T he prior of the Santa Maria delle Grazie monastery was visibly irritated as he saw Leonardo, without a paintbrush, standing and staring at his partly drawn painting on the wall of the dining hall of the monastery. For the whole day, Leonardo hadn't touched the wall. He seemed to be living in a different world. There was no other sight or sound that could draw his attention than the painting in the making. It wasn't the first time. Some times, Leonardo wouldn't turn up at the monastery for weeks. Those days, he would be found somewhere outside the city, looking at a bird with searing intensity, or somewhere near a pool, looking at the water and scribbling something in a notebook that he always carried with him. Some other times, he would come early in the morning to the monastery, mount the scaffolding, and start painting without a minute's rest, not speaking to anyone and not even stopping for food or drink, till the curtain of dusk is drawn for the day. There w