And the things became blurry.

"Please.. don't.." he barely managed to speak the words.

Break the guitar!

Azazel uttered the words. Onome tried to cover his ears with his palms in a desperate attempt. Azazel guffawed at his stupidity and despair.

Then he turned away and left the place as his task was done. Onome felt powerless all of a sudden. As if things were not in his hands anymore. He stood up, went to the corner and picked up the guitar. He started breaking each chord one by one. Tunnnngggg! Tunnnnnnggggg! The sound echoed in the room. As each chord broke, he felt as if his veins were bursting. He did not want to do it. But he was bound by the spell. At that moment, he experienced the agony that Okoro went through while erasing the colours. The colours which he painted carefully, to feed his craving soul and bring life to his expression. To bring out what his heart yearned to speak.

Once he was done with all the chords, he closed his moist eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks. Out of despair and helplessness, he swung the guitar on to the wall. And then it broke. Beyond the scope of any repair. Just like his heart.

In the morning, he endured the angst of his father. His actions seemed inexplicable to his father. But only he knew why he did it. And soon the villagers came to know of the reason. That Azazel visited him and uttered the words. The story spread to every villager just like that of Okoro's.

Years passed by.

Onome continued farming. The element of indifference became a part of him. As if nothing mattered much now. Every now and then, when he looked into the mirror, he felt as if he was looking at Okoro. A forsaken artist.

Onome stopped attending any music concert that happened in his village. He was afraid that he might break a guitar if he sees one. But his mind was never at peace. Always rambling things. Things, which did not matter to him anymore.

One winter night, he returned to Zoar after a market fair in the town. His yellow coloured overcoat kept him warm from the chilly night. He arrived late in the night. By the time he returned, the arrangements were being made for a music concert. He had to cross that road inorder to reach his home. He cursed himself for being late. The crowd started gathering near the stage. Pushing his way through the crowd, he tried to get past that place making sure not to look at the stage. As he almost went past the crowd, a sound reached his ears. The sound of a vibrating guitar chord. And his face turned towards the stage involuntarily.

On the stage, a young man was playing the guitar. The red coloured guitar shined under the lights. Onome's eyes fell on the guitar. He turned his head away and tried to leave. But, his mind was occupied by those words.

Break the guitar!

And Azazel appeared infront of him blocking his path. He was back, after all these years. His shining eyes white as a diamond. Whiter than the glimmering full moon above him in the dark purple sky lined by thick grey clouds.

Onome turned back to a sea of crowd. Almost all the villagers were there. Men, women and children were cheering merrily in their winter coats. Some of them took off their hats and were waving them from left to right drawing arcs on the chilly air. The performance started and the loudness of the cheers and music filled the place. But Onome was deaf to all these. As he stared at the performer, only three words filled his mind.

Break the guitar!

With his eyes fixed on the guitar, he pushed his way through the crowd completely deaf to the people shouting at him for shoving them. And then he climbed the stage and moved towards the guitar player. The performer stopped playing and backtracked slowly in a frenzy. Onome forcefully grabbed the guitar from him. A flurry of loud gasps and mutterings of the crowd filled the place. As people on the stage tried to grab Onome, he moved away briskly and climbed down the stage. And then he ran away.

He ran away in frenzy like a mad man. And people ran behind him. He entered into the golden yellow paddy fields. Gasping for breathe, Onome continued running, clutching on to the guitar tightly to his chest. As he turned back while running, almost all the villagers were running behind him and screaming at him. His yellow coat wavered backwards and a gust of wind blew across his face. The golden yellow paddy fields swayed and danced to the tunes of the wind. He closed his eyes for a moment as he continued running. And then it came back to him all of a sudden.

He remembered running like that several years ago. When he was just 12 years old, on a windy morning, he was running in their golden yellow paddy fields as the plant edges caressed his cheeks. He was running alone. Lost in a bliss. Yearning to express that bliss. At that moment, he heard a voice. But he was lost in the bliss. He couldn't hear it properly. As he tried hard to think of it now after almost 12 years, another voice occupied his mind.

Break the guitar!

As Onome turned back, Azazel was running behind him smirking at him. And Onome was tired by then. Azazel reached closer to Onome. He felt Azazel's breath on his ears. Onome closed his eyes and continued running. Trying to go back 12 years. Desperate to hear those words.

As the 12 year old Onome ran in the field blissfully, the words started becoming clearer. He tried hard not to think of the sorcerer. Not to think of the villagers. Or his father. He tried to get into that bliss and listen to that voice. With an open heart he probed. And the words reached his ears.

Play your heart!

As soon as those words reached his ears, he swivelled back in a swift movement and struck the face of Azazel with the guitar. And Azazel vanished into thin air!

The villagers were closing in on him with a spurt of shouts. Wanting to get back the guitar for their concert.

Play your heart!

"But I don't know how to play guitar. I never played!" he thought.

Don't try to play the guitar. Close your eyes. Listen to your heart. The heartbeats. Listen to what it wants to say. And Say it.

Play your heart!

When the villagers were inches away from him, Onome closed his eyes and calmly held the guitar in his arms. Then he raised his right wrist high in the air and struck the chords of the guitar in one clean sweep.

ZZZZinggggg!

The sound echoed. A dazzling lighting ran across the purple sky followed by a blistering thunder. And all the villagers stopped inches away from him.

Art is about reaching out to other's heart through your heart.

As he searched for his heart's voice, his fingers adjusted themselves on the chords. And as he tried to reach the other hundreds of hearts, those fingers ran smoothly giving out a soulful note.

Lure them with your spell. Take them along with you. Make them lose themselves in your artistic world. And reveal the magic. After all, passion turning into a performance is magic. Magic for others.

His heart had something to express. And the fingers conveyed it to the chords. The chords sent that message to the air through vibrations. And as it reached the hearts of other villagers, they were no longer in control. The villagers, including the performers of the concert swayed to the tunes of Onome's music.

And among those swaying villagers was Okoro. As he closed his eyes, a darkness filled. And slowly the darkness gave way to some colours. At the top, a dark purple patch appeared with

a shining white sphere at a corner. A white streak of flash ran across the purple patch. The Shining white sphere radiated the rest of the picture in his mind. The glimmering full moon in the dark purple sky. A golden yellow patch started occupying the bottom. The swaying paddy fields. A man in a yellow overcoat playing a red guitar passionately. An ocean of crowd wearing colourful winter coats, lost in a bliss. It took him back to that day when she visited him. And uttered the words Okoro wanted to hear. He felt alive after all these years as those words reached his ears.

Paint the colours!