Great God who gives release
From the sorrows of the world . . ."
Kamala paused to tighten the straps securing the bells around her ankles. "The song goes on to say that she cannot bear even to hear the voice of the nightingale now that she is separated from her Lord Shiva. She cannot endure the dark night now that he has taken himself from her."
"It's a very touching love song." Hawksworth found himself thinking again of Shirin, and of the dark nights they had both endured.
"It is really much more. You see, Lord Shiva is her beloved, but he is also her god. So her song also praises the beauty of the great Shiva in all his many aspects: as her own consort, as one who has the Third Eye of Knowledge, as the great God of the Dance, Nataraj. Through my dance I will show all the many aspects of Shiva—as creator, as destroyer, as lord of the cosmic rhythms of life."
Hawksworth watched in groggy fascination as she rose and, clasping her hands above her head, bowed toward a small bronze statue of the Dancing Shiva she had placed on a corner table. Then, as the drummer took up a steady cadence and the flute began a searching, high-pitched lament, she struck a statuesque pose of her own, feet crossed, arms above her head. Gradually her eyes began to dart seductively from side to side, growing in power until it seemed her entire body might explode. Abruptly she assumed a second pose, reminiscent of the statue. As the drummer's rhythms slowly increased, she began to follow them with her body, next with her feet, slapping heel, then ball, fiercely against the carpet. The drummer began to call out his bols, the strokes he was sounding on the drum, and as he did she matched his rhythms with the rows of tiny bells around her ankles.
Hawksworth found himself being drawn into her dance. Her rhythms were not flamboyant like those of the Kathak style, but rather seemed to duplicate some deep natural cadence, as she returned again and again to the pose of the Dancing Shiva. It was pure dance, and he slowly began to feel the power of her controlled sensuality.
Without warning she began a brief song to Shiva in a high- pitched, repetitive refrain. As she sang, her hands formed the signs for woman, for beauty, for desire, for dozens of other words and ideas Hawksworth could not decipher. Yet her expressive eyes exquisitely translated many of the hand signs, while her body left no mistaking the intensity of their emotion.
When the song and its mime reached some climactic plateau, she suddenly resumed the pure dance, with the drummer once more reciting the bols as he sounded them. Again she matched his rhythms perfectly.
After a time she began another verse of the song. By her mime Hawksworth concluded she was describing some aspect of Lord Shiva. When the song concluded, the drummer called out more bols and again she danced only his rhythms. Then she began yet another verse of the song, followed by still more rhythmic dance. The aspects of Shiva that she created all seemed different. Some wise, some fierce, some clearly of a beauty surpassing words.