It felt as though she'd given us a glimpse of heaven.

She danced only to devotional songs expressing Bhakthi rasa, the love of G.o.d.

Onstage she became-invisible-"

"Invisible?" I'm not too sure what Paati means, but maybe Dr. Dhanam could teach me to improve my dance in ways I've ignored.

If she doesn't turn me away.

"I'm not explaining well." Paati sighs. "How can I?

I never was a dancer."

The wistfulness in Paati's tone surprises me.

"Did you want to be a dancer, Paati?"

She never hinted at such a desire before.

Or maybe I wasn't listening.

"Dance was too much for me to want.

It was forbidden to Brahmin girls like me.

Those days, dance was practiced only by devadasis: women who were supposed to dedicate their dances to G.o.d.

Bharatanatyam was meant to be a sacred art, through which dancers could reach a higher plane, carrying the audience with them.

They had a measure of freedom, those women of the dancer caste.

Even wealth of their own.

But they paid a price, a terrible price.

They weren't allowed to marry.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, society retracted its promise to respect these women.

They were treated as prost.i.tutes and their sacred art degraded into entertainment to please vile men."

NAILS.

and

SPEARS.

Thrust out of a nightmare I wake to pain.

Feel nails and spears.

Jabbing.

Flesh throbbing beneath my knee where nothingness should be.

My bladder is full.

I feel for my crutches.

Not by my bed where they should be.

Clenching my teeth to keep from crying out, I fumble for the light switch.

Paati's bed creaks as she shifts.

Her breathing sounds harsher than normal.

I mustn't wake her.

My frantic fingers grope through the blackness searching for my crutches-or my leg.

At last I find my leg under my bed.

A sputter of relief.

Tacking it on, bladder almost bursting, I hurl myself toward the bathroom.

Yank at the door.

My leg isn't on properly.

I slip on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

Between my legs a shameful trickle I can't control.

Lying in a yellow pool, wetness seeping through my nightclothes, I yank off the thing pretending to be my limb.

Shove it away into the darkness.

I strip, clean myself, crawl, find bleach and a sponge, swab my mess off the tiles.

Naked. Wretched.

I notice Ma hovering- holding my leg aloft like a banner begging for truce.

How much of my degrading drama has she seen?

I fling words at her like shards of gla.s.s, aiming to slash her apart.

"My accident was the answer to your prayers, wasn't it?

Happy I can't dance anymore?"

Ma lays the leg down beside me.

Cups my chin so I can't turn away.

Crouching, she brushes the top of my forehead with a kiss.

I don't remember the last time Ma kissed me.

Long ago maybe.

When I was a baby.

I'm too startled to pull away.

THE BEHOLDER.

Jim's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I enter his office on crutches and crumple into a chair.

"My dance teacher threw me out of his dance school."

"No way," Jim says.

His jaw clenches.

Then he bursts out, "What a fool.

What a poor excuse for a teacher.

You'll be an amazing dancer one day and he'll regret his stupidity.

His loss, not yours, kiddo."

Hearing Jim's voice shake with anger on my behalf, I feel almost happy. I show him the red skin of my residual limb.

Jim whistles but he doesn't tell me how stupid I was.

I apologize. "I know I should've waited longer but I tried dancing.

My knee wouldn't give enough.

It was so inflexible.

I fell when I tried full-mandi."

"You mean the pose in which you lower your body all the way down until you're sitting on your heels with your legs folded under you balancing on your toes with your knees to the sides?"

I nod, impressed at Jim's knowledge.

Hoping I don't sound whiny, I tell him, "I can't dance without a.s.suming that posture."

"Don't panic, kiddo. You know I've been reading up on what your art demands of the body."

He waves at his bookshelf.

"You're giving me just the kind of feedback I need to adjust this trial limb.

And I'm going to make you a final prosthesis that lets you sit cross-legged on the floor.

That's my challenge.

Your challenge is to grind that fool's memory into the dust under your dancing heels and find a new dance teacher who sees how special you are."

VISIONS.