She was dancing. Her feet unstoppable. They all missed a heartbeat the moment they saw her turn and give that breathtaking expression! They felt more alive to see her surmount the castles set by those beats. She breathed dance.. and I felt complete...
Her feet had set a challenge against the rhythm long ago.. I remember a four year old climb my steps, turn around and bow, as if a house full of audience were clapping for her. Even at that tender age, she carried a sphere of elegance and grace around her and knew to drop her pride right there, when she used to greet me, like touching the feet of a grown up and taking their blessings to your head..
Without a single instrument playing in the background, she danced in sync with the music within her.
Yato hastastato drishti
Yato drishti tato manah|
Yato manastato bhaav
Yato bhavastato rasah||
Nothing could stop her. People blabbered that once she gets busy in work, she'll have no time for this. It didn't happen. That lady had learnt to skillfully organize work as she conquered hurdles in the world of entertainment. They said, let her get married and have a family, she won't find space for dance. But they didn't see that there was no need for space for dance in her life. Dance was her life. Even when Ayan was born, she didn't give up, she juggled through the tasks of being a wise parent and being a free performer so well, it often made them envious of her talent...
But then came that fateful day.. She was ready to go on live, in front of an audience of 5,000 from around the world. A tiny drop of tension trembled on her forehead as she was standing by my side, waiting for her entry beat. And right then her assistant came running from the backstage, handed over an urgent call to her.. she took it, and she was stunned. The beat ran by and her feet had refused to move listening to the mind numbing news of her son's accident. A truck had hit his auto on the way back from school. Ayan was dead, on the spot.
I was torn to think of the separation that was about to begin. I refused to look at the stares, expecting her to enter and rule the music. I tightened my heart and consoled it, that she may never want to meet you again..
But then, I felt her touch. The deep voice of her ghungaru silenced the whispers from the audience. She was there, right in the middle, bowing to them all.. not a single tear in her eyes. The lady had collected the courage to face the ones who awaited her. She had chosen to pause her memory a minute before she heard the news and was about to enchant those 5.000 as she began her dance.
She wasn't herself. It was a total surrender. Surrender to the art she worshiped. All her life she devoted herself to live dance above all, and now she chose to do the same. Moving with the music was a reflex now. No attachment, yet real. Selfless. A drama that masked her pain. A dance that cloaked her wails and made them invisible to the rest. Even in that condition, she won hearts..
But the usual sound of everending applause seemed chaotic that day...
She is still dancing. Her feet still unstoppable. They all miss a heartbeat the moment they see her turn and give that breathtaking expression! They feel more alive to see her surmount the castles set by those beats. She breaths dance.. and since that one day, I feel empty...