Akram Khan Company at the Granada Theatre

Philosophers, holy men, poets, and mystics talk about the veil: a screen separating life from death — or something beyond life, anyway. In Akram Khan’s “Vertical Road,” it’s not just death we’re dealing with, but the passage from one state of being to the next.

From the start, “Vertical Road” takes on the proportions of an epic saga. First, there’s the sound of water dripping. Upstage, a billowing, semi-transparent sheet drops from ceiling to floor. A single figure appears gauzily behind it. He begins to move, first tentatively, then faster and faster, scribbling some inscrutable yet urgent message, drawing wide circles in the fabric that send out rippling waves. Then blackout.

When the lights come up, our single figure has moved beyond the veil and crouches alone downstage. Nearby, a cluster of dancers stand motionless, heads bowed. They’re dressed all in white: tunics, and gathered skirts over wide-legged pants. When at last they surge to life, twisting, flinging, and reaching; puffs of dust emanate from the folds of their garments.