By: Brittany Craig
Brother Andre Catholic High School

Any true photographer will say, when asked, that it can take a lifetime to find the perfect subject; if Fate is kind enough to grant you one at all. It was on one such Fate-governed day that Bret Sellick found his gift from the gods.

It was from behind the lens of his favourite 35mm film camera that Bret first saw her; a vision of dazzling white and gold amidst dozens of bodies milling about the yellowing alabaster marble balcony of the Taj Mahal, demurely hidden amongst the many faceless bodies within his lens’s view –a moment of thin gauze-like material, a split second of warm honey-brown skin, a mere glance from deep dark pools masquerading as eyes. Then, just as suddenly as she came into view, Bret lost sight of her due to the jostling crowd around him. Struck motionless by shock from the look he’d just received for a moment, Bret quickly sprung back to his senses, and brought his camera back to eye level to search for the mystery woman; frantically sweeping his camera back and forth where he thought he’d seen her last. As Bret grew more and more disheartened at the thought of losing her for good, a flash of gold caught his attention at the side of his camera’s field of view. With precise reflexes brought on by years of being in the photography business, Bret reacted quickly by bringing his camera sharply upward and zooming inward.

Ablaze in the strong descending Indian sun, the brilliant gold and white fabric covering her head, and making up her sari, seemed both light as air and stiflingly opaque all at once. Dark lustrous hair fell artfully from her forehead, obscuring part of her face from view. And such a face as Bret had never seen. It was perfect in every physical aspect; from the delicate strength of her bone structure, high cheekbones with a slender sloping nose, to the tepid caramel hue of her complexion framing the mysterious, seemingly endless, depths that were her flawlessly shaped liquid black eyes. She was picturesque, with a single dainty gold earring dangled lightly from her right earlobe and bangles about her wrists winking at Bret gently in the sun.

But those eyes! It was those eyes that made Bret’s mind whirl and his heart beat a pace faster. Most models spent the majority of their career trying to capture that ‘perfect’ look, but none came close to the depth of emotion this mystery woman conveyed with one casual half hooded glance.

Bret expertly focused his camera before quickly snapping a picture. He then proceeded to lower his camera to see the mystery woman with his own eyes. The moment his camera was out from between him and her, the mystery woman turned her head ever so elegantly –in such an unhurried fashion it was as if the entire world had slowed to a standstill. Bret had never known such pose and sheer grace could be exuded in such a simple gesture, but this mystery woman was making Bret rethink all he thought he’d ever known.

As Bret stared fixedly at her for several moments, an older man came up beside him and attempted to spot what exactly he was staring at with such focus. Bret caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. “Beautiful isn’t she?”

“Indeed she is; some of the finest architecture in the world that one is.” The man replied nodding. Bret tore his eyes from the mystery woman to look at the man with a perplexed expression on his face.

“No, not the building, that woman: the one in the gold and white sari on the balcony.” The man gave Bret a queer look.

“Son, I hate to be the one to tell ya, but I think yer eyesight might be goin’. There’s no lady in a gold and white sari up ther’; not at all.” Bret’s head snapped back to survey the grand balcony, which was now undeniably lacking the stunning presence of the mystery woman. His eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times before turning back to face the man.

“But she was just- I was just looking at- How could she…?”

The man shrugged once before moving away to leave a dumbfounded Bret standing alone, shaken and dismayed at the sudden disappearance of his subject.

That night in his rented studio, hidden away in the makeshift Dark Room, Bret busied himself with developing the film from that day. With every picture that was developed, Bret’s pulse sped up a slightly, because it meant he was one picture closer to the image that proved the existence of the woman in the gold and white sari. Bret finally finished developing the picture he knew he took just before seeing her. His heartbeat doubled instantaneously. Carefully placing the photo-paper into the chemical solution, he waited. At a painstakingly measured pace, an image began to blossom across the page; appearing as if coming from some unworldly realm within the paper itself. Small patches of blacks and grays spread like inkblots and grew together to form artful lines that encompassed and blocked off islands of whites and lighter grays, allowing the likeness to come to life. Bret’s eyes widened in amazement as her face took shape. Slowly, steadily, her features came together, making a whole that altogether left Bret short of breath. She was beautiful, she was perfect… and in some distant recess of his mind, she reminded him of someone from somewhere he simply couldn’t place.

Rushing from the Dark Room and across the studio to the small suitcase he brought with him on all his trips, Bret searched through the reference books within, looking for a particular title: Queen’s of the Centuries and Their Resting Places. Bret flipped through the glossy pages until he reached the chapter regarding the Taj Mahal.

“But of all the tombs built fit for a queen, there is none so illustrious, nor with a more romantic story, than that of the Taj Mahal. Emperor Shah Jahan designed and had the Taj Mahal built as a grand memorial and testimony of his love for his wife and Empress, Mumtaz Mahal…” Bret stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nothing. His grip loosened and the book slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with its covers open heavenward. As the fluttering pages settled a picture caught his eye, triggering an explosion of recognition within his mind. Bret hurriedly picked up the fallen book and read the text beside the modestly sized artist rendition of a woman standing before Taj Mahal at dusk: “…It is said that the spirit of Mumtaz Mahal roams the many galleries and gardens of the Taj Mahal. Witnesses have described her as wearing a beautiful gold and white sari, with shimmering golden jewelry adorning her body. She is most often spotted standing atop the grand balcony that encompasses the entirety of the building; overlooking the far stretching pond that lies before the front façade of the tomb. Some say that her spirit searches for that of her husband’s, in hopes of being reunited in the afterlife.”

© Copyright 2008