_“His long-standing desire to own a mountain” appears here not as aspiration, but as a condition of quiet violence directed toward the Aravalli range. The mountain is displaced from its geography and placed upon a table—reduced to an object that can be held, priced, and exhausted. Its scale is diminished, yet its weight remains unbearable._ _ Fire inhabits the work not as spectacle but as atmosphere. It surrounds the mountain, embedded in the scorched surface, consuming it slowly and almost invisibly. This slowness is central to the work’s concern. The Aravalli is not destroyed through a single moment of catastrophe, but through a prolonged process of sanctioned neglect and normalized extraction—violence that advances quietly, without urgency or alarm._ _ The table meant to support this burden reveals its instability; one of its legs is replaced by the bone of an ordinary human foot. This fragile substitution implicates the common body as both support and casualty, bearing the consequences of decisions made elsewhere. The marks on the mountain’s surface function as wounds rather than excavations, asserting its condition as a living entity subjected to sustained pressure._ _ The painting does not depict destruction as an event, but as an ongoing condition—maintained through desire, silence, and deferred responsibility. Through this work, I do not attempt to document the destruction of the Aravalli. Instead, I seek to hold a condition: to make visible how land, ownership, and the human body are bound within the same structure of burden. The question that remains is not who owns the mountain, but who is made to support it—and how long that support can last before collapse becomes inevitable._