tales of Suchita

I love when it rains. I live in a small house with five brothers and I am the youngest. They love me, they will do anything for me, but they will not share their space with me. Oh no! Since I am the youngest, nothing in this house is mine. Everything belongs to somebody else: my brothers, my parents, my cousins or my neighbours.

But the rain…the rain belongs to me. Just like the clouds. I always know when it will rain. My mother used to think I was joking but when I proved myself right a couple of times, my brothers started calling me a witch. I loved it. A witch. It sounded so mysterious and magical – just like the rain.

I love how the air changes when it’s about to rain. That hint of moisture that saturates everything, making the air feel dense – I can feel it on my skin. That whisper of thunder and water and the pregnant sky. And the relief that follows once its unleashed on us.

I sometimes make up stories about the rain. Like when one of my brothers got married and left, any time it rains, I think it is him, sending me his blessings. It makes me miss him a little less.

Once, when my mother fell sick, I prayed to the rain to help heal her. I told the rain I will dance with Her if She grants my wish. Nobody believed me, but I believed and She believed in me. She granted my wish.

After that, I danced whenever it rained. I used my body to welcome Her and honour our connection. The people in my village were kind to me. They didn’t understand what I was doing but they didn’t make things difficult either.

Seeing the joy that I radiated every time I would dance in the rain, a few young girls joined me. What was truly special about their participation was this: they didn’t just follow me, they added their own rhythms and movements into the collective. The final piece felt like we were not just welcoming Her but we were becoming Her.

Rain and I were friends. I laughed with Her, drowned my fears in Her and hid my tears in Her downpour.

Once all my brothers left seeking their own fortunes, I turned my suddenly big and empty house into a Rain School. I did not want to call it a dance school because I wasn’t teaching anyone to dance. I was teaching them to listen – to Her rhythm – and celebrate Her presence.

It was a special day when a little boy joined the school: the first boy. He shared a story about how he came to my school. That has since become something I share with all my students as part of their initiation.

Once upon a rain
when the frogs croaked
and the thunder set the stage
when the pitter-patter of water
created a rhythm on the earth
that’s when this fire within me
was born to run, run like the wind
so I could find Tai who would teach me
how to dance with the rain.

So next time, when it rains, and your heart sings with joy, don’t forget to dance with Her.

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For Letter D, written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z