A Time To Dance Part 3

The crowd parts to let Pa through.

He throws his arms around me.

Says, "Splendid, simply splendid."

Ma says, "Congratulations."

For a brief moment I hope for more, but that stiff word is all she gives me.

Paati presses her wrinkled cheek next to mine. Whispers, "You'll have other chances to win over your ma."

Ma forces a smile. I return it.

Paati's right. Already, Ma's at least trying.

And my career's only begun.

Ma's tight face is like the small black dot dancers paint on their left cheeks to ward off the evil eye: enough only to blemish my joy for a second, too tiny to take away from the thrilling certainty of a future filled with success.

LOST.

After waving Chandra and my family good-bye, I return to bask in Uday anna's praise, speak to the judges, and answer reporters' questions.

I pose for photographs until my eyes hurt from the sea of flas.h.i.+ng cameras.

Hours later, changed out of my dance clothes, I climb into the van that's waiting to take dancers, teachers, and musicians home.

As I settle into a seat behind the driver, Kamini climbs in.

She walks past me without a word of congratulations, cozies up with our lanky drummer a few seats back.

Her voice floats into my ears, ". . . Veda's dance . . . technically okay but emotionally flat and spiritually lacking, don't you think?"

Kamini-of all people-talking about spirituality!

Nearly every day when we were children she'd whine and pester Uday anna: "How long must we only move our feet?

When can we wear jewelry?

When can we wear silk dance dresses?"

But maybe I have been dancing differently since I first started performing onstage.

Have I lost the kind of joy I felt dancing as a child?

The van lurches forward.

My thoughts race back.

BACK WHEN.

Pa said, after our pilgrimage to the temple of the dancing G.o.d, I tried balancing one-legged-imitating s.h.i.+va's pose- over and over until my bruised skin was as green as G.o.ddess Meenaks.h.i.+'s.

So he took me to Uday anna.

Uday anna drummed his hairy fingers on his desk, worrying I was too young.

Pa said, "Test her.

See how well she keeps time."

Intrigued, Uday anna sat cross-legged on the floor.

Tapped out the simplest beat: thaiya thai, thaiya thai, one two, one two, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.

My feet followed his rhythm.

He set more complex steps.

My feet matched his tempo.

To Pa, he whispered, "Yes."

As a child, the rhythmic syllables of Bharatanatyam beats spoke a magical language that let me slip back into the awe I first felt when I touched the celestial dancers' carved feet on our pilgrimage to the temple of the dancing G.o.d.

Maybe my dance lost depth as I gained height.

Then as I danced the world grew big, wondrous, beautiful.

Time melted.

I disappeared.

Now I twirl so fast the world vanishes.

Only I exist.

Then everywhere, in everything, I heard music.

Music I could dance to.

Now is the music I long for most the music of applause?

SPEED.

Our van rampages down the potholed road like a runaway temple elephant.

The driver presses the red rubber horn, trumpeting it nonstop, like every other insane driver in Chennai city always in a hurry.

Usually it drives me crazy, the useless sound of horns, the unnecessary speed.

Tonight, the roller-coaster ride provides the exhilaration I need to stop brooding.

Strangers showered me with praise.

Boys craved my attention.

Who cares what Kamini says?

I clutch the seat in front of me, pretend I'm a kid on the giant wheel at the Chennai city fair, pretend I'm flying every time the van hits a pothole and throws me into the air.

The driver swerves.

Monstrous headlights from another vehicle glare at us.

Brakes screech. Metal grinds against metal.

My body careens sideways.

I see the trunk of a pipul tree looming.

A gray giant coming closer.

Closer.

"s.h.i.+va! s.h.i.+va!" someone screams.

A man's voice rasps out a swearword.

"Stop! Brake!" Uday anna shouts.

I hear Kamini's terrified wail. "Aiyo! Aiyo!"

Shattered shards of gla.s.s scatter moonlight.

Pain sears through me as though elephants are spearing my skin with sharp tusks and trampling over my right leg.

The seat in front, torn and twisted, pins my body down.

Uday anna struggles to lift the crumpled wreckage of the mud-spattered seat.

The drummer tries to wrench my trapped body free.

Kamini stares down at me, shudders, turns away, retching.

I smell vomit.

"Don't look," Uday anna cries, laying a hand across my eyes.

Through his fingers I see shredded skin, misshapen muscles. Mine.

Feel sticky blood pooling below my right knee.

Pain swings me away.

The stench of burnt rubber.

Flas.h.i.+ng lights. The hysterical wail of an ambulance.

Garbled voices.

Cold. Mangled sounds made by masked figures.

Darkness.

WAKING.