Greyscale realism tattoo of the Hindu deity Ganesha with red accents, wearing an ornate jewelled crown, on an upper arm.

Ganesha portrait on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A shaded portrait of the elephant-headed deity Ganesha, wearing an ornate jewelled crown with red gem details, fills the upper arm. The face and crown are rendered in smooth grey shading with fine highlights, while the trunk, forehead mark and tusk details use bright red ink. The image is framed tightly on the arm against a plain background.

Realism Upper arm Ganesha Elephant Deity Crown Jewel

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The brass figure had been on the sorting desk since the Hendry sisters moved out of the Chapel Street rooms, and by March nobody in Ashworth Cross could say whose it was. You asked Mrs Pritchard at the counter. She shrugged and said the lodger had left it for the postmaster to keep, and the postmaster had died in the winter, so it was yours now, along with the ledgers and the bell that rang whenever the back door opened.

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Every morning you set it facing the window before you began the day's bags. It had a broad, patient face and a curled trunk, and a crown of little brass jewels that caught the light off the snow on the moor road. The lodger had told you once, in his careful English, that this god removed whatever stood in the way of a thing beginning. You had laughed and said the Post Office could use him more than the parish council could.

The letter came on a wet Tuesday in April, addressed in faded violet ink to a Mr E. Sowerby at Lower Cloughfield, a farm that had been empty since the flood of '47. It had been stuck behind a torn sack for months. You turned it over, found no return address, and nearly put it in the dead-letter tray. Instead you took the red ink pad from the drawer, pressed the figure's brass trunk to it, and stamped a smudged crimson mark across the corner, for no reason you could later explain.

You walked it up the lane yourself. Mrs Sowerby was in the yard with a pail, and she read the envelope twice before she said her husband had written to her in violet ink every week from the Army in 1944. The letter inside was short and had waited thirteen years to be opened. Nothing in it was dramatic. It said he was coming home on the four o'clock bus, and that she was to leave the gate unlatched.