Chapter 4:
The Illusion of the Street Artist's Happiness
~An original masterpiece by Fendi S~
"Wirabuana absolutely refuses to take an afternoon nap, Mas Bim. He just keeps running around the room looking for your wooden pencil box. This child truly does not know the meaning of exhaustion," Wanda complained playfully, wiping a thin bead of sweat from her forehead.
The beautiful woman leaned tiredly against the threshold of the bedroom door. Her gentle hand tenderly caressed her swollen belly. She was heavily pregnant, counting down the days until the birth of their second child.
Hearing her complain, Bima could only smile warmly. He set his wooden drawing board down for a moment and stepped forward, easily scooping up the energetic four-year-old toddler into his strong arms.
Wirabuana squirmed gently, giggling and demanding to be let go. The little boy was growing up to be incredibly active and agile. His face was a flawless carbon copy of Bima’s rugged handsomeness. His sharp, intense gaze was as piercing as an eagle's, and his thick, wavy hair was an exact genetic mirror of Bima when he was a little boy.
"Come on, Wira, you have to take a nap right now. Mother needs plenty of rest; you have to pity your little baby brother inside her tummy. Father promises to draw a giant robot for you this afternoon as soon as you wake up," Bima coaxed softly, affectionately rubbing the top of his son's head.
Wirabuana nodded obediently. The toddler wrapped his little arms tightly around his father's neck. Bima laid him down incredibly gently on the mattress, slowly patting his chest until Wira’s eyes fluttered shut, peacefully drifting away into the realm of dreams.
The Permanent Scar of Destiny
Month after month rolled by rapidly, flawlessly weaving the fabric of time. The cramped, four-by-four-meter rented house in Palmerah once again became the silent witness to their second greatest happiness.
A high-pitched, piercing cry shattered the quiet midnight silence of the capital city. Their second son, Bayu Samudra, was finally born into the world. The arrival of the beautiful baby boy, possessing clear, round, and peaceful eyes, brought an overwhelming sense of tranquility to Bima's soul for the second time. The four-year age gap between him and Wira provided a massive, overflowing abundance of love and attention for both of their children.
However, that perfect happiness soon encountered a terrifying, violent storm that would severely test the resilience of Bima and Wanda.
When little Bayu had just reached six months of age, a sudden, terrifyingly high fever viciously attacked his tiny body. Bayu's fragile skin felt as hot as burning coals against the palms of Bima's hands. In the dead of night, the poor baby suffered a series of massive, violent seizures.
The cold, sterile walls of the regional public hospital became the silent witness to the absolute shattering of a father's heart.
A vicious attack by the poliovirus had severely damaged the motor nerve networks inside little Bayu's body. Permanent paralysis cruelly snatched away the physical perfection of the innocent baby. With a heavy sigh, the doctor delivered the devastating verdict: the tiny baby boy would never be able to walk normally for the rest of his life.
Tears flowed like a heavy river down Wanda’s pale cheeks. Bima, the tough street artist who never cried, could no longer hide his overwhelming sorrow. His chest felt completely hollow. He felt like an absolute failure for not being able to protect his own flesh and blood from the vicious disease that had permanently crippled his beloved child.
In the quiet, empty hallway of the hospital, Wanda wrapped her arms incredibly tightly around her husband from behind. The strong woman sobbed quietly against his back, forcibly swallowing the bitter, agonizing pill of reality that destiny had cruelly forced upon them.
"That is enough, Mas Bim... Please, stop blaming yourself. No matter what happens, Bayu will always be a perfect angel to us forever. We will care for him with every single ounce of our body and soul, together," Wanda whispered, firmly strengthening both of their shattered hearts in the middle of that desolate hospital corridor.
The Golden Peak of the Artist
Time continued to roll forward without mercy, slowly washing away the stinging pain of destiny's cruel wounds. Eventually, the wheel of fate turned once again, this time heavily favoring Bima and Wanda. Their businesses and financial status skyrocketed rapidly toward a golden peak of success.
Bima's absolute, burning determination to raise his two little knights triggered a massive, extraordinary explosion of energy within him. He worked three times harder than before, continuously pushing violently past the absolute limits of his physical endurance.
Wanda also completely refused to sit idly by while watching her husband bleed for their family. Her relentless, unyielding hard work finally yielded incredibly sweet results. Her once-small beauty salon built a glorious, highly respected reputation, attracting hundreds of loyal, wealthy customers. She meticulously saved every single drop of her daily profits.
The small, modest rented shop house transformed dramatically into a modern, highly sophisticated beauty studio equipped with state-of-the-art facilities. Wanda confidently took a massive leap forward, recruiting three full-time employees to help run her booming daily operations.
The loving wife had completely metamorphosed into an independent, fiercely successful career woman radiating an extraordinary aura of success. Her clothes were always neat, tailored, and highly elegant. Her facial expressions constantly radiated the sharp, undeniable confidence of a tough businesswoman.
Bima's destiny followed suit, shining as brightly as the midday sun, perfectly complementing his wife's success. His dusty street pencil sketches evolved into high-value, highly sought-after works of fine art.
One hot afternoon in the courtyard of the Old Town, a renowned, highly influential art curator accidentally walked past and stopped dead in his tracks right in front of Bima's plastic mat. His eyes were glued, completely unblinking, as he stared at a stunningly realistic painting. It was a deeply emotional portrait showing the innocent, pure, and peaceful smiling face of little Bayu Samudra.
"The strokes of your charcoal possess a living soul, young man. This particular painting manages to pierce straight into the deepest chambers of my heart. It is overflowing with an emotion of pure, unadulterated honesty," the curator praised in absolute awe, gently stroking his chin.
That momentous, fateful encounter flipped Bima's lifeline one hundred and eighty degrees. The curator acted as a golden, exclusive bridge that carried Bima's raw masterpieces straight into the polished halls of various prestigious art galleries.
Elite art connoisseurs began flocking to his exhibitions. Wealthy antique collectors aggressively fought over each other to purchase his paintings. The price of his artwork skyrocketed wildly, easily reaching tens of millions of rupiah for a single canvas.
Now, Bima no longer needed to run frantically, carrying his heavy painting equipment to hide from the city’s public order officers. He officially left the dusty, polluted sidewalks of the capital city forever. The rugged man stepped into a brand-new world, becoming a highly renowned, celebrated gallery artist showered with endless praise. Stacks of blue and red rupiah bills flowed like a massive river, filling his bank account balances and permanently elevating the economic status of his entire family.
The Mansion of Independence
Their extraordinary financial success enabled them to step even further forward, finally realizing their biggest, wildest dreams. The decaying, four-by-four-meter rented room in Palmerah with its peeling blue walls was officially left behind forever. The bitter and sweet memories of that tiny room were sealed tightly in their hearts, serving as the historical foundation that had forged their unyielding, unbreakable characters.
They decided to purchase a massive, beautiful house in a lush, green, and highly exclusive suburban area of Jakarta. The environment was incredibly cool, shaded by rows of majestic, leafy trees.
Bima signed the thick stack of bank mortgage documents with a chest swelling with overwhelming pride. He had successfully provided a highly decent, luxurious shelter for his family, purely from the drops of his own sweat! He did it all without a single cent of intervention or help from his father's massive inheritance in Surabaya.
Bima stood tall and broad-shouldered in the massive living room of his brand-new house, carefully observing his surroundings. The flawless, pure white paint spoiled his eyes. The cool, refreshing breeze from the modern air conditioner completely chased away the stifling heat of the capital. This magnificent place officially belonged to them. It was the sweetest, most satisfying fruit of over a dozen years of working their fingers to the bone, fighting relentlessly against the wheel of fate.
The Perfect Portrait of Nirvana
Year after year flew by as swiftly as an arrow released from a taut bow. Time had relentlessly woven its sweet history, successfully raising their two beloved sons.
The spacious, luxurious central living room of the mansion was now constantly filled with the perfect, flawless warmth of family.
Bima sat comfortably, leaning back against the soft, imported leather sofa. His sharp eyes stared with absolute, overflowing pride at the beautiful scene unfolding right in front of him.
Wirabuana had now grown into a strikingly handsome young man, proudly wearing his white-and-grey high school uniform. The teenager possessed a tall, muscular, and incredibly captivating posture. The muscles in his arms were beginning to form perfectly, a direct result of him diligently working out at the gym near their housing complex. His undeniable good looks frequently made him the absolute center of attention among the girls at his school. Wira had also heavily inherited his father's fiercely protective nature. The young man always made absolutely sure that his younger brother was safe from anyone who dared to bother him.
Sitting right beside him, Bayu Samudra looked incredibly sweet in his brand-new white-and-blue middle school uniform. The young teenager had a highly calm, composed facial expression with soft, gentle eyes that naturally brought a deep sense of peace to the entire family.
It was true; his left leg was severely shrunken, paralyzed, and completely devoid of strength. But that physical limitation had spectacularly failed to snatch away the bright, cheerful smile he used to greet the world.
Bayu walked gracefully using the help of a customized forearm crutch that always accompanied his every step. Despite his physical condition, he had grown into a brilliant, highly intelligent teenager, possessing a mind far above the average of his peers. His small, nimble fingers danced rapidly and skillfully across the keyboard of his favorite expensive laptop.
"Mas Wira, please stop bothering me! I am trying to finish my homework here," the youngest son protested softly, pouting as his older brother playfully tried to close his laptop screen just to tease him.
"Your eyes are going to get stiff from staring at that screen all day, little bro. Go take a break!" Wira joked, laughing warmly as he affectionately ruffled his younger brother's neatly combed hair.
Wanda came walking elegantly toward them, carrying a silver tray holding three tall glasses of ice-cold, refreshing orange juice. The woman looked breathtakingly graceful wearing a neat, high-quality silk blouse, having just returned from managing her massive salon. Her face remained stunningly youthful, flawlessly maintained and incredibly mesmerizing.
"That is enough, Wira. Stop bothering your little brother. Come on, drink your juice first," Wanda scolded gently, flashing a loving smile as she carefully placed the heavy tray onto the polished glass coffee table.
Wanda sat down right next to Bima. She comfortably rested her head against her husband's broad shoulder. Bima's strong arm immediately wrapped around his wife's waist in a highly affectionate embrace, tenderly kissing the side of her forehead.
"It feels like they both grew up in the blink of an eye, doesn't it, Mas Bim?" Wanda whispered softly, her eyes glistening as she watched her two sons joking and laughing cheerfully together.
Bima smiled, his heart bursting with profound gratitude. His soul felt as though it was being showered by an endless, massive wave of pure happiness. True, absolute happiness felt as if it were finally resting securely in the palm of his hands. He had successfully conquered the unforgiving capital city. Bima felt he had successfully delivered a massive, resounding slap to the authoritarian shadow of his father. Without ever begging for the pity of his family's wealth, he had single-handedly built a magnificent, comfortable palace for his beloved family.
Everything appeared to be absolutely perfect, entirely without a single flaw. It was exactly like a masterful painting of eternal nirvana, without a single crack or blemish.
Bima closed his eyes, deeply inhaling the sweet, comforting aroma of his peaceful home. He swore silently in his heart that he would fiercely defend the cheerful laughter echoing in this room until the very last breath of his life. The man leaned his back deep into the sofa, allowing the ticking seconds of time to record the absolute happiest moments in the history of his existence.
He never expected what would happen in the following years.
His unparalleled resilience would soon be brutally tested by the arrival of the most devastating, catastrophic trial imaginable, precisely when the terrifying storm of the Pandemic violently struck the entire world.
To be continued in Chapter 5...(On going)
