Dancing In The Darkness. IntroA Story by Dhanadeepa DixitA doctor investigates the mysterious death of one of his patients.Part One.
She was
dancing in the darkness. The
soft echo of her feet swayed me in the dark. I was lying alone, in bed, as her
trance-like foot-fall drifted from one end of the room to the other, mingling
with the low hum of her voice: "kamaye yena balisa..." I stood up in my bed, and lit the lamp, the faint light piercing barley the darkness that encompassed so completely the room; she continued to dance. “Cecile”,
I said She
stopped abruptly, as I called her name, and walked toward the windowsill,
glancing at me as she passed. “I’m sorry” she said “I woke you” I was
already awake; I had been awake for hours, drifting restlessly, in and out of
sleep, from imagination to dream, dream to imagination, her presence was
welcome. “Cecile” I said, “Will
you sit with me?” she replied. I got
up and stood next to her, the passing clouds now played moonlight on her face,
as the palu of her ruffled white sari fluttered in the warm night breeze. She
stared at the moon as if it was speaking to her, as if the man in the moon was
whispering to her his secrets. Dark secrets that he didn’t want to hear. She
closed her eyes. “Every night I wake to the sound of screaming”
she whispered. “I
don’t know who it is, why they’re screaming, why I’m hearing it” Her
voice began to tremble from fear, and I could see she began to shiver, as if
from a non-existent cold. A change came over her that I had not seen. Her
features, pure, somber, subdued by years of mourning, took on an unearthly
shadowing in the pale moonlight. I turned to see her face, and she spoke to me:
“It
sounds so awful, like a pig being led to slaughter” I
remained silent throughout, and she composed herself suddenly, as a cloud came
over the moon, covering it. She continued. “I
remember sitting here, with him, when we first met” she said “Just
sit” I sat
down. It was a strange night, dreamy, warm, and restless. Breeze continued to
blow in the room, scattering her ebony hair about her, as if suspended by
pixies. The moon appeared again, as the cloud passed, moonlight returned. I tried
to put my arm around her, but she retreated. “No”
she said Cecil got up, looking at me now as intently as if I was her beloved, smiling, her face relaxed, a faint tear ran down her smooth cheek and she turned, her arms extended slightly toward me, and her, confident and trusting, guileless and profound, seemed to have undergone a vision. I felt tears run lightly down my cheeks, involuntary, and uncontrollable. “What
did he say before he died?” The
moon slipped behind a cloud, as the room grew darker, much darker, more so than
I could bear, it seemed as if the heavens might fall upon us, that his words
were echoing all around us, how couldn’t she hear them? “He
said…” I
remembered nothing, no vows of sanctity, no final affirmation of love, only a
light breathing, a heaving bosom, and another woman name . I tried to tell her
the truth, but behind her silent weeping, her dying hope and the suspended
misery, I paused. It was too dark, too dark altogether. “Cecil” Her
faint form descended onto the table in beside of us, weeping profusely, and yet
dignity remained. “He
will return to me” She said. Her words suspended in the air, a deep silence
followed, which I could not bear, and I spoke: “His
memory will remain” I don’t
know if she heard. She was staring at the moon, smiling at it, entranced by it,
it seemed if my words had left her already. What was so fantastic about it? So
fantastic as to hold her gaze so intently? I was unsure, and got up to leave
the room. “I
tried to bring him back” she said abruptly ,as I began to turn. Her words came
as if out of nothingness, as if their utterance was a confession, rather than a
statement. “They
told me, that it was him, promised me if I did what they asked; they would
return him to me” She looked at me, her face now contorted in
terror and her eyes filmed over in tragic reckoning. “I
don’t know what they’ve done to me” She broke off suddenly, and stood up. “I
don’t who I am” “I’m sorry” Cecil
walked out the window, and jumped thirteen stories onto the ground below. © 2015 Dhanadeepa DixitAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
StatsAuthorDhanadeepa DixitCambridge, MAAboutI'm a college student, originally from Kashmir, and my goal in writing is to change how we see the world. My favorite book is a Thousand Splendid Suns. more..Writing
|