The Whale of the Forgotten Sea

The Whale of the Forgotten Sea

                                                                                    

In the vast Pacific stretched between green shores, in the middle of clear blue water and blue sky, broken only by the line of the horizon, there was the Forgotten Sea. Few people knew about it, just some fishermen and vagrants, but every coastal town had its stories on the great whale that sailed these waters.

This whale, which was christened Lira by the few people foolish enough to talk about it, was not like any other whale. It was believed that she was a senior deity of the sea, she was larger than a ship, she was wreathed in the silver and blue brilliance like the moonlight on water. It was believed that she had inherited the knowledge from forefathers, and she was able to utter into the core of the ocean.

In one of the days, there appeared a young lady know as Elara was inclined on visiting the shores of the forgotten sea. She was an artist of some sorts, a woman who fidgeted with impatience and craved for subject matter. The woman had been meandering aimlessly for years; her suitcase was often as blank as her soul for she never voiced her aspirations. It was not the first time she was hearing such kind of tales of Lira; this ignited a flame inside her. She got the impression of familiarity with the whale’s spirit as if the great leviathan reached her and told her that she was to receive inspiration.

Elara put herself in the area where the sand was unfirm, and golden the sky above and the air was heavy with the smell of the ocean. For days she painted the seascape, the light on the water, the sky, the clouds, and the breeze having made its way into the sails, children playing around, but nothing she could put on the canvas resembled Lira.

Surviving a nearly deadly blast, she was frustrated because no matter how hard she tried, she could not get a date with the man she desired. She then shut her eyes and focused on the sound of waves that were good for the soul and to her own soul it was. And that’s when she heard it, the faint sound of a harmonic, almost harmonic; she could here it across the water. It was eerie and lovely, summoning her in some inexplicable fashion.

Elara blinked, and then looked at the ocean. The water wafted and gleamed; and underneath swirling waterline, she saw a kind of form moving beautifully. There were sudden gasping noises as Lira appeared from the water, a great big giant of a woman. Suddenly the whale came out of the water, a flying wave of its body and a fin; for a second Elara felt like time was turned off.

The black, earnest looking eyes of Lira were full of years of history and seemed to look straight into Elara’s spirit. Elara worriedly waited for the whale to come closer and closer to her. She stretched her hand to get her brush, her fingers were amiotic with eagerness. But Lira was not just representative of beauty but she was messenger of a story, a message that had something to be said.

Elara took a deep breath and stepping to the water, she shouted to the whale. “Lira! How will you find me if you want to tell me your story?

The ocean reacted with a calm and for Elara’s astonishment Lira submerged into water and she re-emerged splashing droplets of water. Everywhere Elara sensed an increasing bond – a shared response that went beyond speech.

Day by day Elara and Lira met at the sunset. Every night, the whale told her parts of her story or stories of the bottom of the sea, of the shipwrecks, and the wrecks of gems, of raging seas and the calmness that came after the storm. Each time, Lira was telling her stories, and those narratives were putting into Elara’s heart and mind the flame of inspiration that has been lost for a long time.

This is how Elara painted and while doing so her canvas changed. She painted concentrations of colors, treacherous tides, the frolicking of fish, and even elegance of Lira in the middle of the water body. Her paintings was decorated with spirit of a sea, every line was full of energy and emotions. They almost came alive at times, and Elara could tell that she was crafting something rather special.

But as summer goes on, so do the sunsets, which become shorter, and cool gusts of wind blow through the beach. The realisation of the sky becoming dark made Elara stand at the waterside call out the name Lira. But the whale did not come. Terminology is changed Night had come, and with the night a kind of ominous feeling in the atmosphere. This time Elara heard the grim calms of the water withdraw as if the sea grieved for the loss of it’s protector.

Weeks are converted to weeks, and still, no sign of Lira. Despair filled Elara as she continued to paint, she soon lost the brilliance of the colours she used to add to her paintings. She felt as though that part of her was slowly slipping through her fists like sand. And now the words that Lira had told her repeated in her mind like a feeling of a distant memory, and the sea was sad — its waves struck the beach even stronger.

Recalling a story, one stormy night the wind blew loudly and the rain raged by the window Elara had a dream. In it Lira emerged from that sea and the black depth of water surrounding her, she eloquently danced in front of her, her luminescent figure intensively bright, softly glowing. “Do not despair,” said the tone of the whale in her mind. “Let them take away your eyes; I will be present in your brush, the waves breaking on the sands.”

Suddenly Elara opened her eyes, she felt a fluttering in her chest. I believe she got what it means for someone to be lost at sea, but not Lira; Lira was just a part of the cycle. The spirit of whale lived in every ripple in the water, every tide, or every stream of inspirations in her. New determination filled her and with a new vigor without a stop Elara got back to the canvas and sketched.

She painted as if the spirit of the sea reside within her; she released the spirit of Lira in the painting. Every stroke gave her a sensation that she was becoming lighter with each worry washed away by the neon sunshine. The colors appeared to be a live performance; the majestic whale was painted and beautiful sea was painted too.

Finally, Elara moved away a little so that she could have a perfect view of what she created and she let out a gasp. In front of her there loomed the most beautiful mural she had ever seen – to Lira and secrets of the sea. The whale navigated the water with grace, and her brilliant eyes were those of a woman with centuries of living under her belt, or fin? It was a piece that would force whoever was in front of me to feel what I am feeling now, a union between mankind and nature.

Elara was still standing there when she finally realized that it was the journey she had been seeking and the whale too. The Forgotten Sea had told her and through her art Lira would make sure that the sea would be remembered. The murmurs of the sea would go one to inspire innumerable oceans, that which was not known, always drawing the contact of the unknown with the known.

From this day Elara became known as the artist of the Forgotten Sea; everywhere people heard the word sculptures. But still Lira was in the deep and the sea was her, the same as the dream in the heart of Elara the dream of the stories to be written was in safe hands of those who defended the ocean.