The Spirit of Music

Saveri sat at her aunt's feet, watching with awe as the elder lady, with her eyes closed, strummed the tanpura and matched her voice to the tonal sound. Even that fundamental element of music emanating from that divine voice was perfect. Saveri opened her mouth and winced at the harsher sound that came from her own throat. Albeit in the right pitch, it lacked finesse. She tried to subdue the harshness by constricting the throat.

Her aunt looked at her kindly. "Don't hold back!"

The Classmate

Saveri was excited. She had just been added to the Whatsapp group of the school she had studied but for two years in Mumbai.

It had been a rude shock at that time, about 25 years ago... When she was just an 8-year-old... They were living in Delhi before that, and she had grown up ensconced in the warmth of her grandmother's love. Suddenly, after her grandmother's death, Saveri's distraught father had sought a change and gone to Mumbai, his wife and Saveri in tow.

Hands That Stir the Pot - Part V

For Part I, Part II, Part III and Part IV

When she came to, she was lying on her mother's lap. Revathi was fanning her with the pallu of her sari, while Gautama sprinkled water on her face. Seeing her revive, he helped her up and gave her some water to drink. She saw the anxious look on his face and felt her eyes welling up in relief.

"How are you feeling?" Gautama asked Shravanti solicitously.

She nodded in reply.

Hands That Stir the Pot - IV

For Part I, For Part II, For Part III

Part IV Continued

Their swords clashed. Shravanti felt her entire body tremble at the impact. As they sparred, she became painfully aware that mere hacking away at firewood or practicing with a young student did not prepare you to meet a battle-hardened bandit. Most of her energy went only to keep her body straight. She was also ashamed to realise that the bandit was toying with her, the leer on his face suggesting the fanciful thoughts that flitted through his mind, and that he could make short work of her if he so desired. Any fancy footwork and agility won her a slash, but the bandit seldom drove home his advantage.

Hands That Stir the Pot - III

For Part I
For Part II

Continued
"Vikrama's father Saranga and I were very good friends. Vikram was just around 10 when you were born. Saranga and I decided to get the two of you married when you came of age. Five years later, we even formalised it with an engagement ceremony... The marriage date was fixed for two years later, when Vikrama's apprenticeship under his father would be over," Gautama said, gazing out of the window with a far away look. "There was much hope, many plans... Soon after your engagement was fixed, one evening he visited us. It was all fun and laughter when you entered the room with a sword almost your size. We were amused and though I tried to dissuade you, Saranga encouraged you to slash like a swashbuckler with the weapon. Unfortunately, when you plunged, you tripped and injured Saranga severely. We rushed him to the doctor and bore the expenses of his intense treatment, which was a big draw on our limited resources. It also severely crippled Saranga, who could not continue to give training in weapons. He was unforgiving and within a few months, both of us fell into bad days... Saranga blamed us, you specifically, for our misfortune. Our friendship soured..." Gautama hesitated.

Hands That Stir the Pot - II

Click for Part I

The man stood tall and broad, intimidating her with a glare that made her heart tremble.

"You have repaid my trust well," he said in a quiet, deep voice.

Shravanti lowered her head, her face pale. Ajaya, who had run ahead, saw the threat to Shravanti's person and regretted leaving his weapons behind near the tree where they had been sitting. But adept at the art of turning even a twig into a weapon, he picked up dry sand and stole up to the man.

Hands That Stir the Pot - I

Shravanti walked down the path, her hips swaying gracefully as she balanced a pot on her head and a sickle in the other. Her youthful body was wrapped in fine, soft cotton that highlighted her curves. If one were to overtake her and catch a glimpse of her face, their heart could not be blamed for forgetting to beat on seeing the delicate features that seemed to be engraved perfectly.