Dancing bells

 

She stands at the temple gate;

budding life,

statuesque,

palms cupped together in devotion,

eyes half-closed,

lips quivering a silent prayer.

 

Is she offering herself to the mercy of the gods,

beseeching them for a special gift?

Or, through her prayer,

calling up her own sacred centre

 of strength, faith and hope?’

 

Nestled between her palms,

bunched together,

small metal balls,

red cord.

A dancer’s ankle bells!

 

She moves,

head bowed, lips still moving,

across the yard, over the threshold,

into the temple precinct

to the dancing deity, 

kneels,

lays the bells at his feet.

 

Shiva.

The Lord of Dance.

Manifestation of the Cosmic Dance.

 

Stance of energy, elegance, ecstasy.

The sun and the moon whirring

in hair fanned out in wild abandon;
body adorned with potent symbols:

fire, drum, river, snake ,demon, third eye;

speaking of cosmic rhythms,

of rythms of daily life;

and of the overcoming of

ego,

Illusion,

ignorance.

 

Head bowed, palms cupped, eyes closed, lips moving.

It seems a lifetime.

Will she not move

until she feels Shiva smile upon her,

feels his Dance course through her?

 

The bells sparkle,

each little bell lovingly polished,

threaded on the well-used cord.

 

She rises,

holds out her palms

to receive from the priest

the sanctified bells,
wrapped in banana leaves,

fresh, lush, auspicious;

smeared with sacred paste

of sandalwood and vermilion,

sprinkled with holy water.

 

This blessed gift

she cups close to her heart,

dew dappling on her lashes.

 

I watch her retreating figure.

 

‘Art becomes true only when the ego is let go’,

my teachers had often said.

I had nodded,

barely understood the clichéd mantra.

 

Perhaps they had not understood either. 

 

 

Poonam May 19