Goddesses, Rishikas and Women

Apsara Urvashi: The gem of Indra's Court

Something is wrong with me, isn't it?

I rake my eyes at the studio's door, then at the dimly lit corridor. A drop of sweat makes its way past my eyelids, finally landing near my lips, which I consciously wipe away. My thighs burn, and I hear my knee bones crack slightly as I try to stand up, my hands reaching out to hold the long steel bar for support.

The dryness in my throat must be akin to a dry desert. Making any swallowing motion is like having needles pierce my throat. Caressing the skin, only to find a sweaty layer, I move my eyes to my completely filled bottle on the shelf.

When was the last time I drank water today?

Breathing hard, as if I wanted some fire to light this tired body of mine, I manage to sit in aramandi again, ignoring my aching legs and my wise brain advising rest. Thankfully, the remote is near my reach, so I play the music for another round of practice.

This will be the final round, right?

"No stopping until I dance perfectly in this round," I repeat my instructions to myself. 'Follow the nattuvangam. Remember the steps and count the beats before you spin." The studio swirls around me as I take just one spin. My feet hit the floor according to the rhythm, but these legs are lit on fire, and no mental strength can keep my elbows up anymore.

I hear the lady sing the Nayika's verse.

'How long until the fire in my heart bursts me aflame? Any longer if I have to dwell in separation, alone, I shall throw myself in death's embrace. Love's a painful wound, tell me sakhi, how do I find respite?'

And so, to find respite from my aching limbs, my body throws itself to the floor with a soft thud. Panting heavily, I take another glance at myself in the mirror. My blouse, completely drenched in sweat; some of my hair sticks to the back of my neck and my forehead. My face glows only due to the light falling on my sweaty skin. The eyes that look back at me are filled with disappointment. The lady in the mirror mutters disapprovingly, "Yet not perfect again."

My fingers shake as I stretch my hand to grab the remote to turn off the music. Closing my eyes, the slow throb in my temples intensifies as the dancer in my head gets lost in the darkness.

What is this darkness made up of?

Something wet travels down from my eyes to my lips. I don't have the heart to look into the mirror and accept my tears. In the darkness, I lose myself, the colourful dancer hides somewhere behind my creative mind.

Fear stems from my sadness, bringing questions that my heart is afraid to acknowledge or answer. Am I really deserving of dancing at such a huge stage? Am I really capable? Am I a good dancer? Am I perfect? Will I ever be perfect?

The swirling patterns in the mind's eye make me feel dizzy, or perhaps it's the exhaustion. The Nayika was talking about death's embrace while this dancer slips into slumber on the cold floors of the air-conditioned studio.

***

"Your turn now. Be ready with your ghungroos in a minute," I hear my teacher, also my mentor,

It is the first rehearsal, going on at 4 pm. The sun is still bright, and I bask my foot in the sunshine streaming in through the glass windows. Turning to the right, a little girl with two pigtails smiles at me. My lips are too tired to muster a smile; nevertheless, I still end up smiling at her.address me. Nodding at her, I swiftly tie those bells around my feet and tap my feet once to check their tightness.

It feels like iron chains bind my feet, and I shun the gloomy vision with a blink. Sixty seconds pass by, and I drag my feet to the centre of the studio. My teacher nods her head, asking if I was ready to go through the piece, and I show her a thumbs up.