Chapter 46அதிகாரம் 46 ஓய்வு Rest

The music of a string is the rest between one pluck and the next; music that never rests snaps the string.

In music, a rest is a measured silence. The Tamil word for the string also means nerve.

In the corner where no foot falls, the dark soil turns fresh. And the doorway: trodden ground.

Earth left untrodden loosens and darkens again. A doorway is where feet fall most.

She set the basket down, and the bend in her back straightened of its own accord; the mirror showed another face.

In the Tamil, it is the bend itself that straightens; she does nothing but set the basket down.

Rest is not the price paid for labour sold; it is the nature of the body we were given.

The dancer who has danced without stopping sinks to the ground and is still, and then he hears the music.

The weaver’s back breaks, and the breaking brings her loom no slack.

A loom’s warp is held taut while it weaves; it goes slack only when the weaving stops.

The palace of a thousand gates sleeps; the little house of one gate is awake.

Awake here means not sleeping, not lively. The Tamil for ‘little house’ also names the sand houses children build.

Seeking sleep, seeking it, and tossing; fearing sleep, fearing it, and tossing: that is the night.

Sleep that is chased does not come; when the chasing stops, it gathers of itself.

He who calls rest a disgrace lives without rest, then lies on the ground at rest.