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A Time to Dance(65)

By:Padma Venkatraman


            Bathed in her fragrance and her softness,

            I drift toward sleep.





GHOST WHITE





Lying in her hospital bed, in her white sari,

            Paati looks like a ghost.

            I rub her fingers. “Are you in pain? How are you feeling?”

            “Well enough to get out of here soon.

            Tell me about you,” Paati says.

            I half sob, half laugh with relief. “I’m okay.”

            “Tell me more or I’ll throw you out myself,” she says.

            “Paati, I’m waiting for you to come back. I miss you so much

            I’ve been praying to my Shiva at night.”

            Paati circles my wrist with her fingers. Her touch is frail

            but her eyes brighten and she says, “Good.”

            I stroke the folds of skin on her cheeks, her forehead,

            the silvery strands of her hair spread out on the pillow,

            thin as strips of moonlight on a cloud.

            A nurse pokes in, saying

            an old student of Paati’s wants to see her,

            can she let the woman in?

            “So many years since I taught.

            Yet students keep remembering and returning with love.

            Maybe you should try teaching dance someday.

            Maybe if I’ve accumulated enough good Karma,

            I’ll be one of your students in my next life.” She chuckles.

            I don’t. I don’t want to think about Paati’s future lives.

            I’m just glad she’s still here, near me,

            in this one.





THE DANCE

of

ATOMS





Chandra comes over to ask about Paati.

            I ask her to go to the temple with me

            so we can pray for Paati’s health.

            We walk past the empty lot

            where Paati and I met the beggar

            who wished me better Karma in my next life.

            Lightning and thunder rip the sky.

            Within moments, the road turns into a brown river.

            Plastic bags, banana peels, coconut husks

            float on the dirty water like disoriented boats.


Chandra and I shelter

            under the eaves of a nearby fruit vendor’s hut.

            Craning my neck,

            I see the beggar

            crouched beneath his tarpaulin, shivering.


I have so much, even though I lost a leg.

            I have Chandra walking beside me,

            Govinda helping me relearn what I love,

            Ma and Pa both supporting me,

            Paati still alive and soon to return home.

            But the question I asked Paati returns to me.

            Why did God leave that beggar with nothing?

            “Chandra, do you believe in God? In Karma?