Who: Parvati & Padma When: 10 December, evening Where: the library Rating: G What: sharing and grieving
Padma sat curled in a chair near a window in the library, torchlight cast across the page in her journal and the thin, delicate writing that spidered across it. Having owled her parents that morning, she was overcome still with indignation, an anger that masked her hurt. It seemed very much as though the world had changed, as though the passing of her Ammamma had taken also a part of Padma, a softness and the willingness of childhood to trust blindly. Things were very different, though she remained still partly behind the veil of what was, waiting.
Parvati slowly made her way through the library, each twist and turn of the path leading her closer to her sister was another step closer to a confrontation that she had little control over. Her stomach lurched seeing her sister, finally, sitting and writing. She approached tentatively and cleared her throat softly.
Eyes left the page to settle on her sister's face, and though Padma did not smile, her face was open and kind. She gestured to the chair opposite, at that moment little concerned with disrupting the quiet of the library. Her palms retreated open to her lap, welcoming. "How are you feeling, Parvati?"
Parvati sat quietly, studying the morror image infront of her. Whereas Padma seemed physically unchanged by the past few days, Parvati felt swollen and ugly. The sounds croaked out of her throat as she attempted to speak. "I... I have been better, Padma."
Nodding, Padma closed shut her journal, a soft sound in the relatively quiet library. "As have we both." A little sigh, betraying the turmoil within. "I wrote to mother and father this afternoon."
Parvati slowly motioned her head in acknowledgement. A brief hint of guilt passed across her demeanor. "I have not yet written."
"It was wrong of them to keep the degree of Ammamma's illness from us." Studying her sister carefully, Padma inclined her head, eyes questioning. "You need not feel guilty, Parvati."
She nodded, the feeling of anger and resentment she had been suppressing since Sunday rushed to her chest. Her heart pumped faster and a lump rose in her throat. She attempted to speak with an even tone, but Padma would surely sense her hurt. "Why did they not tell us? We could have spent time with her..." she broke off, not needing to say any more.
Pushing hair from her face, Padma's mouth turned grim. "She had our love, as well, and it would have eased her pain to have us both there. Mother said there was trouble, but did not elaborate, and I cannot help but wonder if this trouble will also touch us, here?" Her hands twisted in her lap, frustration encouraged by the feelings she shared with Parvati. "It seems wrong, this secrecy, when you and I are so near to graduation and adult lives of our own."
"I know Padma... I just cannot understand why keep us in the dark... they stole time from us, time I will never get back."
A hand was freed from struggle and placed on Parvati's own, a connection made between them. Padma's eyes were serious, questing her sister's face. "We will honour Ammamma's memory. It is all we can do, now."
Parvati averted her sister's eyes, not wanting to tear up and prove herself weak for the third time in the last few days. "I just thought we had more time... and I wish I had learned the Bharatanatyam like you had."
Padma waved her other hand dismissively. "It's a dance only, Parvati. Your memories with Ammamma are sweet and special. Treasure what you have." She thought then of the lessons with her Ammamma, and how the time spent between the learned dances had been the most fulfilling: the stories she had been told, both of her family and of folklore, the time they spent after, puzzling the meaning of each particular motion. Her smile was bitter, nostalgic.
Parvati lowered her eyes and felt selfish indulgences fill her thoughts. "I have been a dissapointment... haven't I?"
Her face wrinkling in confusion and surprise, Padma shook her head emphatically. "Why would you think that?"
"I never really cared about India... or history... or poetry... yet she was still patient. She still told me stories and tried to teach me to dance. I never have been the model child. I guess I wanted other things. But I wuold give anything to hear her tell me about the old ways now. " She swallowed hard the corners of her mouth forced into a frown.
"We cannot change what has passed, Parvati, only the ways in which we move forward."
Parvati nodded, her thoughts carrying her off for the moment. Her eyes wandered briefly around the library, Padma's second home, and wondered if she would ever be exactly the same person. Her eyes again fell on the steely resolve of her sister and her hand under Padma's and she placed her other hand on top of her sisters gently. "I am not ready to write them, Padma."
Face serious, Padma fixed her eyes on Parvati's. "Then do not write them. Trust yourself." An impulse compelled her to remove her hands and embrace her sister, chin pressed to shoulder, tight.
Parvati was obviously taken aback by her sister's uncharacteristic embrace, but held her tight. Wishing to protect her, to make her happy, was Parvati's sole focus. "You have me, cellelu," She whispered and tried to be strong for Padma.
Pulling back after a moment, Padma smile was weak, but determined. "We have eachother, Parvati." Still holding fast to her sister's shoulders, she gave them a light squeeze. "Things will never be as they were, not as it was days ago, or years ago, either. But we live and change. It will not all be sadness."