Part 17 (1/2)

Jim saying I'm special makes me feel brave enough to, with Chandra's help, look up the dancer Paati admired-Dr. Dhanam.

”Great!” Chandra cries triumphantly.

She reads off the computer screen a long list of Dr. Dhanam's accomplishments.

”Doctorate in cla.s.sical dance, performed all over the world, on the advisory board of practically every

Indian college dance program,

even some American universities.

Gave up performing years back.

Says she'll spend the rest of her life teaching.

Runs a dance school on her gorgeous home estate.

Perfect.”

”Chandra, what if-if-she says no?”

”There's only one way to find out,” Chandra says.

I look at the photograph of Dr. Dhanam.

Pointed chin, sharp nose, arms triangulating over her head, elbows angled, palms together.

All angles, corners, straight edges.

Except her eyes- soft as velvety moss on a rock face.

Her face glows-ecstatic, blissful- 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, grat.i.tude, 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 compet.i.tion-”

”Bharatanatyam is not about winning or losing,” she interrupts.

”Compet.i.tion distracts dancers into thinking this art is about them.

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

”But-didn't s.h.i.+va 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.