Abandoned Piano

*** This story is a work of fiction. This picture was taken in 1994 in Chechnya and the photographer of this picture is unknown. Name of this photograph is “Russian soldier playing an abandoned piano”.***

 

A fresh bullet hole. It was not oozing with dark congealing blood, it was filled with shrapnel. There was no putrid smell, just an odor of burned wood.

After all these years, I can still feel the burn of ignited gunpowder in my sinuses and metallic flavour in the roof of my mouth.

I was unconscious. When I opened my eyes I found myself in a coffin. I got terrified. I struggled to get my way out but the lid was so heavy. I struggled through my legs and then I realized it was open from the sides. I slid out of it slowly. Then I saw it was not a coffin. I was lying under a fallen upright Piano.

I don't know how I survived. I don't know how I got there. It's all obscure in my memory. I just remember hitting the ground, trying to convince them that I was not a killer.

"It's a camera, not a gun," I shouted while they came at me with their 7.62x39m micro-assault rifles.

There was a dead silence that morning. I sat gently on the top board hinge of the piano wondering how it got there. I grabbed the endblock and tried to lift the piano but couldn't. So, I just remained seated there.

It was my last venture as a war photographer. A war photographer hopes to stay unemployed his entire life but what forced me to join first Chechnya war was their desire of independence. Russia had no intention of recognizing Chechen independence. Their fears were understandable. Granting independence to one region could set off a chain reaction.

Suddenly I heard crunching of leaves. I hurriedly hid behind a tree.

Olive colour uniform and Ushanka fur hat. He was a Russian soldier. He approached the piano to get a better look and lifted it. It seemed he couldn't resist the mysterious pull of the beat-up instrument. He admired the dark wood of the frame, the ebony colour and the perfect contrast of keys.

He held out his index finger to play a key.

"STOP!" I wanted to say. "It can be a bomb. If you play you would die."

But no voice came out of me. If I made a sudden move he could think of me as an enemy and kill me.

"I am going to die either way." I thought.

A sound much higher in pitch sounded quietly but it was not a bomb. It was a black C sharp key. He lifted the music board and found a music sheet. Slightly burned from edges. He stared at the keys for some time and then started playing it. Frédéric Chopin's "Raindrop" prelude. I recognized the song. My wife's favorite. I don't understand music. Change of pitch, tempo and articulation with different dynamics without any purpose. But my wife, she loves music. She plays piano like her whole life is dependent on it. It reminded me of her words. "The moment world will start to understand music will be the moment it will find peace in the middle of a war."

I realized I still had my camera. I adjusted my camera settings and clicked this picture.

Soon enough he was not alone. Soldiers sitting around were singing hymns and they all were not wearing the same uniforms. The piano was guiding them. Maybe it was the end of the war. I lay there behind the tree and soon I was asleep.

When I opened my eyes I heard no music. It was calm. I looked around and I saw all the bodies on the ground lying near the piano. Except there was no piano but chunks of ebonite keys and blocks of seasoned wood. They shoved it's fate and smashed it into pieces. After 23 years the war is still going on and is leading to religious clash and terrorism.

This was the last picture I clicked as a war photographer. Every time I look at this it reminds me of that unimaginable peace and then I think what would have happened if that piano was not shattered.

We build guns to kill people and then we weep over the dead flesh. We have bombs that can reduce whole cities to ash. But we do not have enough pianos that create love and composure. I still don't understand music but I have understood that it has a purpose. Now, whenever my wife plays the piano I sit beside her and wish we made more pianos than bombs.