Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

  Annalukshmi, in a curious way, shared the views of the “common man.” The bid for self-rule did not promise to provide her with any greater freedom, any amelioration of her position as a woman, that had not already been achieved under colonial rule.

  The conversation Annalukshmi had overheard about the Women’s Franchise Union had, however, sparked her interest for the first time in the Donoughmore Commission and the possibility it presented for the female vote. Her Aunt Sonia held good to her promise and invited her to attend the union’s first meeting, which took place a few days after the Donoughmore Commission arrived in Ceylon.

  When it came time to tell her mother about Sonia’s invitation to take her to the Women’s Franchise Union meeting, Annalukshmi was concerned what her mother’s reaction would be. Still, it was her Aunt Sonia who had invited her, and she knew this would be an advantage in securing her mother’s consent. When she was a little girl and they had visited Ceylon from Malaya, she had been very enamoured of her aunt and spent as much time as she could with her, listening to her stories of life in England.

  Though Louisa had some reservations, she was indeed delighted that Annalukshmi would be spending an evening with Sonia.

  The meeting was held at the Girls’ Friendly Society building on Green Path, which had, at one time, been the home of the society’s benefactress. The living and dining rooms and the bedrooms on either side had been amalgamated into one large hall, and it was here that the meeting took place. At one end of the hall was a narrow wooden stage, on which there was a table with chairs. The rest of the room was taken up with rows of wooden chairs with cane seats. The space was relatively small, and by the time Annalukshmi and Sonia arrived they were only able to find seats at the back. The hall was noisy with the whirring of the fans, chatter, the rustle of saris. After a few moments, a group of women who had been sitting in the front row got up and solemnly filed onto the stage. A lot of them were well-known Cinnamon Gardens ladies. As they took their seats, a hush descended. The first speaker now rose to address the audience. She was a diminutive woman, a Canadian doctor named Mary Rutnam who had married a Tamil man and now lived in Colombo. Though she was well respected for her charitable work in the slums of Colombo, she, as a proponent of contraception, was a slightly controversial figure. Her speech, however, was not unorthodox in the least. She merely explained what the Women’s Franchise Union was going to ask the commission. It was going to recommend limited franchise, whereby only women of property and education would be eligible for the vote.

  As Annalukshmi listened to this, she understood that, by virtue of her teacher’s certificate, she would qualify. Despite her aunt’s frown of reservation, Annalukshmi could not help feeling pleased.

  The next speaker was more exciting. She was Mrs. George E. De Silva, a woman who, though from a good family, had married a man from a low caste. Her husband was a lawyer and a prominent member of the Labour Union, and Mrs. George E. De Silva, in the tradition of Labour, did not mince her words as she castigated the narrow-mindedness and selfishness of the men who opposed giving women the vote.

  Following the speeches, there was an election of the office bearers for the union and then the meeting was called to a close. A small reception followed, after which Sonia and Annalukshmi left.

  When Annalukshmi got back to Lotus Cottage, Manohari and Kumudini were seated on the verandah. She saw them and hurried up the front path ahead of Sonia.

  “It was magnificent,” she cried as she came up the steps. “You should have come.” She struck a pose and, extemporizing on the speeches she had heard, said in a loud, declamatory voice, “Women of Ceylon, of all nationalities, have now organized and united for the purpose of gaining franchise. Men regard us as their household goods and chattels. But we are not so ignorant of the political life of this country as people think. We could teach men a thing or two. We could –”

  “Annalukshmi!”

  She turned to find Louisa standing in the doorway.

  “Are you mad or something? Shouting and screaming like that.”

  “It’s your fault, cousin,” a voice said from inside. “Who attends political meetings but hooligans.”

  Philomena Barnett appeared in the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand, a thick slice of cake in the other. She bit into the cake with gusto, then continued, “Only manly women get involved in men’s affairs. Normal women think of their husbands and of their homes and nothing else.”

  “It’s precisely because women think of their homes that they are getting involved,” Sonia said as she joined them on the verandah. “Many laws relate to women and children, and it is only right that they should have some say in those laws.”

  “I, for one, am quite happy to depend on the chivalry of men,” Philomena retorted. “Once women start getting involved in politics, then their children are sure to be neglected. Instead, if women spend more time being better mothers, all the ills of society will be cured.”

  “Ah, but how can women be better mothers when they don’t have the education to be able to provide the best care. To know what’s best for their children,” Sonia said gently.

  “Then ask men to provide that. I am all for educating girls up to a certain point.” Here Philomena glanced at Annalukshmi.

  “And that is precisely why women are demanding the vote,” Sonia said with a smile. “So they can use the vote to ask – to get – men to provide better education, better health for them and their children.”

  “Yes,” Annalukshmi cried. “With the vote we can make a big difference.”

  Philomena had been argued into a corner. So she sought support in the words of others. “Sir Ponnambalam Ramanathan, who is after all a knight and a politician for many years – a shining example to all us Tamils – is completely opposed to it. He feels it is against our great Tamil tradition. The purity, the nobility, the modesty of women would be ruined if they are given the vote. Besides, we women are far too ignorant about matters like that. He is quite right when he says it would be like throwing pearls before swine.”

  “Mrs. George E. De Silva, who was one of the speakers, said that men like Sir Ponnambalam are narrow-minded and selfish,” Annalukshmi said, drawing strength from Sonia. “She said that such men were swine and that women were the pearls and that good pearls cannot be crushed that easily. Even by men.”

  Philomena put her hand to her cheek and stared at her niece to convey her shock at such rudeness. Then she shook her head to say she wasn’t a bit surprised. “Agnes Nell is this Mrs. George E. De Silva,” she said to Louisa. “You know, the Nells. A good Burgher family. And that girl went and married a low-caste Sinhalese.” She lowered her voice as if she were telling a dirty secret. “A Labour Union man.

  “See how low she has fallen,” Philomena continued. “Talking just like a real Mattakkuliya fishwife.”

  Philomena nodded her head sagaciously at the girls to show them the depths to which they, too, could sink if they were not careful.

  Once Sonia had gone and they were all seated down to tea again, Annalukshmi found out that, unbeknownst to her, her mother had passed on a photograph of herself to Philomena, who had sent it to the Macintoshes. Annalukshmi was furious. “How could you do that without asking me?” she cried.

  “But, kunju, you agreed to see the boy,” Louisa said placatingly.

  “I did not agree that a photograph be sent. What am I … a piece of furniture? It is outrageous that a complete stranger should be looking at my photograph, passing it around to his friends and relatives as if I were some souvenir. I don’t even know the name of this Macintosh boy.”

  “Chandran,” Philomena said.

  “What?” Annalukshmi was momentarily distracted from her tirade.

  “His name is Chandran Macintosh.”

  Annalukshmi had a sudden image of her Uncle Balendran’s study. “Chandran Macintosh?” she repeated. The name was familiar. Had she met this Macintosh boy before at her uncle’s? She repeated the name over to herself to see
if a face would arise in her mind, but none did. Yet Annalukshmi knew how bad her memory was. She could have very well met him, might have actually spoken with him.

  “In any case,” Annalukshmi concluded, “do not go to any extra bother on my behalf. I have pretty much concluded I will not marry this Macintosh boy … or anyone else for that matter.”

  She began to eat her piece of cake, pretending to ignore the silent exchange – the rolling of eyes and shaking of heads – that passed between the others at the table.

  Annalukshmi had arranged with Sonia that she would visit them at Sevena the following Saturday and spend the afternoon. There were some books of her uncle’s that she had finished reading, and she wished to return them. Now the visit would allow her the opportunity to find out more about this Chandran Macintosh, even if she had no intention of marrying him.

  On Saturday morning, Balendran’s car came to pick her up at Lotus Cottage.

  Annalukshmi loved her uncle’s house for its peaceful surroundings, its view of the sea, the lulling sound of the waves breaking rhythmically on the beach. Of all the houses she knew, this was her favourite. It was big enough, but not too large. Unlike Brighton, it did not have rooms that looked like tombs, the furniture covered in dust sheets that were only removed for special occasions. The ceilings were high, which meant that the sea breeze circulated constantly through the house and kept it cool, even in April. The furniture, though smart, was comfortable. And, of course, her aunt’s touch was everywhere, from the araliya and jasmine flowers floating in carved, red clay bowls to the arrangement of furniture, with comfortable chairs in corners for curling up and reading in.

  As the car pulled in through the gates, Annalukshmi saw Balendran and Sonia standing on the front verandah. She felt that, if there was one couple whose marriage she might wish to emulate, whose relations were equitable, who existed in a companionable sharing of ideas, it was her uncle and aunt.

  When the car stopped in front of the house, Annalukshmi got out, came up the verandah steps, and kissed her aunt and uncle on the cheek.

  “I hear you’ve become a real fighter for women’s suffrage,” Balendran said, taking her arm.

  “Yes, maama,” she said, “and you men would do well to watch your step from now on.”

  Once they went inside, Annalukshmi said to them, “There’s something I need to ask you.”

  “Sounds mysterious,” Sonia said.

  “Chandran Macintosh. Do you know him?”

  They stared at her in surprise. Then Balendran groaned and Sonia rolled her eyes.

  “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  Sonia smiled and raised her hands as if protecting herself. “I don’t want to hear about that story again. Your maama can tell you. I’m going to see about lunch.”

  When she had gone inside, Balendran said, “I’m very curious to know why you asked about him. But first I’ll explain our story.” He indicated for her to follow and he led the way to his study.

  Once she was seated across the desk from him, he went to a stack of Punch magazines on the floor and, from behind them, drew out a piece of white board. He placed it in front of his niece. Now Annalukshmi knew why the name Chandran Macintosh was familiar. Mounted on the board was a pencil sketch of Sonia, with a signature at the bottom. She had seen it standing behind that stack of magazines many times before. “He’s an artist,” she exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Artistic pretensions would be more accurate.”

  Annalukshmi looked at the drawing again. The artist had captured a likeness of her aunt’s features, yet the straining upwards of the muscles of the neck, the smile that contrasted oddly with the look of disquiet in the eyes, was not her aunt at all. There was detailed attention given to the beauty of her aunt’s face, to the choker around her neck, to her sari that made it clear the artist had genuinely thought he was capturing her aunt.

  “When was this done?” she asked.

  Balendran shook his head. “That was the most insulting thing. It was done without us knowing, at the Governor’s Ball in Nuwara Eliya. He secretly sketched it.”

  “So you’ve never actually met him?”

  “Thankfully not. It was sent to us with the compliments of the artist.”

  He took the sketch away from her. “Now it’s my turn,” he said and smiled.

  Annalukshmi looked at her hands, finding it hard to begin, given his disapproval of the artist. “Aunt Philomena is trying to set up a meeting,” she said.

  “With this boy?” He sat down across from her. “Merlay, why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have said what I said.”

  “No, maama,” she said. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Hmmm, I wish I could tell you more.” Balendran tapped his letter opener on the desk. “I suppose he must be handsome,” he said. “I was in school with the father, and he certainly was.” He frowned. “In fact,” he said. “In fact …” He got up, went to his bookshelf, searched around a bit, and then took down a large, heavy book entitled Twentieth Century Impressions of Ceylon.

  “It was a book that was done in the early years of this century,” he said. “A lot of the Cinnamon Gardens families are in it.”

  He put the book on his desk and opened it. Annalukshmi went around and looked at the photographs over his shoulder. He had turned to the Colombo section and she already recognized some of the families, even though the book was so old. How strange and ridiculous they looked, the women in particular in their cumbersome Edwardian dresses and hats against the tropical landscape. “This was before the dress reform movement,” Balendran said, as if reading her mind. “Ah, here it is,” he pointed at a family portrait. “That is Chandran Macintosh’s father, Reginald.” Annalukshmi bent low and looked at the young man her uncle was pointing to. His dark skin and the monochrome of the picture made his features stand out, almost as if an artist had highlighted in white the smooth expanse of his forehead, his straight nose, the firm curve of his chin. As Annalukshmi looked at him, she was not certain whether it was her wish or her fear that Chandran be as handsome as his father was.

  At that moment, the houseboy was at the door announcing that the chief priest from the family temple had arrived for his appointment.

  Annalukshmi went to look for her aunt. She found Sonia in her bedroom, writing a letter. When she knocked on the door and came in, Sonia gestured to her to be seated on the bed. She finished the last words to the letter, pressed a blotter to the paper, and turned to her niece.

  “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense, I’m dying to know.”

  “It’s Aunt Philomena’s nonsense. Trying to arrange a marriage for me with this Chandran Macintosh.”

  Sonia raised her eyebrows. “My goodness, you sound as if you are contemplating a funeral.”

  Annalukshmi ran her finger over the design on the counterpane.

  “You know, my dear, it’s very easy to tell if you love someone of not. It’s not advanced algebra. You know almost immediately, in fact, so soon that at first you doubt what you’re really feeling is love.”

  Sonia paused and peered at her niece. She saw that her words were not addressing what concerned her.

  “Suppose I don’t want to give up something I treasure like … well, like, teaching?”

  Sonia breathed out slowly. “That is a difficult one, isn’t it?” She leant back in her chair. “Perhaps the best thing I can say is that you’ll just have to wait and see how things unfold.”

  Annalukshmi gestured impatiently, as if to say that she rejected the idea of waiting passively.

  Sonia played with the bangles on her wrist. “You know, Annalukshmi, we can’t expect our life to be pat, our future to be a decided and fixed thing. The fact is, life simply does not work like that. Especially when you are young and the world lies before you and truly anything is possible. One must be pliant, one must not be afraid to say one doesn’t know where one is going, to simply stand still without moving until the path one must take becomes clear. Otherwise a
person is quite liable to grab on to the first thing that comes along and live to regret it all her life.”

  “Yes, maamee.”

  “Well, let’s go in to lunch. Do let me know how things progress with this proposal.” Sonia held out her hand to Annalukshmi and they left the room.

  Mr. Jayaweera had been at the school six days, but, apart from that first conversation, Annalukshmi had not been able to exchange more than a nod and a smile with him. This Saturday, she had once again been invited to have dinner and spend the night at Miss Lawton’s. Once she had finished a late tea with her aunt and uncle, Balendran’s car took her to the headmistress’s bungalow.

  When Joseph dropped her at the gate, she walked up the front path and saw Mr. Jayaweera and Nancy together in the garden. The shadows of the evening were beginning to appear on the lawn. Nancy was seated on a stone bench under an araliya tree, listening intently to Mr. Jayaweera, who was standing with his foot on the bench, bent towards her. Annalukshmi, not altogether certain whether she should interrupt, came towards them. When Nancy saw her, she waved and Mr. Jayaweera straightened up, smiling.

  “Miss Lawton has gone to see a friend. She’ll be back soon,” Nancy said as Annalukshmi came up to them. She patted the bench next to her and Annalukshmi sat down. “We were having a fascinating discussion here. Do you believe in evil spirits, that a person can actually be possessed by one?”

  Annalukshmi was taken aback by the question. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

  Nancy gestured to Mr. Jayaweera. “Why don’t you tell her your story.”

  “I’m sure Miss Annalukshmi is not interested in our village superstitions,” he protested. “Besides, it is getting late.”

  “Of course I am interested,” Annalukshmi said. “Now that you have baited my curiosity, I will be very upset if you don’t tell me, Mr. Jayaweera.”