Erasing Borders Festival, With Priyadarsini Govind A head shuttling over still shoulders, side to side, pupils swiveling along seductively. That's a cartoon representation of Indian dance, but it's nevertheless an essential ingredient of the Bharata Natyam tradition. When Priyadarsini Govind, a Bharata Natyam virtuoso from Chennai, in South India, performs the gesture, her head moves decisively but minimally, the better to set off an extraordinary pair of eyes. Julieta Cervantes for The New York Times Erasing Borders Priyadarsini Govind's solo performance at Asia Society on Saturday night served as the culmination of this festival of Indian dance. At Asia Society on Saturday night, Ms. Govind's solo performance served as the culmination of the Erasing Borders festival of Indian dance. She was preceded that evening by the New York troupe Trinayan Dance Theater, whose performance I inadvertently missed. The subtlety of her neck movements was matched by tiny shifts all the way down her body. An open chest and strong, slender arms made for clean lines in a succession of symmetrical shapes. Ms. Govind demonstrated quickness too, in supple collapses and stabbing motions. Her rhythmic exactitude formed a close link with the live musicians, who were superlative. The secure cymbal work of K. S. Balakrishnan, the tremulous violin playing of Deepu K. Nair, the intricate drumming of V. Vedakrishnan and especially the ornate singing of Gomathy Nayagam went far beyond mere accompaniment. Most amazing, though, was Ms. Govind's abhinaya, or art of expression. She has a face of uncommon plasticity, which she used to comic effect in a dance about a woman confronting a lover who's made one too many false promises. There are acids less corrosive than the sarcasm of Ms. Govind's smile. You could almost hear her say, about each missing token of affection, "And what happened to that?" After slamming the door in her lover's face, she lingered, as if she might forgive him, after all. Fat chance. The character, whom Ms. Govind described in an introductory speech as "strong-spirited," locked out her lover with multiple bolts. In another segment, dancing an ancient Tamil poem, Ms. Govind portrayed a mother sending her son to war. The child she indicated couldn't have been more than three feet tall. As she searched for his body on the battlefield, her careful steps summoned corpses in the mind. Her joy at discovering that he died courageously (a joy greater than giving the child birth, says the poem) felt repellent to modern sensibilities, and yet all the more moving. The grief that followed, her realization that the boy was gone, drew audible sobs from the audience. In Ms. Govind's "Varnam" a woman pledged devotion to an absent lover: the Lord of Dance, Nataraja. With its more complex interlacing of pure dance and abhinaya, this extended work was more challenging to follow, though the rhythmic cadences joining section to section pulled the audience through momentary confusion. Here, as in the other dances, hyperactive lighting did not help. Speaking beforehand, Ms. Govind had pointed out a shift in mood in "Varnam," when the woman grows more confident and bold. This shift was apparent in her performance, but the impact was muted. Her character was never less than self-assured. And though her program lasted nearly two hours, Ms. Govind was never less than self-assured, exuding a calm confidence, however active her face. Strong-spirited is her style.