component elements. How much more should the bewitchment be then for her who engendered it? Bewitchment that was also enervating and irksome. The case of all creators who take their task passionately and in earnest. Where others see a smooth synthesis of beauty and wit, the creator finds only torn and hanging sinews, architectonic problems, concerns over pace and rhythm, obfuscation. In brief, she knows too much about the gameâs defects to take heart from its striking achievements. This though is just an early version, at best a pointer to where the game can go, what it can become.
The first and the most pressing, perhaps the only, problem is the pace of the game. Or rather the pace or sweep of certain pieces. Better still the sweep of one piece in particular, the Queen. Why, she has asked herself countless times in the past days, is she bound to move about the king, as if still in chains?
The very next day, upon devising the new mode of play, the queen had called for the master carver and instructed him to make for her two complete sets of pieces, one of ebony and the other of ivory, with small, varying, leaden weights buried in each pieceâs base, such that wood weighed as much as ivory, king as much as king, pawn equivalent to pawn, and horses likewise, each piece just heavy enough to rouse the mind of the player who lifted it. Alongside this she described how certain pieces had to be remod-elled, how the chariot had to be carved in the image of a boat, complete with its mast and sails, and the Queen in the image of the King, save for the crown, a replacement for which she drew on the spot for the carverâs benefit as a perfect replica of her own diadem.
Now that the few physical departures in the new game had been dealt with, the more abstract of its aspects besieged her. But at this point all inspiration deserted, and she moved the pieces this way and that, testing the feasibility of fresh moves in the larger scheme of the game itself, which, however, and this was crucial, would preserve its delicate equilibrium. Yet she could not bring herself to it, nor saw any way of doing this. To her the moves were perfect, could not be bettered, each one following a different trajectory that contrasted and complemented all others to make up the unique multi-layered texture of the game. And yet she knew something was amiss, something
could
be improved. For as long as the Queen was not set free, she could well turn back to the old ludo and be done with the whole sorry matter for good. Howsoever more advanced than its precursor it was, this game of hers still fell short of giving her the joy she had half-knowingly envisaged.
To the one who perseveres not every solution occurs with equal ease, or indeed occurs at all. That said, one must keep searching, open and patient, holding doubt at bay, looking for the spark that, if the angle be right, is released from one thingâs coming in contact with another. What else is beauty or inspiration of which the poets sing, if not the roving gaze suddenly held still upon the chance meeting of two or more objects, a small silk-and-bamboo fan resting against a glass jar, say, and drawing out from this combination their deepest essence. An essence not in the object but in the gaze narrowing into focus amid the chaotic bounty of the world. To each wandering gaze, its own essence.
In five days, the recast pieces were delivered to her, and as she admiringly placed them over the board, she saw something she hadnât previously seen. Because the chariot, now a compact, stream- lined ship, moved diagonally over the squares, was it not betterperhaps to bring it up-close to the royal pair, such that it may possess not one but two diagonals from the start and not be left stranded at the very edge of the board? Instantly, the elephant and the ship exchanged their respective positions round the horse on either flank, and just as this was done, there arose in her the idea, perchance out
The first and the most pressing, perhaps the only, problem is the pace of the game. Or rather the pace or sweep of certain pieces. Better still the sweep of one piece in particular, the Queen. Why, she has asked herself countless times in the past days, is she bound to move about the king, as if still in chains?
The very next day, upon devising the new mode of play, the queen had called for the master carver and instructed him to make for her two complete sets of pieces, one of ebony and the other of ivory, with small, varying, leaden weights buried in each pieceâs base, such that wood weighed as much as ivory, king as much as king, pawn equivalent to pawn, and horses likewise, each piece just heavy enough to rouse the mind of the player who lifted it. Alongside this she described how certain pieces had to be remod-elled, how the chariot had to be carved in the image of a boat, complete with its mast and sails, and the Queen in the image of the King, save for the crown, a replacement for which she drew on the spot for the carverâs benefit as a perfect replica of her own diadem.
Now that the few physical departures in the new game had been dealt with, the more abstract of its aspects besieged her. But at this point all inspiration deserted, and she moved the pieces this way and that, testing the feasibility of fresh moves in the larger scheme of the game itself, which, however, and this was crucial, would preserve its delicate equilibrium. Yet she could not bring herself to it, nor saw any way of doing this. To her the moves were perfect, could not be bettered, each one following a different trajectory that contrasted and complemented all others to make up the unique multi-layered texture of the game. And yet she knew something was amiss, something
could
be improved. For as long as the Queen was not set free, she could well turn back to the old ludo and be done with the whole sorry matter for good. Howsoever more advanced than its precursor it was, this game of hers still fell short of giving her the joy she had half-knowingly envisaged.
To the one who perseveres not every solution occurs with equal ease, or indeed occurs at all. That said, one must keep searching, open and patient, holding doubt at bay, looking for the spark that, if the angle be right, is released from one thingâs coming in contact with another. What else is beauty or inspiration of which the poets sing, if not the roving gaze suddenly held still upon the chance meeting of two or more objects, a small silk-and-bamboo fan resting against a glass jar, say, and drawing out from this combination their deepest essence. An essence not in the object but in the gaze narrowing into focus amid the chaotic bounty of the world. To each wandering gaze, its own essence.
In five days, the recast pieces were delivered to her, and as she admiringly placed them over the board, she saw something she hadnât previously seen. Because the chariot, now a compact, stream- lined ship, moved diagonally over the squares, was it not betterperhaps to bring it up-close to the royal pair, such that it may possess not one but two diagonals from the start and not be left stranded at the very edge of the board? Instantly, the elephant and the ship exchanged their respective positions round the horse on either flank, and just as this was done, there arose in her the idea, perchance out
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