Stroke the skin of my residual limb.

My C-shaped scar is smooth to the touch.

And it's shrunk into a crescent thin as the last sliver of the waning moon.

SKIPPING STONE.

I pause by the gate of Kamini's home.

Through a window, I see her racing through a set of steps, her blouse dark with sweat.

She is a pebble skipping over the surface of a lake.

As I once was.

Not a deep sinking stone that leaves widening ripples behind after it's disappeared.

As I hope to be.

I knock and Kamini answers the door.

"I came to thank you, Kamini.

For remembering my birthday.

For visiting me in the hospital.

It was so nice of you.

I'm sorry I never-"

"Not nice," Kamini interrupts.

"I did a horrid thing.

After you won that compet.i.tion, I . . ."

She chokes up, then continues.

"I prayed something would happen so you could never dance again.

But I never thought-I never wanted- I'm so very sorry."

"You did what?" I say.

Kamini flinches as though I hit her.

I didn't think anyone could be that spiteful.

But it takes courage to confess something like that.

I put my hand on her elbow.

"Do you really think bad things happen if someone prays?

I'm not sure who or what there is out there we pray to but I doubt things work that way."

"So you forgive me?" Kamini asks.

"Sure." I shrug.

"Thanks," she says, but her voice is hesitant, like she's having trouble believing me.

"Kamini? I'm still dancing."

"You-you are? Bharatanatyam?"

"Yes. Bharatanatyam."

"Thank G.o.d. Thank G.o.d. Veda, next time you compete, I hope you win, I swear."

"Kamini, to me, dance isn't about compet.i.tions any longer.

And it might sound crazy, but I'm not upset about the accident anymore.

The accident made me a different kind of dancer."

Kamini shakes her head like she doesn't understand.

But I don't know how to explain that my love for dance is deeper.

That dance feels more meaningful now.

So I just give her hand a quick squeeze.

And she says, "I'm so glad you stopped by.

Thanks for taking the time to make me feel better."

TO TOUCH.

Sitting in a chair with my students crowding around me, I take my leg off.

Let them touch it.

As I tell them about my accident even Uma inches forward.

"My old teacher didn't think I could dance again.

But dance isn't about who you are on the outside.

It's about how you feel inside."

I place my palms together in front of me, symbolizing the two leaves of a closed door.

Move them apart, slowly, opening the door.

"In cla.s.s, you need to shut out sad thoughts and mean words.

So dance can let you enter another world.

A world where you feel Shiva inside you.

Where you grow beautiful and strong and good, because Shiva is goodness and strength and beauty."

We begin to dance.

Uma's eyes follow me around the cla.s.sroom.

I should correct her.

I should direct her gaze toward her fingertips.

I don't.

Because Uma's scarf is loose around her shoulders.

Because when it slithers to the floor, she doesn't stoop to pick it up.

Because head erect, chin lifted, she's joined the very front row and she's giving me an uncovered smile.

DANCING.

THANKS.

After the children trickle out, I go outside and raise my eyes to the heavens, my palms pressed together, thanking G.o.d for Uma's smile.

Like a farmer welcoming a long-awaited monsoon I dance onto the empty stage beneath the s.h.a.ggy banyan tree.

A crescent moon is barely visible in the mauve glow of the evening sky.

In it I see the crescent caught in Shiva's matted locks.

In it I see the crescent scar on my residual limb.

I shift my weight from one leg to the other, turning in a circle.

Slowly.

Each green leaf above looks purer and brighter than ever.

For my invisible audience of the One I.

begin to dance.

Colors blur into whiteness and a lilting tune that is and is not of the world resonates within and without me.

My body feels whole.

In the beat of my heart I hear again the eternal rhythm of Shiva's feet.

REACHING IN.