Photo Essay—THE GARDEN
DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY PHOTOGRAPHY
‘ As a child, I played this prelude.
My mother loved it.
Years ago,
Before I was married,
I often went to visit my mother...
In the country.
She was still alive in those days.
Her house, a little cottage,
Was surrounded by a garden...
A little garden,
Dreadfully neglected and overgrown.
No one had tended it for many years
And I don't think...
Anyone had ever been in it.
Even then, my mother was very ill.
She almost never left the house.
Still,
Amidst the ruin of the garden
There was something
That was, in its way, beautiful.
Yes, now I know what it was.
When the weather was fine...
She often sat at the window...
Looking out at the garden.
She even had a special chair
By the window.
Once, though, I decided
That I would tidy things up...
In the garden, that is.
I wanted to mow the grass,
Burn the weeds, prune the trees.
On the whole,
I wanted to redo the garden
In my own taste...
With my own hands.
Yes, simply to please my mother.
And for two solid weeks...
I went at it with shears and a scythe.
I dug...
And cut...
And sawed...
And weeded...
I kept my nose to the ground, literally.
And I took great pains
To get it ready as soon as possible.
My mother's condition grew worse,
And she kept to her bed.
But I wanted her to be able...
To sit by the window
And see...
Her new garden.
In short,
When I was finished
And everything was ready...
I took a bath...
Put on fresh underwear,
A new jacket, even a tie.
Then I sat down in the chair
To see what I'd made,
Through her eyes, as it were.
I...
I sat there...
And looked out through the window.
I had prepared myself to enjoy the sight.
Anyway, I looked out the window
And saw...
What did I see?
Where had all the beauty gone?
The naturalness of it?
It was so disgusting.
All that evidence of violence!
I remember once
When my sister was young.
She went to a barber and had her hair cut.
It was the fashion then.
Her hair was unbelievably lovely.
Golden yellow, like Lady Godiva's.
She came home pleased as punch.
Then my father saw her.
He began to cry.
I think it was the same with the garden.’
‘And your mother?’
‘It's three o'clock!
We won't have time...’
‘But your mother... did she see it?’
‘Maria...
My being here must be
An imposition on you.
You can't sleep.’
‘What do you mean?
What do you mean?’
‘Could you...
Could you love me, Maria?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Love me, I beg you!
Save me.
Save us all!
. . .
You poor, poor man.
There, there.
There's nothing to fear.
Don't be afraid.
Nothing will happen to you here.
Don't cry, don't cry.
Everything will be fine.’
‘Just love me.’
‘Yes.
My poor dear.
What have they done to you?
There, there...
No... no.
What is it?
- Calm down!
- No, no!’
‘I c-c-can't!
I can't!’
‘Drink this.
No.
There...
It'll soon be over.
What's frightened you so, Alexander? ‘
From the film: The Sacrifice (1986)
Original title: Offret
Director: Andrei Tarkovsky
(dedicated to his son Andriosha ‘with hope and confidence’)
Theme—Photo Essay—THE GARDEN.
Pictures were taken on February 21, 2022,
West Bengal, India; Camera—Xiaomi Redmi Note 8 Pro.