Periamma shook her head. ‘No, Appa. I think he was being nice. He said he had done research on colonial rule and independence. He even knew about the race riots. He asked if we had been affected by them. He sort of hinted that he wants to improve things for the coolies and native staff.’
Tea-maker Aiya’s frown settled into a scowl. ‘A white Raj, an Ashley-Cooper, do things for the coolies? Help the native employees? Bah! If he thinks that, he is more naïve than I thought he was. Someone at that all white Nuwara-Eliya club of theirs will put him right soon enough.’
‘And,’ she continued with a smile, ‘He remembered Shiro. Wanted to know what she’s doing.’
Tea-maker Aiya stood up. The chair rocked back, almost toppling over. Lakshmi jumped forward and righted it.
‘Enough!’ he raised his voice and waved his hands over his head. ‘Lilly, you are not to talk with that man. Not about the staff. Not about the boys. And never, never about our daughter.’
Periamma stared at him for a couple of seconds. She shook her head. ‘Don’t be like that. Why can’t he be different?’
He leant across the table making it even harder for Lakshmi to hear what they were saying. ‘Be careful, Lilly,’ he muttered. ‘He and his brother William have been here only for three months. Already that William has a terrible reputation in Udatänná. No coolie girl is safe around him they say. There are stories of the way he entertains his friends from the club – bad stories.’
He glanced at Lakshmi and lowered his voice even more. ‘You remember what father said about James Ashley-Cooper, when he was superintendent and father was Tea-maker? And the trouble that it caused for father? William is supposed to be just like his father James, or worse.’
‘Aiyoo!’ Periamma gasped and shivered. ‘That is so bad.’
‘You know what mother said about James Ashley-Cooper. How he used to entertain?’
Periamma nodded. ‘She said that he even had one coolie woman live with him like … like a slave, even that she got pregnant by him. And there were others.’
Tea-maker Aiya snorted. ‘More to that story.’ He glanced at Lakshmi. ‘You don’t know half of it. Better you don’t.’
Lakshmi continued ironing, pretending she heard nothing.
‘Anthony has an honest face and clear eyes, Appa,’ Periamma persisted. Lakshmi smiled to herself. Periamma always wanted to believe the best of everyone. ‘I’m sure he’s not like his brother. Anyway, we would have heard if anything had happened here.’
Tea-maker Aiya shrugged and dropped back into his chair. He glanced at Lakshmi. ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ They continued drinking their tea.
‘Anyway, Appa.’ Periamma’s voice was low, sad. ‘I wish there wasn’t such a big gap between the British superintendents and us. How old are the Ashley-Cooper brothers? They must be only about twenty-three or twenty-four, just a little older than our boys. It must be depressing for Anthony in that big bungalow on the hill, with just Appu and the dog for company.’
‘Don’t you worry about him! He’ll find people to talk to when he wants. Even to entertain him.’ Tea-maker Aiya’s lips turned down in a sneer.
‘Don’t talk like that, Appa.’
Lakshmi picked Tea-maker Aiya’s shirt from the clothes pile in the basket and smoothed it on the ironing board. ‘He spoke to us when we were plucking today,’ she said, frightened of what their response would be.
Tea-maker Aiya’s head shot up. He swung round in the chair to face her. ‘He did what?’
‘This morning. He didn’t know Tamil. I told Kangani what he wanted.’
Tea-maker Aiya thumped his mug on the table. ‘You translated for him? You idiot girl.’ He shoved a pointing finger across the table at Periamma. ‘Now see what you’ve done. Everyone knows that coolies don’t learn English in the estate school. That Ashley-Cooper fellow is going to wonder where she learned it.’
He shook his head. His voice dropped. It was as if he had forgotten that Lakshmi was there, listening. ‘You know what can happen to a coolie girl who knows English.’ He slanted his head towards Lakshmi. ‘Especially one who looks like her.’
Lakshmi knew what they were thinking. A coolie girl who was clean and could speak English, could understand and talk with the Periadorai, who was fairer than most Indian women. She had heard stories of what happened.
Why? Lakshmi wondered. Why did it have to be like this in the tea plantations?
The familiar rumble of Hemachandra Mudalali’s lorry sounded outside the front door and Periamma and Tea-maker Aiya quickly got to their feet.
Chapter 9
March 1966 Nuwara-Eliya
The minister’s manse and the little sandstone church were perched on a hill. Unfurled in front was the township of Nuwara-Eliya, the hill country capital of Sri Lanka. It was the main centre for trade, education and entertainment for the populace of the tea plantations that spread around it.
For the white British superintendents, this latter need of entertainment was provided by the all-white, members’ only club – the Royal Hotel.
Anthony leaned back on the worn leather lounge. He shut his eyes and swirled the tea in the mug. He sniffed, opened his eyes and studied the deep amber colour, then sipped. He did this as a habit with every cup he drank, ever since Mr Rasiah, the Tea-maker, had showed him how to taste and classify the teas manufactured in Watakälé. The fragrance, the bouquet, the mellow warm stimulation to his taste buds; this would be a brew of broken orange pekoe tea leaf.
Bob punched Anthony on the shoulder. ‘You should recognise it. You brought that tea along last time you came over.’
‘Sorry Bob. Sheer habit.’ Anthony said. He set the mug down and stretched. ‘I’m bloody glad you took up the position here, old friend. And that you found your true love in Grace Rowling.’
Reverend Robert Kirkland, recently appointed British pastor of the Reformed Church Nuwara-Eliya, and new husband to the missionary principal of Bambalawatte Girls’ School, gazed down at his long-term friend. ‘Finding out that extending the Ashley-Cooper Empire in the tea plantations is not all your father said it would be, Anthony? Why not come visit us on a Sunday? Grace will be here on Wednesday. A couple of other superintendents attend the morning service. In addition, the Rasiah family from your place attends church regularly. Mrs Rasiah and the other ladies are planning a special welcome lunch for Grace after the church service.’
Anthony shook his head. ‘I’m mighty glad you’ll have Grace with you Bob. But no thanks, church is not my thing. You’re right though. I need to get away from the plantation occasionally. Clear my head so I can think.’
‘Your brother William seems to be getting around, making a reputation for himself too. Although, I must say I don’t like the way in which he’s doing it.’
Anthony stood up and moved to the window.
Anthony turned to Bob. ‘What’s William been up to this time?’
‘Booked a room in the Royal with a couple of his chums; smuggled in a couple of coolie girls. One of them needed medical attention in the morning.’ Robert walked over to stand by Anthony. ‘I’ve visited his estate in Udatänná. They’re all terrified of him, Anthony, the coolies and the native staff, men and women.’
Anthony shrugged. He looked away, across the town. ‘That’s how father wanted us to work, Bob. You’ve been at the manor when he’s berated us about it. Make sure they know their place, he said the night before we left England. Instill fear in them. Make them think they would be sacked if they didn’t toe the line. Tell them that they would not get a recommendation letter. Make them understand that they would never be able to work on a tea plantation again – the only job they know.’ He sighed. ‘And William drank it all in.’
‘You know that’s wrong, Anthony. You believe that all men are equal. You wanted to make a difference here. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?’
Anthony
shrugged again.
‘What do you plan to do about it?’
Anthony laughed – even to his own ears, it was a cheerless sound. ‘You could always get a rise out of me, Bob. Actually, I’m working on a savings plan for the coolies and a retirement fund for staff. I have a report written. I’ve talked to Mr Rasiah the Tea-maker about it. He doesn’t really trust me, but he was willing to listen. He even advised me on some changes. I need to put it to the coolies and staff and then send it to father. I’ll make suggestions on the living conditions and health care later.’
‘A savings plan. You think that’ll work? Will your father accept it?’
‘I honestly don’t know, Bob. But I have to try. It’s all so wrong how we treat them.’
Bob jumped off the chair and punched Anthony in the shoulder. ‘My friend, the moral crusader. You’ll find a way. Trust your instincts.’
***
‘This report is absolutely idiotic, Anthony. Father will be furious.’ William sneered. ‘The coolies have no idea about planning for the future. They live in the moment. All they want is their arak and their next meal.’ He chuckled. ‘And sex, of course!’ He ripped the four sheets of closely typed paper in half. Ignoring his brother’s muttered expletive, he crushed the fragments into a ball and aimed it at the brown cocker spaniel sitting under the mahogany office desk.
The dog yelped as the paper ball hit him on the nose. He jumped up and scampered over to Anthony. Anthony reached down and fondled the dog’s smooth head. ‘Shush Pegasus.’
William chuckled. ‘You named that floppy eared mongrel after your horse in Bakewell? How pathetic can you get, little brother?’
They sat across from each other in the superintendent’s bungalow at Watakälé. Angry blue eyes locked and held. William rocked back in the mahogany office chair. He crossed his legs and flicked the dust off his hand-crafted leather shoe.
He pointed to the crushed up paper ball that had been Anthony’s typed report. ‘Father wants results, man.’ Leaning towards Anthony he banged his clenched fist on the arm of the chair. ‘He wants the award for silver tip tea at the London auctions. You’re not going to get that by doing good deeds for your slave labour.’
Anthony turned away from his brother’s mocking eyes. Getting up, he walked over to the window and looked out on the manicured hedges and the rose bushes that bordered the lawn of his bungalow. Two coolies were trimming the hedges and another was watering the garden, working hard to keep things perfect for the British superintendent. Anthony took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting to keep his voice under control. ‘The Indians are indentured labour, William – not slaves. They deserve to be cared for in their old age! That’s why I created that pension and savings plan. It’s simple – we give them a raise, but require them to invest it for the future, for when they can’t work. They won’t be worse off in terms of their take home pay. Mr Rasiah and I have discussed it. We told some of the labourers last week.’
‘Sure you did. Is that why they almost went on strike?’ William’s voice dripped contempt. ‘Come on, man. The Indians – they’re savages. That’s all. You can call them labourers, workers, whatever you will, but they will remain ignorant brutes, more animal than human.’
Anthony swung around to face his brother. ‘And how did they become like that, William? Ever since the plantations were set up, we, the British Raj, have kept them dependent on us for their daily bread. They have no proper schooling, no health care, and no rights. Just look at the state of the line rooms! It’s bloody wicked! It’s – cold-hearted cruelty!’
The dog slunk away from William and Anthony and whimpered in a corner of the room.
William unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and stood facing his brother. His open-necked, white linen shirt clung to his tense muscled frame. Hands rested on the hips of his soft wool tailored pants. The morning sun slanted through the wide windows, accentuating his tan and glinting off his golden hair. His eyes were chips of cold blue flint.
‘Get off your high horse and face the situation, little brother!’ he snapped. ‘We were sent here to make the best of these plantations, before the stupid natives nationalise them. Our father and grandfather worked hard to build up these estates. We have to get everything we can out of them, before the locals take it over and wreck it all! And if that means making both natives and coolies work harder – so be it! We owe it to our father!’
The flush extended to his neck where an angry pulse beat was visible. ‘You are an Ashley-Cooper, little brother. You are an Englishman. This measly little third world country is a colonial cog in the empire our family has built. You better remember that when you try to play saviour to the slaves.’ He thrust his face close to Anthony. ‘It’s that bloody do-gooder pastor friend of yours in Nuwara-Eliya isn’t it? – The Reverend Robert Kirkland and his English rose of a wife. Don’t think I haven’t heard what they say about me!’
For a moment, the brothers stood glaring at each other. Anthony clenched his hands by his side. He wanted to smash his fist in his brother’s face, but he couldn’t. Not in full view of the coolies and the house staff.
With an angry snort, William walked over to the liquor cabinet. He picked up a half bottle of scotch malt whisky and poured himself a drink. ‘Black Bowmore. Good quality whisky! Well, it’s nice to see that you enjoy the money your dear natives and coolie friends make for you.’ Raising the glass, he downed his drink straight.
Anthony closed his eyes. He battled the waves of anger that engulfed him. ‘So how do you plan to manage Udatänná?’
William stood at the cabinet, checking out the bottles of liquor. ‘All staff bonuses will be tied to productivity and London auction prices. Coolies will be expected to meet minimal quotas of tea plucked and hours worked or risk losing their jobs,’ he examined an unopened bottle of Amaretto almond liqueur.
Anthony snatched the bottle from William’s hands and banged it down on the table. ‘That’s immoral. How the hell can you get away with that?’
‘With the blessings of father, that’s how, little brother. I’ve talked to him. Called him just yesterday. I updated him on your activities also.’ William grinned back at Anthony and picked up a bottle of Bailey’s. ‘Stop being so bloody naïve. The coolies have no power, no organised labour union, nothing. And the natives have to do what we say – they know that their survival depends on us. They have to keep in our good books.’
Anthony heard a soft cough to his right. Appu stood next to the mahogany table with a tray in his hands, bearing a fine china tea set and a tray of homemade ginger biscuits. He was dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt buttoned to the top and tucked into his white sarong. A leather belt with shining buckle circled his waist. Not a grey hair was out of place on his head or in his handlebar moustache.
Appu had told Anthony that he had joined the staff in the Watakälé superintendent’s bungalow as a houseboy when he was fifteen years old. That was thirty years ago. He had risen through the ranks and now ran the household staff. Anthony had grown to trust him.
Appu’s hands trembled as he placed the tray on the mahogany desk. He stepped back and stood waiting. His face expressionless as he looked at Anthony. ‘Will Udatänná superintendent Aiya be staying for lunch, sir?’
‘You heard what I just said, didn’t you Appu?’ William’s lips curled in amusement as he leaned in close. ‘You look like you’d like to poison me, not feed me.’ He laughed in Appu’s face. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving. I have things to do in Udatänná.’ Appu didn’t flinch as a spray of saliva hit him. ‘Very important things.’ Williams laugh grew louder and he continued to stare into Appu’s eyes. ‘Ever the expressionless minion, eh Appu? You are well trained.’
William swung round on his heels, strode out of the room and down the steps to the drive. He mounted his motorcycle, kicked it to life and roared down the road in a cloud of dust.
For a moment, A
nthony and Appu stood next to each other on the veranda watching William’s receding form.
‘Can he do it, sir?’ Appu looked at Anthony.
‘Yes, Appu. In Udatänná he can do anything and he will start after Easter.’
Anthony walked back into the office and flopped into the seat that William had just vacated. He was tired, drained. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands. ‘I want to help the staff and labourers, Appu, but I don’t know if they’ll understand. I don’t know what else I can do.’
Appu was quiet for a while. ‘The staff party, sir. Will he come?’
‘Oh yes, Appu, we’ve already put up the money for it. Father insists that we both attend. It’s supposed to be a sign of our generosity to the natives. Pretend to be nice guys while we’re bleeding them dry. What a load of hypocritical bullshit.’
Anthony rubbed his face with his hands. Their father – James Ashley-Cooper – it came back to him, didn’t it? No one opposed the Ashley-Cooper name and got away with it. Their mother had tried to resist and had been exiled back to England, a discarded wife. Now his two sons were doing his bidding, and William loved every minute of it.
Anthony glanced at the dog. Pegasus looked up at him, the crumpled report in his mouth. He had tried to do some good and it ended up as a scrunched up paper ball with dog drool on it.
No. He could not – would not give up.
Anthony looked up into Appu’s compassionate eyes. Appu smiled. ‘You are a good man, sir. God will bless you.’
A chill wind blew across the lawn and into the house. Both men shivered.
Chapter 10
April 1966 Watakälé
A cold, wet mist snaked its way through the valley. Clammy tendrils sneaked through the closed windows into the dining room of the Tea-maker’s house. Periamma pulled her sweater tight around her. She shivered and looked at Tea-maker Aiya across the table.
His mood matched the weather that Easter morning – dark and foul.
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