A Time To Dance Part 33

Govinda's usually in akka's study waiting for me well ahead of our cla.s.s time.

But I rush in eager to tell him how my cla.s.ses with the children are going, only to find the room empty.

I look out the window.

See a figure running up the drive.

But it's not Govinda.

Govinda's never late.

Maybe he's caught in traffic.

Or-what if- A sickening fear slithers in the pit of my stomach.

I pace the room for what feels like forever but the clock tells me is only ten minutes.

Akka enters the study.

"Govinda's on the phone for you."

"Govinda, I was so worried!

Thank goodness you're all right.

What happened? Where are you?"

"Veda, I'm really, really sorry.

I can't come today.

My parents arranged for a tutor to coach me at home.

He went on and on. We lost track of time.

I should have called sooner."

Pretending I'm patient, trying to be there for him like he always was for me, I hold back the anger that's swirling up inside me like a dancer's skirts.

"It's okay," I say. "I understand."

SEEING I.

I catch Uma as she tries to run out the door after cla.s.s.

"Why do you always hide your face?" I ask. "You should take off the scarf and free up your neck."

Her eyes fill with tears. "Please, don't be angry.

I love dance."

"Then show us your face so we can see how much you love it.

Dancers don't hang their heads."

Uma starts to turn her head away, but I cup her chin and her scarf slips a few inches lower.

Enough to unveil her cleft lip.

"I want to dance," she says, "but I'm not pretty enough to show my face.

Please let me keep my scarf."

Tears shine like diamonds caught in her thick, long lashes.

"Uma, you're safe here. I'd never let anyone tease you.

I promise you'll feel graceful and beautiful if you dance freely."

But Uma ties her scarf tight around her mouth.

Next cla.s.s, Uma still hangs her head and dances, face half-hidden, looking as unsure of herself as she did on the first day.

PRESENT.

I'm walking toward akka's study for cla.s.s with Govinda when akka meets me and hands me an envelope.

"Something small, a little early- for your upcoming birthday."

Stammering thanks, I drop the envelope, shocked.

I didn't know she knew my birthday.

She flicks her hand as though swatting away a mosquito.

"Consider it an a.s.signment, Veda.

There's a dance recital I want you to attend ahead of your birthday.

Whirling Sufi dervishes will perform.

And non-cla.s.sical dancers of other faiths and traditions.

Watching them will teach you something, I hope."

I slit the envelope to find three tickets.

Akka explains, "I thought Govinda might join you.

And I presume if you went out with a boy in the evening, your parents would prefer if someone else came along."

I can't wait to invite Govinda.

But I'm forced to.

Apologizing, Govinda rushes into the study.

Late.

Half an hour late.

I shove the tickets akka gave me away in my bag.

STRONG.

QUIET.

Roshan, the only boy in cla.s.s, surprises me by entering stealthily, his shoulders slumped, his neck drooping almost as low as Uma's always does.

I crouch beside him and ask what's wrong.

He tells me, "My big brother said strong boys do sports. Real boys don't dance."

"He's wrong, Roshan. Strong boys are brave enough to fight for what they want.

Strong boys care about Karma and what's right, not following the crowd.

You tell that to anyone who says you're weak because you like dance. Okay?"

My words seem to reach Roshan.

He rapidly bounces back to his normal, cheerful self.

PLACES.

of

PRAYER.

I open Paati's prayer books, dust off her bra.s.s bell, light a stick of incense, and sit cross-legged on the ground in front of our household altar although it's hard to do with my prosthesis.

I pray I'll find a way to help Uma find happiness and confidence through dance.

And I pray I'll find my way through my tangled mess of feelings for Govinda.

Not a flicker of light penetrates through my confusion.

But if nothing else, if Paati's soul hasn't been reincarnated in another body, if she's out there somewhere watching me, she'd be happy seeing me fill our house with prayer.

Wherever she is now, maybe my voice can reach her.

Pa joins me on the floor in front of the altar.

He thanks me for keeping Paati's traditions alive in our home.