A Time to Dance(41)

            the way saints’ faces must look

            when granted

            divine visions.


For the first time since the accident,

            I hear the faint echo of a dancing rhythm.

            Thaiya thai. Thaiya thai.





TO DANCE

AGAIN





Dr. Dhanam agrees to interview me

            although I explain

            I’m one-legged.

            Hope coils inside me like a wound spring

            as I walk up the shady drive that leads from the gate

            past an open-air stage beneath a banyan tree

            to a three-story mansion on her estate.

            A maid shows me into a hall.

            I sit waiting on the edge of an antique chair,

            my foot tracing circles on the cold, hard floor.


Dr. Dhanam enters.

            Her eyes take me in

            without comment or pity.


Thank you, I think. “Namaskaram,” I say,

            pressing my palms together,

            bowing my head low

            in greeting, gratitude, and relief.


“Namaskaram, Veda. You may call me Dhanam akka.

            You want to join my dance school? Why?”


“Ma’am—Dhanam akka—

            I am—I mean I was—I mean I want to be

            a dancer,” I stammer.

            “I started twelve years ago.

            Performed onstage for a while.

            Until I had an accident—

            after I won a Bharatanatyam competition—”


“Bharatanatyam is not

            about winning or losing,” she interrupts.

            “Competition distracts dancers

            into thinking

            this art is about them.

            Art should be about something larger and deeper than self.”


“But—didn’t Shiva Himself compete at dance?

            With His wife?”


Akka’s thin eyebrows arch up.

            She seems surprised I’m contradicting her. But also pleased.

            She says, “Good to have a young one

            stand up to me every now and then.

            But you have forgotten, or perhaps not been taught,

            the inner meaning of this parable.

            The competition—between Shiva and His wife—

            represents the longing

            our limited human souls have

            to understand and unite

            with the divine soul.”


Her tone is kind enough

            but I feel foolish that I missed

            knowing the deeper meaning of a story I performed.


“So, you want to relearn dance. But why come here, Veda?

            Why not return to your old teacher?”

            “He didn’t want me back.” I hope

            I don’t sound too angry at him.