Brihannala

A month had passed since the final semester began.
There was exactly one week left before the cultural programme.
Archana was practicing harder than ever.
Her days had become almost impossibly full.
College.
Project work.
Final-semester subjects.
Household responsibilities.
Dance.
Sleep.
Then begin again.
That afternoon, after lunch, she found a quiet corner of the college ground beneath a large tree.
Almost nobody came there.
She sat with her back against the trunk, opened her notebook and began reviewing some project notes.
Then she heard voices.
A group of girls from her class had come toward the same side of the ground, along with a few third-year students.
They were talking and laughing.
Suddenly one of them stopped.
Her hand went to her lower abdomen.
She bent slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"My stomach."
"Periods?"
"Yes."
"That's normal."
"No."
She shook her head.
"This is much worse than usual."
The girls gathered around her.
Archana looked up.
Something about the girl's expression caught her attention.
Not simply discomfort.
Fear.
The moment Archana saw her, something inside her shifted.
A memory.
Revathi's house.
The things Revathi had taught her.
The sequence of actions.
The objects.
The words.
Archana stood.
She walked toward the canteen.
"Anna."
The canteen owner looked up.
"What?"
"I need a few things."
"What?"
"Salt."
"Turmeric."
"A lemon."
"Camphor."
"And some fenugreek."
The canteen owner stared at her.
"Why?"
"I need them."
He knew Archana well enough by then not to argue.
He gave her what he had.
Archana then went to the office and requested a piece of white thread.
She returned to the ground.
One of the girls immediately noticed her.
"Leave."
Archana stopped.
"This is a girls' matter."
Archana didn't respond.
Another girl stepped forward.
"If you don't leave, I'll complain."
Archana slowly turned toward her.
The look on her face was so severe that the girl stopped speaking.
Archana knelt beside the girl who was in pain.
"Sit."
The girl obeyed without understanding why.
Archana placed the lemon before her.
She put a small piece of camphor on it and lit it.
Then she held it carefully above the girl's head.
She murmured words under her breath.
Nobody could make them out.
She moved it around the girl's shoulders.
Then around her body.
It was the traditional ritual Revathi had taught her—the kind of practice Revathi believed could remove an evil influence or bad omen.
Archana carried the burning lemon away from the group.
She placed it on the ground.
Then crushed it under her foot.
She returned.
She gave the girl a small amount of fenugreek seeds.
"Eat these."
Then water.
The girl obeyed.
Archana took the white thread.
She dipped it lightly in turmeric.
Her lips moved again.
She tied it around the girl's left ankle.
Then she tore a small piece from her handkerchief.
She looked at the girl.
"One rupee."
The girl looked confused.
"Why?"
"Give me."
She searched her purse and handed Archana a coin.
Archana wrapped it inside the cloth.
She murmured another prayer.
Then tied it around the girl's right wrist.
The other girls watched silently.
None of them understood what they were witnessing.
Archana looked around the group.
She selected one girl.
"You."
The girl pointed at herself.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Take her home."
She pointed toward the girl who had been suffering.
"And nobody else comes."
She looked at the others.
"Everyone leave."
Then she added firmly:
"Don't look back."
The girls exchanged uncertain glances.
But they obeyed.
Soon only the selected girl, the one who was unwell, and Archana remained.
Archana took the salt.
She performed another traditional cleansing ritual, moving it around the girl as she had been taught.
Then she held out her hand.
"Spit into it three times."
The girl hesitated.
"Do it."
She obeyed.
Archana closed her hand around the salt.
Then she looked at the girl she had selected.
"Take her home."
"Don't remove the thread."
"Don't remove the cloth."
"Keep everything until you reach home."
"Once you reach, don't let her enter the house immediately."
"Let her bathe first."
"And explain everything to her mother."
The girl nodded.
"Her mother will know what to do."
She paused.
"After that, you also go home."
"Take a bath."
"Wash your clothes before entering the house."
The girl nodded again.
Archana walked to a public sink nearby.
She dissolved the salt into running water and washed her hands.
The girl who had been in pain stood up slowly.
She touched her stomach.
"It's better."
Archana looked at her.
"No."
The girl looked surprised.
"It may feel better now."
Archana shook her head.
"But you still have to go home."
"Tell your mother everything."
"Please."
The girl nodded.
She left with her friend.
Archana watched until they disappeared.
Then she stood alone beside the sink.
For a moment, she looked at her own hands.
She didn't know how she had remembered everything.
She hadn't planned it.
She hadn't thought through the steps.
They had simply appeared.
Her fingers had known what to do.
Her voice had known what to say.
Revathi's lessons had somehow remained inside her.
Archana whispered:
"Akka..."
Then, almost instinctively:
"Krishna."
She picked up her bag.
And walked back toward the classroom.
Behind her, several students were still standing at a distance.
They were staring at one another.
Nobody knew what to say.
They had seen Archana as the strange student who had suddenly appeared beside a suffering girl and performed an elaborate traditional ritual without hesitation.
But Archana herself wasn't thinking about what they thought.
She was thinking about one thing.
Somewhere along the way, the things Revathi had taught her had stopped being things she remembered.
They had become things her hands simply knew.