Breasts of Life

 

The first time I saw this image, it didn’t look as interesting. I was wandering around when it showed up on my path. Nothing really, just a random picture or rather one of those paintings you see every day. The second time I came across it, I was back in the village. I went for a detox - the city can show you bad things.  I never read it again because I was going to see my granny. I forgot about it until recently.

I was with my little brother Nobel. People say in our family we have funny names, yes Nobel is one of them. He’s a little different from the rest of us. He grew up a modern life. There are games he didn’t play that we did. He’s mostly watching nickelodeon and playing games but his level of creativity and scepticism is somewhat above his age. He wants to know everything.

He writes me sweet love letters, he writes his dad letters when he wants things and his words of mouth don’t play effective. He writes everyone in the family letters. He draws so fine, the other day he won a Bick gift hamper. That kid is fun, and about knowing too much - it’s been about a month since he fell and hurt the back of his head on the sitting room table. He bled profusely and was rushed to hospital. When the doctor said he had to undergo a minor surgery to fix the broken skin, poor lad broke down into tears asking if he was going to have a brain damage. Hah! What does a barely 12 years old know about brain damage? Poor child was asking if he would still be thinking straight.

We crossed the road to take another that was heading to granny’s place, not far just a five-minute’ walk distance. We had some shopping that dad sent us to take to her. Granny was there, we call her Nyar wahindi (the daughter of the Indians). When you bring her goodies she comes to you dancing and yelling alililililii… she was going about God knows what, so she didn’t see us until we reached the door step. We missed the ululation but she still came dancing.

When I finally read the real story behind this painting, this day crossed my mind. The day I went to see Nyar wahindi with Nobel. How grateful she was when we told her dad sent us with some things. She was happy and many a times in moments like this she would always say ‘May God multiply.’ When you first lay your eyes on this painting you will think it’s awkward and perverse. On the contrary, it may look normal as though a wife having a moment with her husband who is in the prison.

This is not your normal painting. It’s context runs deep. It was sold for over 30 million Euros. This man Cimon was convicted of stealing a loaf of bread during the papacy of Julius II of Rome – he was sentenced to a death penalty by starvation.  

Cimon only had one relative left, Pero his daughter. The only being on earth who cared. She was devastated with her father’s imprisonment and pleaded to be allowed to visit him until his last day. She was granted her plea under tight conditions. She would be thoroughly frisked to ensure she had no food. The access would be then granted for her and her six months old baby - just once a day. Must be horrible to see your father starve to death. To see him get weak bit by bit, day by day – unhurriedly like he enjoys it. To see his ribs start getting more protuberant under his skin. To be able to count every bone on his body. You don’t do that even to your worst enemy.  

Blood ties run deep; you would want to do anything. At least if you are human and not just a living thing. After four months it raised suspicions how the old man was still alive and strong. This provoked an in-depth monitoring by the authorities to see whether the ravens that fed Elijah still existed and had located Cimon.  The ravens didn’t exist, Cimon was living on manna from wherever.

After intense frisking that day - the soldiers followed her secretly to the cell and what you’re reading is what they saw. Poor Pero was feeding her father on her breast milk. They saw her lower her top and help her father suck her breast as she looked around in guilt. The authorities arrested her terming the act as against the social laws and immoral.

After her arrest, the judges were taken by the compassion and the love that Pero had for her father and pardoned them both. It’s miserable how certain situations can demand so much of someone. Things that make you stretch beyond your elastic limit. Pero’s nifty act shows how deep love can go. It is a story told of how love has no boundaries. All these happened in an era of a great painter who captured this great history within the borders of a frame.

The story of Cimon and Pero was taken with many diverse retorts from people who said it was against social laws and was unheard-of. To say the least, this was just a desperate step triggered by pure love. An honourable act that may look ugly but beautiful from the inside. Something to describe a woman.

The story was dabbed the name ‘ The Roman Charity’ and recorded in the Factorum ac dictorum memorabilium – The Nine Books of Memorable Acts and Sayings of the Ancient Romans and was presented as a great act of  filial piety and Roman honour.

As things stand, Sina Maoni. Just wondering... how far would we go for someone?

How far is far?