Riyaz

"Saaaa..."

"Saaa..." began the boy, barely five years old.

"No," admonished his teacher, a strapping young lad who was probably over a thirty years old. "Your voice will be steady, undulating." Saying this, he closed his eyes, and..."Saaaaa."

The boy was yawning when the teacher opened his eyes midway of the "Saaa" and saw him.

"Care to go back to sleep?" The teacher said wryly.

The boy really, really wanted to nod and accept his words at face value.

But he shook his head and continued training.

"Saaaaa," the child vocalised.

It was 5 a.m. on a winter day. The foggy weather was pleasant and oh-so-great for sleeping underneath a blanket with a soft pillow.

"We'll start with Raga Bhairav," the teacher continued, "the morning raga."

And thus the little child continued training.

Unbeknownst to them, a little girl, of the same age as that of the boy, hid behind a pillar and listened to them sing.

She was the local landlady's maid's daughter.

There was a well-mowed lawn beside the building with floors of marble - a wide area with no furniture, with pillars holding the place at various intervals. It was the place where children were taught art forms of many kinds.

Most children were vacationing in the winter.

Except the little boy, whose name was Tanmay.

And this poor little girl, who was called Madhu.

Right after the teacher finished the bandish of the Raaga Bhairava, he dismissed the boy and got up, took the asana over which he had been sitting on and left.

The boy, however, after a moment, nodded off, for a moment.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the little girl staring at him, 1 foot away from him.

He started.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Just a girl," she said, shyly.

"I heard you sing," she continued, "you have a good voice."

"Thank you," he said.

"Well, I better leave," he said after a while.

Madhu nodded at him.

Tanmay noticed she had big eyes.

"Are you going to leave?" Madhu asked.

"Yes," Tanmay said, straightened his panjabi and walked away.

***

"Dha, tirikita dhin- dhin- dha" the tabla went.

"You're doing it wrong," the woman said patiently to Madhu.

"You have told me that for the umpteenth time," Madhu said, respectfully but a little hopelessly. "I don't think I can do this," she said, her voice hollow.

"Yes, you Can," the woman said.

She twirled and extended her hands, her limbs working to form various positions and mudras.

Madhu had grace, and she had passion.

All she needed, according to her teacher, was a little bit of practice.

After her session of gruelling hand and footwork, the teacher ended the lesson.

This time, it was Tanmay looking on from behind the pillar.

"I think that seeing whatever you have learnt so far, you are quite good, and will be even better, with practice," he said after Madhu's teacher had left.

Madhu shook her head, "You don't know that."

Tanmay shrugged as he went to the direction where his teacher beckoned him. "Suit yourself."

Madhu blushed.

After all, he didn't know it was his music that had made her want to dance to its beats.

***

An old lady pumped water into the bucket from the tube well systematically by heaving and leaning on its handle and then releasing it.

A crunching sound was made cyclically and over that sound, the old lady spoke, "Madhu, dance to this song."

"Muralidhar shyam hey nandalala..."

Madhu, who was now 14 years old, stepped back shyly. "Dida, I can't."

The old lady finished pumping water and said, "You can dance for Tanmay, and not for me?"

Madhu turned beetroot-red at that.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she said, her voice low.

"You young people. You think I don't see you both sing and dance to your heart's content when you both are together?"

The old lady chuckled.

"Now, keep the word of a wise old woman. Dance," she said.

Madhu agreed.

Her form was exquisite. She choreographed her way with impromptu moves. As she moved gracefully, her dance seamlessly connected fluidly the inner meaning of the song. The old lady sung of Radha, who was looking for her beloved Krishna to come back home.

The old lady finished the song in high notes with Radha finding Krishna and Madhu leaped up and ended the dance by landing lightly on her feet.

The old lady laughed and clapped and putting her hand on Madhu's head, said, "Live long and find what your heart yearns for, child. You dance like a blessing bestowed."

That day, Madhu danced to her heart's content.

She was in wait for Tanmay, who had gone to study music in a music school for the past four years.

***

It had become a habit for them to sing and dance together.

Both strived to make each other better.

But as Tanmay grew up, he had become even better, and people would come to watch him sing all over the town.

As Madhu grew up, she had become much better, but she lived on in obscurity.

Tanmay used to say that this was a good thing, because even though he sang everywhere, he sang best when he was with her. And he said, he didn't want to share her dancing with anyone else.

"Tanmay," she said shyly, "I have a new song I want to dance to... after all, we are together after so many years."

And she showed her dance to Muralidhar Shyam to him, as Tanmay looked on in wide eyed wonder at the beautiful figure in front of him, performing *for* him and him alone. A while later, he started singing, piece by piece, as he felt stranded in her aweworthy performance.

When she finished, both of them were in rapture, for Madhu had expressed her feelings for Tanmay for the first time and Tanmay - as familiar feelings stirred in him that which Madhu's dance had always wrought in him, but now a lot different - the acceptance and reciprocation of a love that had blossomed appeared.

They sat down, a wide gap between them.

Mentally, they were in sync.

"I never thought it would come to this," Tanmay said.

"I did. The first time I heard you sing. And every time thereafter," Madhu said.

"You thought we'd end up together?" Tanmay asked.

"Only in my dreams. Like this. You singing and me doing something worthy of your voice," Madhu said.

"It should be me saying this. To see you dancing and to be a prop to your dance," Tanmay said.

Madhu shook her head and lowered her face to look at the ground.

"I want to go to dance school, Tanmay. I am afraid I won't exclusively dance for you. But the dance to this song will always be for you..." Madhu muttered.

"Do as you like. I will be happy whenever I see you. And write letters to me," Tanmay said, his eyes filled with love.

***

For some reason, they mutually stopped talking for four years.

In those years, Tanmay sang to the beats in his mind, imagining Madhu dancing.

And Madhu learned further about dancing. When she missed Tanmay, she would put on the first recording he had ever made - for her.

Any thought in the world disappeared... when Madhu heard him sing.

She didn't have a care in the world.

As the first few letters of the song began in a sargam, she watched and she heard, as she felt her emotions swirl and go up and down with the notes of the music, to the nuances of his voice and she wanted it to go on forever - or at least till she was full and had satiated the hunger and the pleasing madness of the thirst that would be quenched not by the end of the song nor by the beginning of another.

Tanmay came home after those four years.

And after what seemed like a hundred years later, Madhu heard him again.

The maestro knew the effect he had on everyone.

He looked at her and he smiled. Yes. Madhu was astonished that the smile was more of an... overconfident smirk?

It was then that she realized that the sweet and sharp, yet mellow and whole clarity of a suppressed fiery liquid that was his music was now slightly tarnished by the knowledge that he was good - nay, excellent and it showed - it showed when a blast of his voice was followed by the maneuvering of the notes, now clearly obvious of the effortless quality that his voice drew out.

It was effortless, yet deliberate, and not too careful - and that's where it lost a slight bit of its charm.

Madhu sniffed.

"You need to do riyaz - the kind you did before," she said.

Riyaz (practice) had made his voice achieve a high on par with the Gods who nourished the Earth - unexplainably ethereal at its highest, beautiful at its lowest, steady as a heartbeat, as dependable as life is...till death.

He accepted my words, this time humbly and a little ashamed.

And he held himself back, perfected his tunes before he launched himself on Raaga Tilakkamod.

"You are not dancing," Tanmay said, partly in a question.

Madhu was afraid till then, but she found herself telling the truth with ease.

"I had an accident. I don't dance anymore."

Tanmay was dumbstruck.

Then, swallowing and nodding his head he held his breath and said, "Marry me. I have to go to an All-India tour soon, but let's get married before that," Tanmay said.

"Let me think about it," Madhu said.

Tanmay nodded, again.

***

"Riyaz? Riyaz?" He laughed.

"A fitting name," Madhu said, sitting in a chair, her swollen belly protruding.

Tanmay stirred the cold water after adding squeezed lemon juice, salt and sugar to it.

While stirring the water, Tanmay said, "You Are mocking me, aren't you?"

"No," Madhu said dead serious. "Riyaz, if it's a girl. Reyaz, if it's a boy."

She looked at him and smiled.

She was seven months pregnant and happily married.

"Someday, our baby might want to know our story. You will tell them," she said.

Tanmay stopped stirring and offered the drink to her. "Yes, someday." He smiled.

***