The Possibilities of Destiny

Drown in the melody. Soar with the harmony. Get lost among the chords. Punch out every rhythm and feel the beat like a heart. Know the darkness of the chromatics; understand the authority of the majors. Listen carefully to the underlying message. What is it saying? Is it calling to you? Beckoning you closer? It beckoned her.

The first time she heard the moan of the base guitar tuning she was hypnotized. It had been on the first trip to the marketplace with her father. From somewhere beyond the brightly colored tents, she heard the rich tones. Her heart began to race. Then there was the magical trill of the strings of the guitar, like rings of water spreading outward on the surface of the pond at the edge of the village. She strained to see, but too many legs, thighs and hips stood between her and where the musicians preparing their instruments to play. Banhi tugged against her fathers grip, but Somhath held on to her wrist firmly, dragging her along until the music was somewhere behind them. Banhi was desperate to get to the source of the magnificent, sweet sounds. She gave another mighty tug just as a crowd of people pushed against them, and she was free. She quickly darted back the was they had come, weaving in and out of the bodies, ignoring the frantic cries of her father. Banhi felt sorry for causing her father so much distress, but only for the briefest of moments. Then she heard the magical sound of another chord as it rippled out into the soft evening air, and her father’s cries and the rest of the market place was completely forgotten.

She ducked her head and slipped behind a pair of legs, and darted into a courtyard. On the opposite wall of the entrance way sat a troupe of five musicians. One man was tapping out a beat on a drum, causing a rhythm that darted and flitted like voices of children at play. Another held a bamboo flute to his lips, the sound it produced danced along the top of the music created by the other instruments. A woman that was playing a keyboard, eventually began to hum, her voice expanding into an almost familiar melody.

However, to Banhi, the most extraordinary of all was a young woman, who was out in front of the troupe dancing. The girl wore a traditional dress garment of jade green material with a silver border. The top was loose, and the pants were gathered snugly around her waist to flare out over her hips. The tips of her finger and toes and the sides of her feet and palms were dyed a crimson, so she appeared to glow as she moved her hands and feet. She wore rows of small, shiny brass bells on leather cuffs around her ankles. The bells marked the staccato rhythm of her feet as she slapped them on the ground. Her eyes turned up and looked expressively outward to another world.

Banhi stood there at the edge of the crowd transfixed by the musicians and the dancer. There was where Somhath found her some time later.

“Banhi!” Somhath said, his voice a harsh whisper. “Do not ever do that again...” He knelt down to gaze into Banhi’s face. “What is it child?!” he cried, alarm raising in his voice. “You have turned bluer than the sky!” Banhi had been so intent on the music and the dancer that she had forgotten to breathe. Somhath gathered his daughter up in his arms and took her home. Before sending her to bed, he sat her down and spoke to her.

“You must not run away from me like that Banhi, “ he said, “Some one could steal you and sell you. It happens.” He begged her to promise, and at first Banhi refused. Her father began to look desperate, and finally she nodded her head. “I promise.”

In the days and weeks that follow the trip to the market place an awareness arose within Banhi like a bubble to the surface of the pond until it was all she could think about. She had been born with music in her bones, a knowledge as natural and essential as knowing how to breathe and swallow. She felt a beat in everything that had breathed, that held life. She felt it in the air around her. She felt it in her feet when she walked. She felt it in the flames as it turned wood into sinders. She especially felt it in the dancing flames. She knew instinctively that music should accomplish miracles, that it made all things possible.

Some time later, she decided to test her still- developing belief in music, its power and its connection she and it shared with fire. She waited for an opportunity when her father went out and let the house and courtyard empty. Finally, an opportunity arrived. Her father left to visit a cousin at the other end of the village, and he left the fire burning in the empty courtyard. She looked about, making certain no one was around or watching.

Then she leapt into the fire.

A loud and joyous music very similar to what Banhi had heard at the market place burst into the air above her head at the same instant that the flames enveloped her. It began with a rapid descent of the scale on the guitar, a sound that reminded her again of ripples fanning out on a pond. The music was so loud that it drowned out all other noises and sounds. She did not hear the dog bark down the lane warning of the return of her father.

The flames felt like little caresses on her feet and legs, and their tickles propelled her feet to move faster and faster and faster. She whirled and lifted her lags and arms. She danced among the flames and knew that she looked perfect; each move distinct and finite. It was if the flames transformed her, and the world seemed filled with endless possibilities.

Then suddenly, she was snatched upward with a sharp jolt as Somhath plucked her from the fire with one arm, lifting her clear of the flames. The music was shut off in mid-strain, as if a giant knife had cut it through its middle. Itstead in its place were the shouts of her father, who beat at her hand and legs, then cradled his only daughter against him, crying intoher hair.

“What where you thinking? What were you doing?” Somhath demanded, as he examined her feet.

“Dancing with the fire,” murmured Banhi softly, for her father’s anger and shock frightened her.

“What? What did you say?” Somhath said.

“Dancing,” repeated Banhi. Somhath grasped Banhi even tighter, “Banhi, Banhi! You could have been killed!”

For a while the strange occurrence was only spoken about in hushed tones, and soon the incident of the little girl and the fire became well known. Time passed, lips fell silent and no one spoke of the strange tale. Banhi grew into a beautiful young girl. Then one day, in Banhi’s twelfth year, a famous master Guru came to the village from Rangoon, a long distance away, to see the child. As he slowly made his way toward Banhi’s father’s house a crowd gathered behind him, wondering why the master Guru had come to their village. The Guru was well known throughout the country. He was one of a handful of masters who had received the ancient form of bharata natyam, a classical dance form that had fallen out of favor during the time of British rule.

The Guru was regarded as a hero for preserving the sacred art and teaching it again in its traditional form. Many mothers and fathers wanted their daughters to become dancers, but he only chose a few each year to go and study with him at his gurukulam, dance school, near Rangoon.

“Excuse me,” he called softly, tapping his walking stick against the courtyard gate. Somhath looked up from the fire he was stoking, and immediately recognized the Guru.

“Please, please, come in. Welcome. Allow me to go and fetch some coffee.”

“I have come to see the child called Banhi and speak to her family about her schooling. I do not wish to bebothersome.”

Somhath and the Guru exchanged words. The Guru recalled the story of Banhi dancing in the fire, Somhath his worries about his daughter. Banhi had come in from playing and stood at the entrance of the courtyard transfixed on the words of this stranger. The Guru noticed her and beckoned her to join him and her father by the fire. She hesitated, then walked the distance between the gate and where the two men sat. As she walked toward him, the Guru smiled.

“Yes, she has the perfect body for a dancer. She is agile and slender and she moves with uncommon grace. Her face and eyes are exceedingly expressive. She is intelligent. And as I understand she has an innate gift for dance.” He paused to look again at the child who sat beside her father “I believe it would be unnatural to waste a talent such as hers. I wish for her to come with me to study at my gurukulam. Many believe it is her destiny.” Banhi sat silently as the two men further discussed her future and destiny, her head spinning. Not only would she be allowed to dance, but it would be demanded of her.

Her father turned toward her, looked into her face, and asked, “Banhi do you want to go with the Guru and learn how to be a dancer?” Banhi wanted to shout out loudly how badly she desired to go, but not trusting her voice she simply nodded her head. So it was decided that Banhi would go, learn, and dance. Deep inside she knew; It was her destiny.

Life at the gurukulam was different. The students had rigorous schedules of devotions,lessons, chores, exercises,and studying the movements and postures leaving barely enough time to sleep and eat. They sat on the floor of the classroom in front of a large mirror. They practiced before the mirror endlessly, widening their eyes and looking up, then narrowing them and looking out the corners. It felt at times as if their eyes would roll out of their heads.

Banhi soon became discouraged. She wanted to dance, not roll her eyes around in her head! They also practiced the arm and hand motions of dance, holding one palm down and the other up to their face. There were over a hundred different hand positions in all, Banhi felt that sometimes her hands were going to fall off the end of her arms. They studied the movements of the feet. They stood in awkward positions with their knees bent deeply, heels apart and toes turned out.

Other students moved about awkwardly learning a new motion, still unfamiliar with the language of dance- with the exception of Banhi. Her hands knew how to work with her feet, and her eyes and her head acted in perfect harmony with the rest of her body. The Guru tried not to stare, but at times he stood still and watched as Banhi carried out a series of movements in perfect balance and rhythm.

Despite having exceeded expectations, Banhi soon became bored with the repetitious motions, doing the same steps over and over. She wondered why the Guru never allowed then to put the motions together, to really dance. She wondered why there was never and instruments or music to accompany their motions. She began to feel suffocated, but the instant she voiced her thought she was scolded and told to do as she was told.

Much time passed and Banhi became frustrated with being told to do as she was told. Soon she felt caged in at the gurukulam. The pain she felt was exquisite. She began to lose hope that she would never be allowed to dance with music, until she overheard a conversation between a couple of day student who travel to the gurukulam from a nearby town.

“There is to be a festival in the market place in honor of the Raja and his son’s coming of age in two days time. There will be so many people, colors, food, and music,” they said. Banhi could not believe her luck. Oh the price she had paid for trusting the Guru! Her sorrows would be lost in these new ectasies. She knew that if she wanted to feel any sort of freedom she would have to attend this festival, even for just a moment. Banhi waited in anticipation for the two days to pass, and on the night of the festival she waited until all the others were asleep then she snuck out of the gurukulam.

When she arrived at the market place it was teeming with people of all sizes and colors of all shades and music of all sorts and volumes. Banhi felt for the first time in a long time she could really breathe. She wandered around the market place, eyes wide open at all the marvelous items. She turned a corner of a bright yellow tent used for clothing materials, and ran straight into a set of strong broad shoulders. Aagney was just as shocked as she was, for he had never seen such a beautiful girl before in his life.

“I’m sorry, I did not see you,” Banhi stuttered. She glanced up into a pair of gray eyes and gasped. Around his neck this man wore the emblem of royalty. Banhi looked back up into his eyes and fainted. Not wanting to draw attention to himself or the girl, Aagney scooped her up and carried her back to his tent. She stirred about a half hour later.

“Is everything all right?” he ask when she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“You’re... You’re the prince!” She stammered, eyes wide with shock.

“Yes, I know. However I do not know who you are. What is your name?”

“Banhi.”

“That is a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl. And where are you from Banhi?”

“I am not from near here originally but I am attending the gurukulam right up the road.”

“Why are you not there resting? It is pretty late.”

Before she could stop herself she blurted out, “I was feeling crushed and suffocated. All I want to do is dance your majesty, and they would not let me! You have to understand! Well, no, you probably do not understand.”

“I understand more than you are aware,” he whispered. “Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance?” Banhi looked up for the couch she had woken up on and stared at him quizzically. She swallowed visibly, squared her shoulders and nodded her head.

“Sire, I have only one request,” she whispered quietly.

“Name it.”

“May I make a fire?” He found her request odd, but he nodded his head.

Banhi took the leather cuffs with brass bells out of her sack that she had brought with her from the gurukulam and strapped them around her ankles, their weight felt natural and comforting. Then she went to the fireplace and laid a small fire with wood from a brass bin on the floor. She lit a tong taper and touched it to the kindling.

As the flames sprang to life, a magical, spiral chord from a guitar filled the room, and a drum joined in with a complex rhythm, and the bamboo flute trilled. She breathed deep, turned to face the prince and her dance began. Banhi danced the possibilities into being- the possibilities of friendship, of happiness of families, of freedom from repetition and suffication- and they all spun beneath her feet. The magic washed over her and around her and carried her to a place she had never been before.

When the dance ended and the last chord of the guitar still hung in the air, Aagney sat still with tears in his eyes. Banhi bowed from the waist as they had showed her at the gurukulam. Aagney got up, took her by the shoulders and kissed her gently on her lips and for a brief moment the possibilities were all she could think of. It was a moment with out time, like a moment in the dance when the unfolding was all that mattered. Then it was all over. We are of different worlds, she thought. In the established order of things, Aagney should not stand close enough to her to look into her face. To kiss her was unthinkable.

She took a step back, touching her hand to her lips.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You are twice- born,” she said, specking of his status, his caste, everything that separated them.

“Yes,” Aagney said. “But you are twice- blessed. Your life’s work is to lift your spirit. Your destiny is to develop your talent, to realize yourself. How I envy you!” His voice cracked as his shoulders sagged.

“Yes, and what of your destiny?” she asked. “Your father is not a farmer. He is a spiritual leader. If I was born to dance, you were born to lead.”

“Will you come away with me?” he whispered. “I will be a doctor in America and you can teach children to dance.”

For the first time Banhi saw destiny as a burden.

In less than an instant a clamor went up outside the tents entrance and the moment was lost. Aagney had turned to see what the source of the commotion was, he turned back to find Banhi had disappeared. He squared his shoulders: he would be a great leader.

As Banhi walked down the road back toward the gurukulam she thought of what she had called upon to transport her through her dance. To her, the dance was a movement of spirit as well as body. She walked as if her feet were not hers. Back in her room, she lit a candle. She raised her eyes, and her arms and one leg, just as she had done when she was a child dancing in the flames. The chord of the guitar fanned out and enveloped her, and the beat of the drum infected her blood and thumped within her bones. She summoned the energy from the cosmic fire at the depth of her being. Each flick of a finger and roll of an eye was a frozen perfect moment. This was her destiny.

“That is it,” a voice carried on the wind said softly in her ear. “You are the magic of possibilities.”