When a 16-year-old girl took the stage, even Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore was left spellbound. Rising from his seat, he bestowed upon her a title that would echo through generations — “Nritya Samragni”, the empress of dance. That girl was Sitara Devi. The title stuck, but she never needed a crown. She had something better: fire in her feet and stories in her eyes.

She didn’t need to announce her arrival, her

ghungroos did it. The moment she stepped onto the stage, the air changed. That crimson bindi , the flicker of her glance, the braid heavy with jasmine — everything about her carried authority. She knew when to let silence linger and when to strike the floor till the hall trembled. Audiences leaned forward, breathless, waiting for her next move. She didn’t demand applause; sh

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