Chapter Six, Tiny Bells
Posted by DiF on Saturday, August 13, 2011
Title: Dark Horse: Chapter Six, Tiny Bells
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]
Summary: Sitara bonds with Cyn and practices her dance with Ringo accompanying. Everyone comes together to celebrate George's birthday. He finally manages to get her alone to thank her for her dancing after the fireworks...
His words rang clear in her mind, repeatedly. While Sitara ached to agree to his statement, she could not. She wanted out of India more than anything, to feel what freedom could truly feel like, but that was not her lot in life. She would only find freedom in trees or in the pages of a book. George may have been offering to take her away, but it was not an offer she could accept, not matter how seductive it was.
“I cannot,” she breathed finally.
“Why not?”
Sitara closed her eyes and turned her face away from his, “This here is my life. I was born into it and that’s where I shall remain.”
He reached for her chin and turned her back to face him, “Sita, just because you were born into slavery, does not mean you are destined for it. You cannot tell me that your soul does not ache to break free. You would not be here if that was the case.”
“I should not be here, that much is correct. I should be home in my bed, only to be awakened by my maids in the morning for another long day of reading about the world I cannot see or pretending to be a boy to see some of the world I should not see,” she declared softly. “It is likely a mistake to stay here, as now I have tasted some of what the world has to offer, but…”
George quickly kissed her, “Let me take you away from here, Sita. I can show you the world.”
“But, George… my father… the company…”
“He will find someone else to inherit it,” he declared. “Besides, what would happen if you married and had a family? Could you really run a company and raise a family?”
“Perhaps that is why I am still unmarried and practically an old maid.”
Unable to help it, George laughed, “Sita, at seventeen, you are hardly an old maid.”
“Most girls marry between the ages of twelve and fourteen, George.”
He blinked, “Are you serious?”
She nodded, “They’re married off as per the contract and go to live with his family. Usually this is to protect her… virginity, as she’s married before menstruation so…”
“I see…”
“I should have already born a child or two by now,” she muttered.
“Sita, let me take you away from all of this to where you can be yourself.”
“I can’t, George. I can’t,” she responded. “Can we not talk about it anymore please?”
Nodding, he kissed her forehead softly, squeezing her gently. Their attention turned to the night sounds of the forest. Both kept playing the conversation repeatedly in their heads. With each passing breath, George became more certain that he was going to spirit her away from her life. He did not know how he was going to do it, but he was certainly going to do something. Soon, very soon.
She returned to her room late in the night and curled around Cynthia in her bed, not the least concerned that the woman remained in her room. The blond shifted over in the bed slightly, making room for Sitara. Whispering in her ear, telling her to relax and sleep, the Indian woman wrapped her arms around the other and drifted asleep. They slept deeply until morning, waking together in the same small bed.
“I… I’ll go,” Cynthia quickly stated, sitting up quickly.
Sitara sat up as well, “You don’t have to, Cyn.”
“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here…”
She reached for the other woman’s hand, “It’s okay. You needed comfort. There is nothing wrong with you being here.”
“John will… John will…”
Sitara squeezed Cynthia’s hand, “I will not let him do anything to you, Cyn.”
Her eyes went to Sitara’s, “I…”
“Let’s go have breakfast. It will help you feel better.”
A few minutes later, the two women joined the group under the canvas. Donovan glanced at the two, curiosity filling his eyes, but he said nothing. They chatted softly to each other. Sitara even managed to get the blond to smile and laugh a few times. The other women noticed the shift in Cynthia’s mood and moved down the table to join in the conversation. By the end of the meal, all of the women fell into a fit of giggles, intriguing the men, but no one spoke.
Borrowing a set of hand drums, Sitara led Cynthia away after breakfast. Intrigued, George moved to follow them, but Pattie quickly intercepted him. She smothered him with kisses and pulled him towards the apartments with promises of birthday sex. For a moment, he hesitated, but she kissed him again with so much promise that he managed to focus his thoughts off the emerald-eyed girl.
The two women found a secluded area in the compound. Sitting on the grass, Sitara demonstrated the rhythm to the blond. Accepting the drums from her, Cynthia attempted the rhythm. Not quite correct, Sitara patted it out on her legs, watching as the other woman began to drum along. Grinning, the Indian woman got to her feet and moved a few feet from the other.
Waiting for the beginning of the rhythm count, Sitara smiled at her friend. Once the beginning of the song began, she went into action. With a smile on her face and light in her eyes, Sitara danced through her Bollywood routine. A bit more than halfway through, Cynthia completely lost track of the rhythm, her eyes wide on the other woman as she danced. Others from the compound drifted into the clearing, watching the practicing dancer. Ringo picked up the hand drums and quickly found the rhythm for Sitara.
As the dance ended, Ringo quickly lifted his hands from the drum as Sitara’s eyes shot to him. She smiled and stood up straight as the group applauded. She flushed slightly at the unexpected praise, but bowed anyways.
“And now you have all seen my surprise for tonight,” she chided.
“We won’t blow it, love,” Ringo declared. “No worries.”
“You actually played it very well, Ringo,” Sitara commented. “I do not know if a drummer will be amongst the musicians the Maharishi has coming, if not…”
He grinned, “I would love to.”
The group dissipated not much later. Sitara opted to not join the others in their preparations for the birthday celebration. While they were decorated with red and yellow flowers and paint, she sat on the floor in her quarters, practicing yoga. After an hour of that, she bathed and anointed her pulse points with a perfume called Night Queen, which mimicked the heady floral of the Raat ki Rani flower. Carefully applying makeup on her own, she heard the sounds of musicians that certainly were not the people of the compound. Pausing in her application, Sitara listened to the raga for a few moments, smiling to herself. It was going to be a good performance that evening. She was certain of it.
Wrapping a robe over her Sattriya costume, Sitara left her quarters. She made her way to the festivities, but remained out of sight. Her green eyes watched everyone, focusing on the guest of honor. Bedecked with garlands of red and yellow, George laughed and chatted with everyone. He looked at ease in the middle of the party and that alone made her smile.
Hearing the Maharishi break into giggles, she rolled her eyes and turned away from the festivities. Finding one of the servants of the compound, she asked for introductions to the musicians. The three men approached her a few minutes later. After a quick discussion, she was certain they could play the music she needed. She thanked them and let them return to entertaining George. She had a couple more things to add to her appearance. Nerves had not even begun to bubble yet and she knew that had to be a good sign. A very good sign. The evening would be spectacular.
Sipping on the best tasting chai he ever had, George glanced around at the party guests from his perch on the dais with the Maharishi. Everyone wore garlands similar to his, with their faces painted gaily. Smiles and laughs lit up faces and souls. Happiness filled the air and made him glow. He could not think of a more ideal way to spend his twenty-fifth birthday.
That is until the Maharishi leaned over to him, drawing his attention away from a story Pattie was telling.
“We have a special performer for you,” he declared.
“Who?”
He giggled and motioned towards the back of the hall.
George’s dark eyes followed the Maharishi’s gesture. The three musicians began to play a bit louder than before, drawing everyone’s attention. They played for a couple of minutes before abruptly stopping, and stepping to frame the entrance of the hall.
The flautist began to play and slowly entered Sitara. Her eyes met George’s and his breath vanished. Her Sattriya costume was as ornate as the dance and full of spiritual meaning. Beginning with an off-white shirt and a patterned off-white skirt, she layered on a symbolically embroidered apron over, the tails of which hung in the front and back of the skirt. Thick gold bangles circled her wrists, complementing the golden, red, and green beaded necklaces about her throat. Heavy gold earrings sparkled on her earlobes and a dozen tiny golden medallions decorated her dark hair. A cluster of white flowers circled her tightly coiled hair. Though all of this created a beautiful vision, George found his eyes focused most upon her deep red lips, her darkened eyes, the sparkling red and gold bindi on her forehead. She was amazing and had not even begun to dance.
As no one was present to sing, the sitar took the place of the vocals. She slowly began to move, her hand movements and facial expressions telling the story the sitar sang. As Sitara squatted in one of her moves, George noticed her feet were completely bare, her ankles rimmed with golden bells. He longed to know the story she told with her dance, to know the history of the dance, but he did not speak, completely immersed in the dance. There was something so very poetic about her dance, so interpretative. He was awed and grateful she shared such with him.
The story continued to build until it suddenly reached crescendo. Sitara froze, her wide eyes on George. No one moved. No one spoke. They all stared at her. Keeping her breath steady, she held the pose, waiting for someone to break the spell. She could not, would not. It was up to George.
Noticing she no longer moved, George finally broke into applause. The rest of the partygoers instantly began to clap as well. Quickly smiling, Sitara bowed and hurried out of the pavilion, the musicians following her out as well.
George shifted to pursue, wanting to thank her for the performance in person. The Maharishi touched his hand, silently making him stay.
“She has one more for you. Give her time to change,” he declared.
“That was… amazing.”
“She dances the Sattriya very well,” he nodded.
“That was…”
“It is an ancient dance, one only males used to dance to tell ritualistic stories. Sitara invokes much emotion, does she not?” he chuckled, glancing around at the quiet crowd.
“I…”
“Let us have a drink and some more music while we await the second dance!” he called.
Cups of tea appeared, followed by the three musicians taking up their instruments again. Slowly conversations began again, including Pattie pulling George into one with Ringo. Though he participated fully in conversation, George’s thoughts still focused on the young woman who showed him so much in the eight-minute dance. He felt a stirring in his soul and did not quite understand it.
Downing a glass of water, Sitara took a deep breath and stripped off the silk dress. She pulled ornaments from her hair, tossing them on her bed indiscriminately. Her fingers quickly added a golden comb to her pulled back locks, releasing them from the tight chignon to curl down her back, and then she rubbed her red lipstick off. She switched out her jewelry and looped a golden chain over her head, dangling with golden charms and bells. Replacing the golden bangles with teal and gold arm cuffs, Sitara pulled a teal and gold top off her bed. Struggling to zip up the back slightly, she contorted herself enough to get the closure done before adjusting her breasts inside the belly-baring shirt.
She pulled on slim-fitting teal silk pants, careful to shake her bell-anklets out of the pant-legs. Over that she pulled a very full, sheer black skirt with a large teal and gold border. To complete the look, she pulled a black scarf in the same sheer black silk as the skirt tightly across her chest and pinned it. Draping the rest of the scarf behind her and pinning it into her hair but leaving enough tail on it that she could flip it across her face if needed; Sitara closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
After glancing at her reflection in a small mirror, she groaned and quickly peeled off the red and gold bindi, replacing it with a teal and gold one. Finally feeling she had everything in place, she sat down and meditated for a few minutes to calm herself. She had not been nervous to dance the Sattriya, as she knew that dance from heart. This one… seemed to have more hanging on it than the first one. She did not know why at all.
Once calmed, she left her quarters, closing the door behind her. She hurried across the campus to the pavilion, meeting with a few of the Maharishi’s people outside. They offered her tea, which she instantly refused. On her toes, she carefully leaned towards the entrance, peeking inside. Quickly glancing over the crowd, she was certain she could sneak in and take her place unnoticed. First, she needed to make certain Ringo was given a drum and sent one of the Maharishi’s servants to make it so. Once the drum was delivered and he informed softly of the reasoning, Sitara slowly crept into the entrance of the pavilion and waited her cue.
The musicians noticed her presence and instantly finished their song. With a sudden lack of music in the room, everyone slowly fell silent, looking for the reason behind it. George however, had already noticed Sitara, his dark eyes appraising her change in costume. From the clothing alone, he knew this was going to be a very different dance.
The three Indian musicians began to play Sitara’s song. Ringo happily joined in, adding an extra layer of dimension to the music. The crowd fell silent. With the cues from the music, Sitara quickly entered the room gracefully. Her quick movements and the additional jingle from the bells on her ankles drew everyone’s attention to her. The lead drummer also moved to the middle of the floor, as he was an integral part of the dance. He lifted his voice in a musical shout, beginning the performance.
George shifted forward in his seat as the young woman began to move. His mouth dropped open slightly in surprise as she began to sing as well. Unfamiliar with the 1967 movie, he did not know she re-enacted a scene from Jewel Thief, but it did not matter. He was completely entranced. His eyes watched her hips, her arms, and her feet. And her voice… gave the presentation a completely different layer.
Following the rhythm of the drums, Sitara moved about the room mostly on her toes. Her sheer skirt moved in waves before lifting with her twirls. Though not as emotional and precise as the previous dance, her facial expressions told the story just as well. The energy in the dance alone was moving; most in the audience found themselves wanting to move as well, even if they did not know the dance.
Amazed at her pace, especially in comparison with the previous dance, George felt himself getting tired just watching her twirl and jump around. There had been mentions that normally Sitara would perform the dance with a group of a dozen girls. He could only imagine how more spectacular thirteen full skirts twirling were. They must have appeared to be an entire garden of blooming flowers, with she has the center and most beautiful rose.
A large smile filled Ringo’s face as he drummed along with the other musicians. George wondered how he knew what to play, but soon that thought disappeared as Sitara danced towards to the dais. She paused briefly and met his eyes before twirling back into place. Her hips wiggled as she shimmied into swirls and out again. She and the main drummer began to play off each other, chasing each other around the room until she settled directly in front of George. Her eyes connected with his, meeting his gaze with each quickly spin keeping pace with the frantic drumming.
Suddenly the music stopped and Sitara quickly knelt, her skirts swirling around her. Watching her breasts rise and fall, George was surprised she did not pant much at all. So much frantic energy poured into the dance would exhaust anyone. Her breathing was elevated, but not nearly as much as he expected. Entranced, he did not realize she was waiting for his reaction.
The Maharishi, however, did, and began to clap, getting to his feet, “Lovely, Sitara!”
Her eyes flicked to him and she nodded, but did not get to her feet, even though the other partygoers now applauded. Looking to George’s eyes, she waited for his response, finding she needed his approval above all others. Breaking out of his contained awe, George grinned and got to his feet. Rather than applaud her efforts, he jumped off the dais and quickly approached her, holding his hand down to the Indian beauty. With a smile, she accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her to feet.
“That was amazing, Sita,” he breathed. “Thank you.”
Without even a thought, she curtsied, “It was my pleasure, George. Janam Din ki badhai.”
“That song… what did it mean?”
Sitara winked, “Perhaps I will tell you one day.”
“And now!” the Maharishi announced. “A feast! Complete with… birthday cake!”
George released Sitara’s hand regretfully and returned to his host’s side. She was not left alone for even a moment, for Cynthia quickly joined her side to offer her praise. The party moved out of the pavilion to the grass outside, the crowd keeping George and Sitara apart. Each stole glances at each other, but that was all they were allowed.
With a plate full of cake, Donovan sat next to the pretty dancer. She glanced up at him, enjoying her moments alone since the girls let her be after an hour of chatting while eating. He shifted over, bumping her playfully with his hip. Sitara smirked, but did not speak. Cutting into the cake, he offered her the initial bite. She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth and allowing him to slip the fork in.
As he pulled the fork from her lips, he stated, “You were amazing.”
“Thank you,” she shook her head at another offer of cake.
“I’ve never,” he quickly chewed the bite of cake, “seen something so… electrifying.”
“Somehow I doubt that, Don.”
“No, really. They were such vastly different performances,” Donovan declared. “The first one was so… powerful and theatrical and… I cannot really explain it. Explain it to me.”
She chuckled, “It’s not an easy thing to explain. The Sattriya is a classical form of Indian dance, performed for centuries.”
“Go on,” he continued eating the cake.
Sitara rolled her eyes, “They were normally performed by monks in religious rites, but gradually became a performance piece for royalty. It mainly is used to teach myths and stories to those who come to rites and festivals. My… my mother performed that one…”
“What a beautiful tribute to her. I am certain she enjoys your dancing as much as we did,” he commented softly.
“Sometimes I wish I could see her dance it, to see if I dance it correctly, but as that will never happen, I just do as I am told.”
“Do you,” he set the fork down on the empty plate, “always do as you are told?”
Her green eyes went to his and she smiled, “If I did, I would not be here right now.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmmmhmm.”
“Care to explain it?”
“No.”
Donovan’s eyes snapped to hers and he smiled, “I would kiss you right now if…”
“You will not.”
He winked and got to his feet, holding out his hand, “Come dance with me.”
Her eyes flicked to the makeshift dance floor where partygoers congregated while random people played music. Though she did not quite understand how they called it dancing, her hand slipped into his. Leading her to those dancing, Donovan twirled her around before releasing her hand. Standing in front of her, he began to groove to the music. She tried to mimic him or to take clues from those around them, but before long, she burst into giggles.
Donovan did not mind, as he found her laughter musical. In fact, he increased the absurdity of his dance moves, just to make her laugh more. Unable to bear it any more, she covered her face and turned away from him. The girls on the dancing floor whisked her away a moment later, leaving Donovan on his own. He continued to dance for a bit before capturing Jenny and pulling her away from the crowd. He was done with the party, but not the night.
With her sheer skirt draped over the tree branch, Sitara leaned against the trunk, watching the fireworks. Most everyone else gathered down at the river for the lighted explosions, but she opted out. As most everyone belonged to a couple, she felt a bit out of place. Some of the others seemed to give her sideways glances, making her feel more hired entertainment than a part of the group. It was an easy decision to slip out of the crowd.
And nearly just an easy decision to rise early to return home on the morrow. As she leaned against the tree alone, Sitara felt an overwhelming sadness wash over her. She did not belong in their world. She was merely there for their amusement. In the morning, she would get in her car and drive back to Jaipur. She would not need to bring the tea to the ashram again anyways, as the Maharishi’s accounts were current. A regular delivery driver could be trusted from thence on.
With a sigh, she climbed out of the tree, barely aware the fireworks ceased. Her green eyes turned up to the stars briefly, noticing one shoot to the northeast. Shrugging it off, she headed down the hidden path to the complex. She crossed the lawn and weaved through trees, heading back to her apartment, minutes before most of the revelers did the same.
Turning on her light, Sitara glanced around the disaster of her room. While she was used to people picking up after her, she did not really think that excused the mess. With a sigh of disgust, she wrenched her suitcase out of the closet and began to scoop clothing and accessories into it without discrimination.
Half under the bed, reaching for a bracelet, Sitara did not notice George step into the doorway to her room. He leaned on the doorframe for a moment, watching what little of the petite woman he could see. Wiggling out a moment later, she dropped the bracelet into her suitcase and turned to reach for another discarded garment. Finally noticing George, her hand froze midreach.
“Sita,” he breathed.
“George,” she replied.
“I missed you at the fireworks.”
Her eyes left his and she focused on folding a sari, “I’m sure.”
Instantly noticing something was wrong, George stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. His fingers reached for hers, pulling them free from her task. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her stained fingers. Her eyes fluttered close, feeling emotions bubble close to the surface. He could tell negativity was clouding her aura and did not understand it at all.
“Was the party not fun?” he asked softly.
“No… it was.”
“Then what is it, beautiful girl?” he slipped his arms around her from behind.
Her arms crossed over him, “I… I do not belong here.”
He kissed her ear, “What makes you say that, Sita?”
“I… I just did not feel a part of anything tonight. I’m sorry. You should not be worrying about this on your birthday. You should probably be with your wife…”
George squeezed her again, “I am right where I want to be. I tried all day to find a way to get alone with you.”
She remained silent, her fingers drawing light patterns on his arms. He did not push conversation; just let his embrace say what he was not. Slowly she relaxed and leaned back against him, bringing a slight smile to his lips.
“You were amazing today,” he whispered. “There are no words to describe how I felt watching you dance for me.”
“But I was just entertainment for the pa–”
“No,” he interrupted instantly. “You are an artist, Sitara, not an entertainer. No one thought differently tonight, especially not me. You were performing, not entertaining. Both dances you danced told stories. It was not mere entertainment.”
“But afterwards, people kept looking at me.”
George pulled away enough to turn her in his arms, his dark eyes looking into hers, “Of course they were. You are so beautiful. Add your performance to that… how could they not look at you? Most everyone here has never been around someone like you.”
“But… you are married to a model and surrounded by beautiful people all the time. How can you say that?”
“Sitara,” he tilted her face up and kissed her mouth gently, “Everyone was blown away tonight. They were in awe of your beauty and art.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his, “I still do not belong here.”
He tightened his embrace, “None of us do. This is a temporary location, an oasis to find what we’re looking for.”
Her eyes opened and pivoted up to his, “What are you looking for, George?”
Smiling, George responded, “Something to brighten and fill my soul.”
“Do you think you will find it here or will you go into the mountains with the Maharishi for the summer?”
“I do.”
“Have you found the path already?”
Rather than reply, George kissed her. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. Her fingers squeezed his shoulders, her toes pressing up slightly to get closer to the musician. His hands slip down from her back, briefly cupping and squeezing her ass. She pulled out of the kiss, but did not tense at all from his gentle grope.
Kissing her again, he breathed, “Yes. I do believe I have.”
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]
Summary: Sitara bonds with Cyn and practices her dance with Ringo accompanying. Everyone comes together to celebrate George's birthday. He finally manages to get her alone to thank her for her dancing after the fireworks...
His words rang clear in her mind, repeatedly. While Sitara ached to agree to his statement, she could not. She wanted out of India more than anything, to feel what freedom could truly feel like, but that was not her lot in life. She would only find freedom in trees or in the pages of a book. George may have been offering to take her away, but it was not an offer she could accept, not matter how seductive it was.
“I cannot,” she breathed finally.
“Why not?”
Sitara closed her eyes and turned her face away from his, “This here is my life. I was born into it and that’s where I shall remain.”
He reached for her chin and turned her back to face him, “Sita, just because you were born into slavery, does not mean you are destined for it. You cannot tell me that your soul does not ache to break free. You would not be here if that was the case.”
“I should not be here, that much is correct. I should be home in my bed, only to be awakened by my maids in the morning for another long day of reading about the world I cannot see or pretending to be a boy to see some of the world I should not see,” she declared softly. “It is likely a mistake to stay here, as now I have tasted some of what the world has to offer, but…”
George quickly kissed her, “Let me take you away from here, Sita. I can show you the world.”
“But, George… my father… the company…”
“He will find someone else to inherit it,” he declared. “Besides, what would happen if you married and had a family? Could you really run a company and raise a family?”
“Perhaps that is why I am still unmarried and practically an old maid.”
Unable to help it, George laughed, “Sita, at seventeen, you are hardly an old maid.”
“Most girls marry between the ages of twelve and fourteen, George.”
He blinked, “Are you serious?”
She nodded, “They’re married off as per the contract and go to live with his family. Usually this is to protect her… virginity, as she’s married before menstruation so…”
“I see…”
“I should have already born a child or two by now,” she muttered.
“Sita, let me take you away from all of this to where you can be yourself.”
“I can’t, George. I can’t,” she responded. “Can we not talk about it anymore please?”
Nodding, he kissed her forehead softly, squeezing her gently. Their attention turned to the night sounds of the forest. Both kept playing the conversation repeatedly in their heads. With each passing breath, George became more certain that he was going to spirit her away from her life. He did not know how he was going to do it, but he was certainly going to do something. Soon, very soon.
She returned to her room late in the night and curled around Cynthia in her bed, not the least concerned that the woman remained in her room. The blond shifted over in the bed slightly, making room for Sitara. Whispering in her ear, telling her to relax and sleep, the Indian woman wrapped her arms around the other and drifted asleep. They slept deeply until morning, waking together in the same small bed.
“I… I’ll go,” Cynthia quickly stated, sitting up quickly.
Sitara sat up as well, “You don’t have to, Cyn.”
“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here…”
She reached for the other woman’s hand, “It’s okay. You needed comfort. There is nothing wrong with you being here.”
“John will… John will…”
Sitara squeezed Cynthia’s hand, “I will not let him do anything to you, Cyn.”
Her eyes went to Sitara’s, “I…”
“Let’s go have breakfast. It will help you feel better.”
A few minutes later, the two women joined the group under the canvas. Donovan glanced at the two, curiosity filling his eyes, but he said nothing. They chatted softly to each other. Sitara even managed to get the blond to smile and laugh a few times. The other women noticed the shift in Cynthia’s mood and moved down the table to join in the conversation. By the end of the meal, all of the women fell into a fit of giggles, intriguing the men, but no one spoke.
Borrowing a set of hand drums, Sitara led Cynthia away after breakfast. Intrigued, George moved to follow them, but Pattie quickly intercepted him. She smothered him with kisses and pulled him towards the apartments with promises of birthday sex. For a moment, he hesitated, but she kissed him again with so much promise that he managed to focus his thoughts off the emerald-eyed girl.
The two women found a secluded area in the compound. Sitting on the grass, Sitara demonstrated the rhythm to the blond. Accepting the drums from her, Cynthia attempted the rhythm. Not quite correct, Sitara patted it out on her legs, watching as the other woman began to drum along. Grinning, the Indian woman got to her feet and moved a few feet from the other.
Waiting for the beginning of the rhythm count, Sitara smiled at her friend. Once the beginning of the song began, she went into action. With a smile on her face and light in her eyes, Sitara danced through her Bollywood routine. A bit more than halfway through, Cynthia completely lost track of the rhythm, her eyes wide on the other woman as she danced. Others from the compound drifted into the clearing, watching the practicing dancer. Ringo picked up the hand drums and quickly found the rhythm for Sitara.
As the dance ended, Ringo quickly lifted his hands from the drum as Sitara’s eyes shot to him. She smiled and stood up straight as the group applauded. She flushed slightly at the unexpected praise, but bowed anyways.
“And now you have all seen my surprise for tonight,” she chided.
“We won’t blow it, love,” Ringo declared. “No worries.”
“You actually played it very well, Ringo,” Sitara commented. “I do not know if a drummer will be amongst the musicians the Maharishi has coming, if not…”
He grinned, “I would love to.”
The group dissipated not much later. Sitara opted to not join the others in their preparations for the birthday celebration. While they were decorated with red and yellow flowers and paint, she sat on the floor in her quarters, practicing yoga. After an hour of that, she bathed and anointed her pulse points with a perfume called Night Queen, which mimicked the heady floral of the Raat ki Rani flower. Carefully applying makeup on her own, she heard the sounds of musicians that certainly were not the people of the compound. Pausing in her application, Sitara listened to the raga for a few moments, smiling to herself. It was going to be a good performance that evening. She was certain of it.
Wrapping a robe over her Sattriya costume, Sitara left her quarters. She made her way to the festivities, but remained out of sight. Her green eyes watched everyone, focusing on the guest of honor. Bedecked with garlands of red and yellow, George laughed and chatted with everyone. He looked at ease in the middle of the party and that alone made her smile.
Hearing the Maharishi break into giggles, she rolled her eyes and turned away from the festivities. Finding one of the servants of the compound, she asked for introductions to the musicians. The three men approached her a few minutes later. After a quick discussion, she was certain they could play the music she needed. She thanked them and let them return to entertaining George. She had a couple more things to add to her appearance. Nerves had not even begun to bubble yet and she knew that had to be a good sign. A very good sign. The evening would be spectacular.
Sipping on the best tasting chai he ever had, George glanced around at the party guests from his perch on the dais with the Maharishi. Everyone wore garlands similar to his, with their faces painted gaily. Smiles and laughs lit up faces and souls. Happiness filled the air and made him glow. He could not think of a more ideal way to spend his twenty-fifth birthday.
That is until the Maharishi leaned over to him, drawing his attention away from a story Pattie was telling.
“We have a special performer for you,” he declared.
“Who?”
He giggled and motioned towards the back of the hall.
George’s dark eyes followed the Maharishi’s gesture. The three musicians began to play a bit louder than before, drawing everyone’s attention. They played for a couple of minutes before abruptly stopping, and stepping to frame the entrance of the hall.
The flautist began to play and slowly entered Sitara. Her eyes met George’s and his breath vanished. Her Sattriya costume was as ornate as the dance and full of spiritual meaning. Beginning with an off-white shirt and a patterned off-white skirt, she layered on a symbolically embroidered apron over, the tails of which hung in the front and back of the skirt. Thick gold bangles circled her wrists, complementing the golden, red, and green beaded necklaces about her throat. Heavy gold earrings sparkled on her earlobes and a dozen tiny golden medallions decorated her dark hair. A cluster of white flowers circled her tightly coiled hair. Though all of this created a beautiful vision, George found his eyes focused most upon her deep red lips, her darkened eyes, the sparkling red and gold bindi on her forehead. She was amazing and had not even begun to dance.
As no one was present to sing, the sitar took the place of the vocals. She slowly began to move, her hand movements and facial expressions telling the story the sitar sang. As Sitara squatted in one of her moves, George noticed her feet were completely bare, her ankles rimmed with golden bells. He longed to know the story she told with her dance, to know the history of the dance, but he did not speak, completely immersed in the dance. There was something so very poetic about her dance, so interpretative. He was awed and grateful she shared such with him.
The story continued to build until it suddenly reached crescendo. Sitara froze, her wide eyes on George. No one moved. No one spoke. They all stared at her. Keeping her breath steady, she held the pose, waiting for someone to break the spell. She could not, would not. It was up to George.
Noticing she no longer moved, George finally broke into applause. The rest of the partygoers instantly began to clap as well. Quickly smiling, Sitara bowed and hurried out of the pavilion, the musicians following her out as well.
George shifted to pursue, wanting to thank her for the performance in person. The Maharishi touched his hand, silently making him stay.
“She has one more for you. Give her time to change,” he declared.
“That was… amazing.”
“She dances the Sattriya very well,” he nodded.
“That was…”
“It is an ancient dance, one only males used to dance to tell ritualistic stories. Sitara invokes much emotion, does she not?” he chuckled, glancing around at the quiet crowd.
“I…”
“Let us have a drink and some more music while we await the second dance!” he called.
Cups of tea appeared, followed by the three musicians taking up their instruments again. Slowly conversations began again, including Pattie pulling George into one with Ringo. Though he participated fully in conversation, George’s thoughts still focused on the young woman who showed him so much in the eight-minute dance. He felt a stirring in his soul and did not quite understand it.
Downing a glass of water, Sitara took a deep breath and stripped off the silk dress. She pulled ornaments from her hair, tossing them on her bed indiscriminately. Her fingers quickly added a golden comb to her pulled back locks, releasing them from the tight chignon to curl down her back, and then she rubbed her red lipstick off. She switched out her jewelry and looped a golden chain over her head, dangling with golden charms and bells. Replacing the golden bangles with teal and gold arm cuffs, Sitara pulled a teal and gold top off her bed. Struggling to zip up the back slightly, she contorted herself enough to get the closure done before adjusting her breasts inside the belly-baring shirt.
She pulled on slim-fitting teal silk pants, careful to shake her bell-anklets out of the pant-legs. Over that she pulled a very full, sheer black skirt with a large teal and gold border. To complete the look, she pulled a black scarf in the same sheer black silk as the skirt tightly across her chest and pinned it. Draping the rest of the scarf behind her and pinning it into her hair but leaving enough tail on it that she could flip it across her face if needed; Sitara closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
After glancing at her reflection in a small mirror, she groaned and quickly peeled off the red and gold bindi, replacing it with a teal and gold one. Finally feeling she had everything in place, she sat down and meditated for a few minutes to calm herself. She had not been nervous to dance the Sattriya, as she knew that dance from heart. This one… seemed to have more hanging on it than the first one. She did not know why at all.
Once calmed, she left her quarters, closing the door behind her. She hurried across the campus to the pavilion, meeting with a few of the Maharishi’s people outside. They offered her tea, which she instantly refused. On her toes, she carefully leaned towards the entrance, peeking inside. Quickly glancing over the crowd, she was certain she could sneak in and take her place unnoticed. First, she needed to make certain Ringo was given a drum and sent one of the Maharishi’s servants to make it so. Once the drum was delivered and he informed softly of the reasoning, Sitara slowly crept into the entrance of the pavilion and waited her cue.
The musicians noticed her presence and instantly finished their song. With a sudden lack of music in the room, everyone slowly fell silent, looking for the reason behind it. George however, had already noticed Sitara, his dark eyes appraising her change in costume. From the clothing alone, he knew this was going to be a very different dance.
The three Indian musicians began to play Sitara’s song. Ringo happily joined in, adding an extra layer of dimension to the music. The crowd fell silent. With the cues from the music, Sitara quickly entered the room gracefully. Her quick movements and the additional jingle from the bells on her ankles drew everyone’s attention to her. The lead drummer also moved to the middle of the floor, as he was an integral part of the dance. He lifted his voice in a musical shout, beginning the performance.
George shifted forward in his seat as the young woman began to move. His mouth dropped open slightly in surprise as she began to sing as well. Unfamiliar with the 1967 movie, he did not know she re-enacted a scene from Jewel Thief, but it did not matter. He was completely entranced. His eyes watched her hips, her arms, and her feet. And her voice… gave the presentation a completely different layer.
Following the rhythm of the drums, Sitara moved about the room mostly on her toes. Her sheer skirt moved in waves before lifting with her twirls. Though not as emotional and precise as the previous dance, her facial expressions told the story just as well. The energy in the dance alone was moving; most in the audience found themselves wanting to move as well, even if they did not know the dance.
Amazed at her pace, especially in comparison with the previous dance, George felt himself getting tired just watching her twirl and jump around. There had been mentions that normally Sitara would perform the dance with a group of a dozen girls. He could only imagine how more spectacular thirteen full skirts twirling were. They must have appeared to be an entire garden of blooming flowers, with she has the center and most beautiful rose.
A large smile filled Ringo’s face as he drummed along with the other musicians. George wondered how he knew what to play, but soon that thought disappeared as Sitara danced towards to the dais. She paused briefly and met his eyes before twirling back into place. Her hips wiggled as she shimmied into swirls and out again. She and the main drummer began to play off each other, chasing each other around the room until she settled directly in front of George. Her eyes connected with his, meeting his gaze with each quickly spin keeping pace with the frantic drumming.
Suddenly the music stopped and Sitara quickly knelt, her skirts swirling around her. Watching her breasts rise and fall, George was surprised she did not pant much at all. So much frantic energy poured into the dance would exhaust anyone. Her breathing was elevated, but not nearly as much as he expected. Entranced, he did not realize she was waiting for his reaction.
The Maharishi, however, did, and began to clap, getting to his feet, “Lovely, Sitara!”
Her eyes flicked to him and she nodded, but did not get to her feet, even though the other partygoers now applauded. Looking to George’s eyes, she waited for his response, finding she needed his approval above all others. Breaking out of his contained awe, George grinned and got to his feet. Rather than applaud her efforts, he jumped off the dais and quickly approached her, holding his hand down to the Indian beauty. With a smile, she accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her to feet.
“That was amazing, Sita,” he breathed. “Thank you.”
Without even a thought, she curtsied, “It was my pleasure, George. Janam Din ki badhai.”
“That song… what did it mean?”
Sitara winked, “Perhaps I will tell you one day.”
“And now!” the Maharishi announced. “A feast! Complete with… birthday cake!”
George released Sitara’s hand regretfully and returned to his host’s side. She was not left alone for even a moment, for Cynthia quickly joined her side to offer her praise. The party moved out of the pavilion to the grass outside, the crowd keeping George and Sitara apart. Each stole glances at each other, but that was all they were allowed.
With a plate full of cake, Donovan sat next to the pretty dancer. She glanced up at him, enjoying her moments alone since the girls let her be after an hour of chatting while eating. He shifted over, bumping her playfully with his hip. Sitara smirked, but did not speak. Cutting into the cake, he offered her the initial bite. She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth and allowing him to slip the fork in.
As he pulled the fork from her lips, he stated, “You were amazing.”
“Thank you,” she shook her head at another offer of cake.
“I’ve never,” he quickly chewed the bite of cake, “seen something so… electrifying.”
“Somehow I doubt that, Don.”
“No, really. They were such vastly different performances,” Donovan declared. “The first one was so… powerful and theatrical and… I cannot really explain it. Explain it to me.”
She chuckled, “It’s not an easy thing to explain. The Sattriya is a classical form of Indian dance, performed for centuries.”
“Go on,” he continued eating the cake.
Sitara rolled her eyes, “They were normally performed by monks in religious rites, but gradually became a performance piece for royalty. It mainly is used to teach myths and stories to those who come to rites and festivals. My… my mother performed that one…”
“What a beautiful tribute to her. I am certain she enjoys your dancing as much as we did,” he commented softly.
“Sometimes I wish I could see her dance it, to see if I dance it correctly, but as that will never happen, I just do as I am told.”
“Do you,” he set the fork down on the empty plate, “always do as you are told?”
Her green eyes went to his and she smiled, “If I did, I would not be here right now.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmmmhmm.”
“Care to explain it?”
“No.”
Donovan’s eyes snapped to hers and he smiled, “I would kiss you right now if…”
“You will not.”
He winked and got to his feet, holding out his hand, “Come dance with me.”
Her eyes flicked to the makeshift dance floor where partygoers congregated while random people played music. Though she did not quite understand how they called it dancing, her hand slipped into his. Leading her to those dancing, Donovan twirled her around before releasing her hand. Standing in front of her, he began to groove to the music. She tried to mimic him or to take clues from those around them, but before long, she burst into giggles.
Donovan did not mind, as he found her laughter musical. In fact, he increased the absurdity of his dance moves, just to make her laugh more. Unable to bear it any more, she covered her face and turned away from him. The girls on the dancing floor whisked her away a moment later, leaving Donovan on his own. He continued to dance for a bit before capturing Jenny and pulling her away from the crowd. He was done with the party, but not the night.
With her sheer skirt draped over the tree branch, Sitara leaned against the trunk, watching the fireworks. Most everyone else gathered down at the river for the lighted explosions, but she opted out. As most everyone belonged to a couple, she felt a bit out of place. Some of the others seemed to give her sideways glances, making her feel more hired entertainment than a part of the group. It was an easy decision to slip out of the crowd.
And nearly just an easy decision to rise early to return home on the morrow. As she leaned against the tree alone, Sitara felt an overwhelming sadness wash over her. She did not belong in their world. She was merely there for their amusement. In the morning, she would get in her car and drive back to Jaipur. She would not need to bring the tea to the ashram again anyways, as the Maharishi’s accounts were current. A regular delivery driver could be trusted from thence on.
With a sigh, she climbed out of the tree, barely aware the fireworks ceased. Her green eyes turned up to the stars briefly, noticing one shoot to the northeast. Shrugging it off, she headed down the hidden path to the complex. She crossed the lawn and weaved through trees, heading back to her apartment, minutes before most of the revelers did the same.
Turning on her light, Sitara glanced around the disaster of her room. While she was used to people picking up after her, she did not really think that excused the mess. With a sigh of disgust, she wrenched her suitcase out of the closet and began to scoop clothing and accessories into it without discrimination.
Half under the bed, reaching for a bracelet, Sitara did not notice George step into the doorway to her room. He leaned on the doorframe for a moment, watching what little of the petite woman he could see. Wiggling out a moment later, she dropped the bracelet into her suitcase and turned to reach for another discarded garment. Finally noticing George, her hand froze midreach.
“Sita,” he breathed.
“George,” she replied.
“I missed you at the fireworks.”
Her eyes left his and she focused on folding a sari, “I’m sure.”
Instantly noticing something was wrong, George stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. His fingers reached for hers, pulling them free from her task. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her stained fingers. Her eyes fluttered close, feeling emotions bubble close to the surface. He could tell negativity was clouding her aura and did not understand it at all.
“Was the party not fun?” he asked softly.
“No… it was.”
“Then what is it, beautiful girl?” he slipped his arms around her from behind.
Her arms crossed over him, “I… I do not belong here.”
He kissed her ear, “What makes you say that, Sita?”
“I… I just did not feel a part of anything tonight. I’m sorry. You should not be worrying about this on your birthday. You should probably be with your wife…”
George squeezed her again, “I am right where I want to be. I tried all day to find a way to get alone with you.”
She remained silent, her fingers drawing light patterns on his arms. He did not push conversation; just let his embrace say what he was not. Slowly she relaxed and leaned back against him, bringing a slight smile to his lips.
“You were amazing today,” he whispered. “There are no words to describe how I felt watching you dance for me.”
“But I was just entertainment for the pa–”
“No,” he interrupted instantly. “You are an artist, Sitara, not an entertainer. No one thought differently tonight, especially not me. You were performing, not entertaining. Both dances you danced told stories. It was not mere entertainment.”
“But afterwards, people kept looking at me.”
George pulled away enough to turn her in his arms, his dark eyes looking into hers, “Of course they were. You are so beautiful. Add your performance to that… how could they not look at you? Most everyone here has never been around someone like you.”
“But… you are married to a model and surrounded by beautiful people all the time. How can you say that?”
“Sitara,” he tilted her face up and kissed her mouth gently, “Everyone was blown away tonight. They were in awe of your beauty and art.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his, “I still do not belong here.”
He tightened his embrace, “None of us do. This is a temporary location, an oasis to find what we’re looking for.”
Her eyes opened and pivoted up to his, “What are you looking for, George?”
Smiling, George responded, “Something to brighten and fill my soul.”
“Do you think you will find it here or will you go into the mountains with the Maharishi for the summer?”
“I do.”
“Have you found the path already?”
Rather than reply, George kissed her. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. Her fingers squeezed his shoulders, her toes pressing up slightly to get closer to the musician. His hands slip down from her back, briefly cupping and squeezing her ass. She pulled out of the kiss, but did not tense at all from his gentle grope.
Kissing her again, he breathed, “Yes. I do believe I have.”
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