The Torchbearers by A B Majmudar

Author:A B Majmudar [Majmudar, A.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789353058050
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2020-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

the worst dance class ever

Parvati’s class was not in a classroom. Rather, the students were lined up in neat rows in a courtyard under an enormous banyan tree. Most of the girls and boys were standing around, fidgeting. A few were practicing some steps, and exactly three were trying to look as though they belonged. The banyan tree’s green leaves shaded the courtyard. The ground was wet with rainwater, keeping it mercifully cool for the students’ bare feet.

Ganesha was peeking out of Samhita’s sari folds and searching frantically for Parvati. ‘She should be here by now. She’s usually early to class, warming up before she starts teaching.’

‘Maybe she’s not here today,’ Samhita whispered back, a bit hopefully. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to meet this goddess. It sounded like she was a strict and demanding teacher, a powerful goddess, and here they were, sneaking into her dance school. What if she caught them? What kind of punishment would they face?

‘No, she never misses a class,’ Ganesha said. ‘I just hope we catch her before class time. Once she starts, we can’t interrupt her for anything. She takes her teaching very seriously.’

Birds were chirping, and the students were still chattering, when a voice said, ‘Namaskaram, Parvati–ma’am.’ A hush fell over the courtyard, and the teacher walked to the front of the class.

Ganesha exclaimed, ‘This is terrible! She’s beginning the class already. You will all have to follow along until it is over. We’ll talk to her afterwards.’

‘What? We can’t—’

‘We don’t even know—’

‘Kill me now, before I die of embarrassment.’

‘Shhhhhh!’ Ganesha stopped their panicked whispers with a tiny trumpet. ‘Just do it! It’s not that difficult.’

The Torchbearers lined up in the back row, hoping for invisibility, if not competence. They turned their eyes towards the front of the class.

Parvati was wearing a white sari with a blood-red border. Her jet-black hair was coiled in a large bun at the nape of her neck. A crescent moon of jasmine blossoms hung behind her ear, its fragrance filling the entire courtyard. Tiny umbrella-shaped gold earrings dangled from her ears, and she wore a delicate gold necklace around her neck. On her forehead was a teardrop-shaped bindi. Parvati’s face was lit with a sweet smile, but her eyes dazzled with power. They were rimmed with kohl so that they were fish-shaped, every flicker magnified.

She called her class to attention by rapping a wooden stick on a block of wood. She cleared her throat and the students placed their hands in front of their bodies in an elaborate hand gesture. Samhita showed her brothers and they did their best to imitate the stance. Then, to the beating of the teacher’s stick, the class performed the ritual prayer, tapping their feet, moving their arms around, lowering themselves gracefully to the floor, and then standing back up again, with their palms joined in a namaste.

Prem and Kushal fumbled along, staying out of Parvati’s line of sight. Then, Parvati led the class in an invocatory hymn, her hands

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