घुड़सवार

Sansa sang,

Ulaa danced.

Soft ripples shook the firmaments,

As twin stars spun in precise korvais across celestial floors.

With bated breath and clockwork steps,

The ghungroo marked the turning time,

Each passing age with a chime.

And lo, upon hearing,

Heavenly spheres rushed into place—the comets, planets, and all their moons,

Like a scattered audience scrambling back to their seats,

Once the performances resumed.

Oceans of fire crashed inward,

Like arms outstretched for a fiery embrace, reaching—but falling short,

Yet reaching.

The lovers spun round and round,

Drawing closer the night, still reaching—

Through space and time—and all things divine.

Till weariness took over,

And the weary twins turned to slumber.

A great Eclipse descended with the North Wind,

And the Priestess’ call was heard: “They’re one!”

With a conch horn’s resonant call,

Over great cities and walls, palace gardens and halls,

All across Logam, life held its breath;

At a sight to behold—twin suns swallowed by shadow.

The kathak begins.

With graceful gestures, the mudras tell,

In eyes of gold, in flowing hands,

Of Sansa's songs, Ulaa's dance.

Lovers in the sky, goddesses in trance,

Offsprings of a vengeful mother—

Time.

Her wrath is a dark eclipse,

Sometimes a year—or even longer,

Chaos reigns, primordial—relentless, unforgiving,

Awaiting the tihai’s final beat.

Till then, in graceful orbits they spun,

Until the time to wake drew nigh.

They veiled their palaces and snuffed their candles,

The gardens muted, their colors undone.

Yet, in the darkness rose a note—

Thalack! The tabla's echoing drum.

Her anklets chimed like a haunting refrain,

Each twist, each turn, a silent tale,

An epoch written,

Of chakras spinning,

And children singing.

Beckoning, Ulaa tilted her head to see.

And in that moment, Sansa woke too.

Raptured, enamored, the lovers, the sisters, gazed–

Down on Logam.

And in their awakening, we cheered.