The dunes are blankly ablaze with their silent glow of gold.
There she stands at the cliff with the scales of the dunes sprawling in her
front, their long stretched shadows seductively lingering around her feet and
the silver anklet and the toe ring. The beams of light stretching out of the
sun, seeming to hang aimlessly as they witness their own defeat, just as they
witnessed the full glory of the great golden ball set on fire roasting
everything present on the lands helplessly staring up at it.
With the last straying rays hovering over the horizon, her eyes shed a drop of
tear. It rolls down on her cheek and dries up there on the heated and soiled
skin.
As the darkness creeps in for its silent invasion, the echoes of the angonized
whining Sarangi speak out their emotions. And thus, is born Raaga Puriya
Dhanashree.
Her heart drowns into the agonizing pain as she stares out at the long
stretching road anticipating his return. A child gazes at the mystical colours
in the sky. The merry splashes still tarnished by the growing specks of
darkness. An old woman lights up the lamp in front of the small shrine placed
in her house. Krishna holding a flute, the brass idol seems to stare at the
flame just as a warrior stares in determination at his brave messanger. Messenger
of light. Comforting the girl longing for her loved one, silently patting away
the fear of darkness in the small child’s mind, for he’d be witnessing that
during days to come, and holding the old lady’s wrinkled hand in empathy that
still, after all these decades of ups and downs, trembles at the sight of a
helplessly setting sun.
Puriya Dhanashree feels the agony, speaks out to you if you feel it too and
pats on your back with a hand supporting your determination to face the odds
and unknowns that the invading darkness may put in your paths leading to a
pleasant dawn. For, no matter how agonized it may sound, it always leaves
behind a small ray of hope. Hope of sight of a rising sun.
