“He always believed that if the freshest spring flowed through your home, why bathe in tap water?”

Story Art — The Most Powerful Man In The Country

Of course he was pissed off. What kind of stupid question was this. From being the most powerful man in the country who struck fear in the most resolute of men, to a blabbering imbecile who could no longer look people in the eye without verging on a state of uncontrollable anxiety.

It was only two years ago when even the Prime Minister had to book an appointment to see him. And look at him today, a nervous wreck, sweaty palmed, unassured loser who feels like he is going to have a mini heart attack every time he has to speak to another human being.

The day things changed was crystal clear. It ran on repeat inside his head everyday. He can recall it perfectly.

Like a boss, he had swung his handcrafted leather grain chair full circle and heard the click of his heels against his acacia wood table as he put his feet up. Arms behind his head full of flowing hair, admiring the views from his office at the top floor of the highest skyscraper in the city.

He owned the office, in fact, he owned the skyscraper.

His company name, which was his surname, was proudly planted at the building’s highest point. He wanted everyone to see his name when they looked up. He wanted them to know he was above them all. Literally and metaphorically.

He had been given the reigns of the business by his dad, who had grown it to a giant by the time he got control. But he had then put it on steroids, growing it multiple times year on year since then.

The market had been good to him, so he didn’t have to go through any tough challenges. He continued doing what had been done all along, and followed the brightly lit paved road that amassed him incredible wealth.

His lifestyle matched that of his business, a money-churning machine with no costs spared on luxury.

But he always believed that if the freshest spring flowed through your home, why bathe in tap water? If he made it and could afford it, why not do it?

That was his motto. Until it was no more.

That day, for the first time ever, his trusted advisor swung open his door without knocking. Breathless and in a state of panic. For a second, he felt his advisor was going to faint before he could finish what he had to say. And what he had to say were words that changed his life.

When they say shit hits the fan, they don’t tell you how quick, and how smelly that shit really can be. And if the shit on everyone’s fan in the entire world was put together into one mass shit, it still wouldn’t compare to this shit that had just hit his.

The biggest crash in his industry’s history had just happened.

Even the Indian Man, the owner of the company that was his biggest competitor worth many billions, was no more. And not long after, neither was he, or his business.

The rarest most expensive vase is only valuable as long as it is in one piece. If it happens to shatter, those pieces aren’t worth anything on their own. His business, and him, because of his ludicrous lifestyle, were those pieces.

He was used to showering under an unbroken stream of temperature-controlled water in lavish bathrooms fit for a king, now he was standing inside one with intermittent output, grimy tiles, a half-worn bar of soap, and a towel with the consistency of sandpaper.

From a custom designed shape-assuming mattress and pillows softer than clouds themselves, to having to wrench himself into a smelly worn-out couch in a rented apartment.

From the pristine comforts of a blessed lifestyle, to having to live below the means of an average household wasn’t an easy transition for him.

Gone was the assuredness, confidence, and bravado. He now cowered, had panic attacks, and was struck with crippling fear every moment of his life. Just being amongst a crowd catching the morning train made him curl up into a ball and cry.

His mind attacked him at any moment it could. There was horror around every corner.

He had visions of hands. People with their gangly sweaty arms. All over him. Bugs. Germs. Walls squeezing in on him. Closer and closer. There was someone breathing down his neck wherever he walked. He was always scared. He went from being feared to perpetually fearful.

The problem was, living fancy was all he knew. Now that it had all crashed in on him, this way of living was one he just couldn’t handle.

As his grandson switched the TV on his room, he saw the Indian Man had built back his empire. The feel-good story of the year and one of the greatest recoveries the business world had seen.

The headline said the Indian Man “was easy with being uneasy”. Having come to this country as an immigrant, the Indian Man was attuned to getting in the trenches and roughing it up. It mattered little whether there was luxury in the Indian Man’s life or un-fancy was what was required in order to grind back to where the empire was some time ago.

His anger flared up and he couldn’t control it. He yelled profanities at his grandson, he starting throwing objects at him, and impatiently told him to turn off the TV. The ladies immediately rushed in to take care of him.

Anytime he got this way, they had to give him his tablets. And he would always fight. They were used to it. He did this a lot. It took time but they eventually calmed him down. Got him to his silent room, restrained him. So he could be alone.

And from that day onwards he was. Because even his grandson never came to visit again.

Get used to fancy, and fancy will break you.

Story Art is a new genre of art, one that brings the two most powerful ways of spreading a message for the past 5,000+ years together — storytelling and art. Teaching great human truths and lessons in the simplest form possible.

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