The Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition is one of the oldest international writing competitions for students under the age of 18 that was introduced by the Royal Commonwealth Society since 1883. Each year, the theme comes from Commonwealth values and principles as it encourages young people to engage with pressing issues such as the environment, equality, and youth leadership. Students of the Commonwealth countries are able to participate in the competition where they are awarded a certificate of participation, a bronze, silver, gold, gold finalist or winner award. Being selected as a Gold Finalist Award means that a piece was so highly commended that it was submitted to the Final Judging Panel for its consideration to be awarded the Junior or Senior Winner, or Runner-up prize. This year, there was a record breaking of 34,939 entries from across the world.
Ambika Persad’s submission was entitled “The Last Dance” and was a reflective piece on the life of Anjali, a woman who is on her deathbed reflecting on the words of her parents who taught her the value of good and bad deeds. In her last moments, she delves into her consciousness where she is set to perform her last dance, a farewell, where she recalls vivid memories of her life’s journey as she nears the end. Through each movement, she symbolizes the importance of respect to everyone, empathy, hospitality, compassion and selflessness above all. She remembers the values that both her community and culture instilled in her as she finds solace in the meaningful life that she lived, touching the lives of many and feeling the compassion and empathy of others as she accepts death.
We congratulate Ambika on this outstanding achievement.
The Last Dance
When I was young, my parents would say,
“Anju, my dearest, never forget,
Our culture reminds us
continuously,
before we go to the everlasting, eternal life,
where our bare bones are no longer life’s instruments,
playing a symphony of melodies,
all individually composed by our life’s story,
we will meet on our deathbed, memories.
Those memories will be glimpses of the lives we lived,
our actions, both the good and the bad.
The ‘equilibrium of life’ itself.
Those actions, Anju, they stay with us,
and before we take our final rest,
they can either remind us of the hurt we caused,
or the happiness we shared.”
Years had passed on.
My parents had left this world
and my time had come too soon.
I could feel the energy around me
as I began to transition to utopia above.
As I lay in bed, barely breathing
with the ventilator still attached,
I waited for the souvenir of my life’s journey.
Ready to be rid of my body’s suffering,
free of the pains that tormented my world.
I was prepared with tears in my eyes
to hear once again,
“Anju, I am sorry but there is a tumour in your brain.”
As I opened my blurry eyes,
looking at the morbid room around me,
a flash of luminescent light,
as bright as the sun,
surrounded my body,
engulfing my eyes
in nothing but white.
Feeling the pull of energy,
I gave into its call…
Then, there was nothing.
Voices called to me.
Whispering in my ear,
they laughed, cried and screamed.
They whispered sentiments of regret,
their pain and heartache were all I could feel.
Closing my eyes, I placed my hand on my heart
and truly felt their pain.
There was a sudden silence.
Fresh droplets fell freely from my eyes
as the sight before me became clearer.
In the audience of a theatre,
where I had spent most of my years,
stood my parents,
cladded in traditional clothing.
“Anju, this can’t be real, we were just about to die!
How are my parents here? Mom said I would see memories!”
I pondered to myself.
I looked around to try to make sense of this heartache
when my heart leapt out of my chest as I glimpsed
my mentor, my guru.
“Anju, dear, why are you just standing there?
It’s your recital,” she remarked.
Out of nowhere, flashes of visions entered my mind,
engulfing the clouds of thoughts I had before.
Pictures of my recitals, my parents’ laughter and
my guru’s smile came flooding through.
Waves of emotions played on my mind
as I stepped onto the stage.
I was completely baffled
as I looked at my hands adorned with bangles.
Brushing through my hair,
I felt fresh flowers and ornaments,
only to see that I was draped in red and white.
“This cannot be real Anjali, why am I in costume?”
I uttered in my mind.
Still trying to come to sense of my predicament,
I saw the look on my guru’s face.
That was when I knew this was my test.
As I heard my guru’s voice,
I stepped to the front of the stage
taking my place.
At the first sound of the drum
I began Namaskaram,
moving my hands to the front of my body,
I placed them to the ground, and then to my forehead
where they returned clasped together
as I bowed.
With each movement of Namaskaram,
I paid my respects to God, the earth,
my guru, my parents, and the audience.
It signified their importance
in my dance, my life and
was a reminder of the respect
I had for everyone in my life.
I could hear the emotion in my guru’s voice
as she began to sing.
Blending both Nritya and Natya,
emotions and storytelling,
as I commenced my performance.
The song was my story.
With my first three fingers bent forward as I moved,
I created the image of a home,
telling the tales of my life,
through each step,
movement and
breath.
The home was my community
where I had spent most of my life.
Each day,
I honoured the values my parents had instilled
in my early years.
Each stranger, neighbour and friend were akin to god.
Respect was to be shown to everyone,
even in the darkest of times.
Then I created the image of a flower with my hands.
Tears pushed its way down my face
as I remembered the old ladies
I would meet in the gardens to help
pick flowers daily for prayer.
“Selflessness above all,”
I remembered the village leader saying.
And smile swept through,
remembering all the lives I touched,
put their needs above my own.
Cupping my hands together,
visions of holidays came flooding through.
And as the music’s tempo became faster,
I remembered the hospitality of my parents
and people around us.
For every Diwali, no stranger was left at the doorstep.
Each guest was treated as a family member.
Everyone throughout the streets would come together,
bringing their joy and happiness with them.
It was always a festival to remember.
No one was left homeless
or without a mouthful of food.
No one was ever alone.
As the melody slowed down,
I saw that dreaded memory.
The day I knew my time was coming.
I danced through the pain as
I recalled the doctor’s diagnosis,
Still hearing my own screams as
I went through treatment.
Though the pain was there,
I had support, people who showed me empathy
and never left me in dark days.
They stood with me,
getting rid of my fears.
As I neared the end of my dance,
every memory and emotion
began to fill my heart to the brim
as I saw flashes of events
that I had forgotten.
Every person I had helped
to situations in my life
where people had helped me.
Out of selflessness, compassion,
respect, hospitality, and above all
empathy.
Those were principles from my upbringing
and the people who came before me.
It was the principles that my culture
instilled through anyone willing to listen.
It gave me peace.
Soon, the song had ended
and as I did my final Namaskaram,
allowing my hand to touch the stage,
I spotted my mentor facing me
as I looked longingly at my parents.
“My dear you have lived a wonderful life.
Your pain shall be no more,
go now, Be with them,”
my guru said.
Suddenly, the stage turned to mere dust
and what was once my guru turned to
flowers.
Darkness filled my surroundings
and once again, I heard voices.
This time, there was laughter.
It was the laughter of those
who I had met in my life.
As I opened my eyes,
I was met with those memories
Surrounding my bed,
a reminder of the values I had learnt
and both the good and bad memories I had shared.
“Anju, it is time” a voice whispered
as I gasped and for the last time,
I closed my eyes.
