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The Untold Story of Amphitrite: Part 1 - The Origin
She seemed to be proud of her prowess at dancing. Whoever had had the luxury and sheer luck to witness her at her craft, said that her supple hand movements, nimble footedness, graceful posture, perfect lines, and most of all, flawless, soulful expressive eyes and face, made her not only a remarkable, but an exquisite dancer.
She did not have any memory of her childhood but the people around her told her, that she must have been around 7 years of age when they had found her, with wobbly legs, at the shore of the mighty Arabian Sea, near the ancient, rare, and majestic temple of Lord Shiva, housing a ginormous statue of the Natraja, carved out of stone. She had been taken in by the head priest of the temple who had taken care of her henceforth.
She had been taught how to walk, talk, read, and write, but dance, no one had to ever teach her how to dance. It came to her most naturally and effortlessly, just like breathing. To her, dancing was like praying - giving into herself completely. It gave her the freedom to express and feel all her emotions, multifold. From the time that she could remember, she went into a trance, every morning, when she danced for hours infront of the magnanimous Natraja statue, letting herself loose, setting herself free, in her most vulnerable state - the rhythm flowing through every cell of her slender body, till she was exhausted.
The tales of her exquisite beauty, charisma, reticent demeanor, and captivating dancing skills, had made her the object of desire even in the farthest of lands. But she, a recluse, had refused all advances - the most lustrious of marriage proposals and the most lucrative of offers to monetize her art.
She had a weird nagging sense of not belonging here, that no one understood. An even lesser known fact was that she danced to let out her incomprehensible anger; she danced with such force so that the surge of energy she felt, could escape - with every rhythmic beat of her feet that shook the ground beneath it - with every sharp movement of her body that cut through the very air surrounding her - with every expression that caused a tear drop to escape from her eyes that was not of sorrow or dismay or even symbolic of a pious offering, but of curtailed anger of an unknown origin.
That fateful day of December 16, 701 AD, it had been raining heavily since dawn, much like the very day that she had been found, exactly 14 years ago. She still started her day with her form of prayer, and danced like never before, with movements as swift as the flowing water and as powerful as a storm. The more she got drenched, the more vigorous her steps became. That was the last day that she had been sighted in that small village. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air!
That day, she had suddenly felt as if the Sea was calling out to her; a tug at her very soul! She ran towards it and kept moving ahead and pushing towards nothingness, even after leaving the shore behind. She was engulfed by the raging waves that were about to turn into a storm any moment.
© Prachi Shukla - The Untamed
She did not have any memory of her childhood but the people around her told her, that she must have been around 7 years of age when they had found her, with wobbly legs, at the shore of the mighty Arabian Sea, near the ancient, rare, and majestic temple of Lord Shiva, housing a ginormous statue of the Natraja, carved out of stone. She had been taken in by the head priest of the temple who had taken care of her henceforth.
She had been taught how to walk, talk, read, and write, but dance, no one had to ever teach her how to dance. It came to her most naturally and effortlessly, just like breathing. To her, dancing was like praying - giving into herself completely. It gave her the freedom to express and feel all her emotions, multifold. From the time that she could remember, she went into a trance, every morning, when she danced for hours infront of the magnanimous Natraja statue, letting herself loose, setting herself free, in her most vulnerable state - the rhythm flowing through every cell of her slender body, till she was exhausted.
The tales of her exquisite beauty, charisma, reticent demeanor, and captivating dancing skills, had made her the object of desire even in the farthest of lands. But she, a recluse, had refused all advances - the most lustrious of marriage proposals and the most lucrative of offers to monetize her art.
She had a weird nagging sense of not belonging here, that no one understood. An even lesser known fact was that she danced to let out her incomprehensible anger; she danced with such force so that the surge of energy she felt, could escape - with every rhythmic beat of her feet that shook the ground beneath it - with every sharp movement of her body that cut through the very air surrounding her - with every expression that caused a tear drop to escape from her eyes that was not of sorrow or dismay or even symbolic of a pious offering, but of curtailed anger of an unknown origin.
That fateful day of December 16, 701 AD, it had been raining heavily since dawn, much like the very day that she had been found, exactly 14 years ago. She still started her day with her form of prayer, and danced like never before, with movements as swift as the flowing water and as powerful as a storm. The more she got drenched, the more vigorous her steps became. That was the last day that she had been sighted in that small village. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air!
That day, she had suddenly felt as if the Sea was calling out to her; a tug at her very soul! She ran towards it and kept moving ahead and pushing towards nothingness, even after leaving the shore behind. She was engulfed by the raging waves that were about to turn into a storm any moment.
© Prachi Shukla - The Untamed
