The crowd became quiet. A few cleared their throats. Others fidgeted. They put down the logs of wood they were holding. They broke into groups. The rumble of talk replaced the yells and hoots.
Suddenly, one labourer pushed forward and stood facing Tea-maker Aiya. Tea-maker Aiya didn’t flinch. He looked the man directly in the eyes. The labourer turned and faced the crowd. ‘Tea-maker Aiya is right. He has never done anything to harm us. Why hurt him? Let a few of us talk to him and find out about this plan.’
Lakshmi looked on – shocked – it was her father, Ramen, the very man who had placed the soonyam for Tea-maker Aiya. Here he was supporting him!
A chattering erupted among the men. After a couple of minutes, the crowd broke up. A few of the coolies, led by Lakshmi’s father, went into the Tea-maker’s office. Others picked up the large bags of fresh tea leaves the women had collected and carried them into the factory. The chug and roar of the dryers and rollers filled the morning. The factory was getting back into production.
Lakshmi and Raaken looked around, wide-eyed. Tea-maker Aiya was right. His God was definitely more powerful than all the devils of the soonyam.
Lakshmi turned and ran back to tell Periamma what had happened. She ran back to the house, stopping to vomit in the drain.
Chapter 13
August 1966 Watakälé
Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma sat on either side of the dining table. It was their usual morning ritual before he went off to the factory. They didn’t see Lakshmi stand by the door.
‘I am worried about Lakshmi, Appa,’ Periamma sipped on her tea.
‘Worried?’ he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the newspaper.
‘Yes, she has been throwing up a lot and isn’t eating. And yesterday when she was doing some work I noticed that her waist is thickening.’
‘So?’ he looked up from the paper. ‘She must have eaten something at the kade. Don’t know why she needs to when you feed her so well, Lilly. And she’s a growing girl.’
‘No Appa, it’s not that. I’m worried. It’s five months since … since.’
Tea-maker Aiya dropped the paper on the table. He leaned toward Periamma. ‘You can’t mean?’
Silently, Periamma nodded.
Suddenly Lakshmi knew. The vomiting – the nausea – four months without the monthly flow. A shiver ran through her body. She clung on to the door post. Slowly she slid to the floor.
‘No! Dear God, No! No!’
***
Lakshmi lay curled on the floor in Shiro’s bedroom clutching Shiro’s purple blanket. She rocked her body back and forth. Deep sobs rent her body. Dropping the blanket, she clawed at her stomach. A baby? Her child? A half British bastard.
She laid her face on the tear soaked blanket. My friend, my only friend, how will you understand? You are so innocent, how can I tell you? Will you hate me? Will you think I went to him? And Periamma and Tea-maker Aiya, will they even want me near you? You are so pure. I am soiled, dirty … useless.
‘That idiot William, he must be made to pay for what he has done,’ Tea-maker Aiya shouted. ‘At the least, we should tell his father James. I will write to the Oriental Produce offices in London today.’
‘Appa,’ Periamma pleaded, ‘Please, Appa, don’t do anything rash.’
Lakshmi’s heart ached at the sob in Periamma’s voice. ‘Please remember what happened to your father when he tried to question what happened.’
Lakshmi crawled to the door of the bedroom. Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma stood in the middle of the sitting room.
Raaken watched from the kitchen door.
‘Yes, yes.’ Tea-maker Aiya yelled. ‘So we let them get away with it – again. There is no justice in the plantations.’
‘Appa,’ Periamma clung to his arm. Tears streaked her face. ‘Never mind them. We must help Lakshmi. What are we going to do?’
‘Damn the British bastards.’ Tea-maker Aiya glanced at Lakshmi crouched by the bedroom door. ‘Come, Lilly,’ he drew Periamma into the study.
Raaken came into the bedroom with a cup of sweet milky tea. He held it to her. His weathered face was set in deep lines of worry. ‘Drink this,’ he said. His eyes were filled with tears. He squatted by her side. ‘Lakshmi, they are good people, they will do something to help you.’
Lakshmi sobbed. She felt Raaken’s rough, calloused hand rub her head. Kindness she had never received from her parents.
They both listened as the study door opened. Tea-maker Aiya went to the phone. ‘Reverend Robert Kirkland, it’s Rajan Rasiah,’ he paused. ‘I need your advice …’ Periamma stepped close to him and said something in an undertone. Tea-maker Aiya cupped the receiver in his hand and spoke in a soft murmur.
Lakshmi and Raaken looked at each other. Podeher Aiya – the church minister Shiro called Bobsy, was a white man. He was probably a good friend of the Periadorais. What could he do to help Lakshmi? Why would he want to? No white man cared about a coolie girl.
Tea-maker Aiya put the receiver down. He turned to whisper something to Periamma. ‘I have to go to the factory. I’ll talk to Hemachandra Mudalali from there. You tell Lakshmi.’ He turned and walked out of the house. The front door slammed shut.
Lakshmi remained crouched by the door to Shiro’s bedroom.
Periamma came in and squatted on the ground beside Lakshmi. Raaken scrambled to his feet and hurried off to the kitchen.
‘Lakshmi, you remember how when you came as a nanny to Shiro Chinnamma I told you that we would help you when you were older?’
‘Yes, Periamma,’ she whispered. She felt in a trance. It was like she was outside her body, hearing words spoken to someone else.
Periamma’s eyes brimmed full of tears. She put out her hand and stroked Lakshmi’s hair away from her face. Her hands were shivering. Periamma bowed her head. She didn’t look at Lakshmi.
Lakshmi sobbed. She clung to Periamma’s arm. Her heart was breaking. And Shiro Chinnamma was not here to share the pain with her.
‘Lakshmi, I wanted to train you to cook and sew. To knit and arrange flowers. Get a job for you in a house in Colombo. But with what has happened to you. I am sorry. There is so little that we can do.’
A shaft of icy fear cut through her heart. She couldn’t breathe. ‘Periamma, what will happen to me?’
‘You can’t stay here Lakshmi,’ Periamma whispered through her tears.
‘Periamma,’ Lakshmi’s wail brought Raaken scurrying back to the room.
‘No, Lakshmi. People will say things. You see, Tea-maker Aiya is the only man in the house, people will think —’
‘Aiyoo, Periamma,’ Lakshmi screamed. She clutched Periamma’s sari. She needed to hold on to the only person who cared for her. The only place she felt safe, wanted — sometimes even loved.
Periamma took Lakshmi by her shoulders and moved her away. Lakshmi let go the sari. This was the end. She stared at Periamma. Lakshmi would never forget the look in her face. It was the face of Parvati. The face of a goddess who suffered all things, endured all things for her man. She knew that to Periamma, her family would always come first. She, Lakshmi, would take second place.
Lakshmi placed her hand on her stomach. ‘Periamma,’ she mumbled through her tears, ‘other girls say there are ways to get it out.’
‘No,’ Lakshmi cringed at the anger in Periamma’s voice. ‘We cannot kill a baby.’ Her fingers tightened on Lakshmi’s shoulders. ‘We have talked to the church minister in Nuwara-Eliya. They have a place for girls like you.’
‘Periamma,’ Lakshmi clutched her stomach. She felt a twitch — it was alive.
‘You will be looked after at the Salvation Army home till you have the baby.’
‘And then what?’
Periamma held Lakshmi’s hand tight. Lakshmi’s own pain mingled with that of the older woman’s as Periamma continued. ‘The baby will be take
n away. It will be put up for adoption. And you -’
‘Will I come back?’
‘No, not with Periadorai here and his brother at Udatänná. It is too dangerous for Tea-maker Aiya. We will talk to your parents.’
It pierced her — a knife to her soul, more painful than her father’s beatings. Worse even than the horror of that night in the weighing shed. They were sending her away. Periamma had promised to look after her and now it was finished. They were discarding her when she needed them most.
‘Tea-maker Aiya will talk to Hemachandra Mudalali in Diyatalāwa.’ Periamma continued. ‘Hamine his wife told me they need someone to help in the house. You will go there after the baby is born. They are a good Sinhalese couple. People here will be told that we got you a job as a servant in a house.’
Lakshmi picked up the purple blanket, held it to her lips. ‘Shiro Chinnamma?’
‘Shiro is too young to understand all that has happened to you, Lakshmi. She is very innocent. We have to spare her.’
‘But,’ Lakshmi stammered. ‘Won’t she be upset when she comes for the holiday and I am not here?’
Periamma stood up. Her next words were a death sentence to Lakshmi’s hopes and dreams. ‘Lakshmi, we will help you with the baby and later find you work at Hemachandra Mudalali’s house. But you must promise me that you will not contact Shiro or tell her where you are. We will tell her that you got married and moved away.’ Periamma sighed. ‘Lakshmi, it is best you never see Shiro Chinnamma ever again.’
Lakshmi stared open mouthed at Periamma. Never see her friend again? How could that be?
Her mother was right. They were discarding her like a piece of shit. All the love and devotion she had felt for Periamma collected in her chest and congealed into a hard lump of hate.
Chapter 14
December 1966 Watakälé
The train puffed into Diyatalāwa station. Hurling herself off the train, Shiro threw herself into Victor’s arms and then hugged Edward with equal vigour. ‘It’s good to be home.’
‘Hey, princess. I thought you loved school?’ Edward hugged her and set her down on the platform. Victor jumped on the carriage and pulled her bags off.
Love school? Please! But they all thought she was happy in Colombo – all except Lakshmi, of course. Lakshmi knew the truth.
With a wheeze and a loud hoot the train pulled away from Diyatalāwa station.
Shiro looked around. ‘Where’s Lakshmi? Mummy said she was sick.’ Was it her imagination or did a shadow flit across Victor’s eyes? ‘I told mum in my last letter. I so want to see her. Surely she can’t still be sick? I asked mum to send her to the station.’
‘She’s sick, Shiro. And stop being a drama queen.’ Victor snapped.
Shiro stared at her oldest brother. Victor never scolded her. A gentle reprimand tempered by a hug was the worst that ever passed between them. ‘But Lakshmi hasn’t replied to my letters for about six months. She couldn’t have been sick all that time. What kind of illness could that be?’
Victor and Edward exchanged glances. This had to be bad. They were keeping something from her. The three of them never had secrets.
‘What’s happening?’ She looked from one to the other.
Edward threw an arm over Shiro’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Shiro. String hoppers and chicken curry awaits you at home. Let’s find Hemachandra’s lorry.’
Hemachandra Mudalali was one of their father’s good friends. Whenever they arrived on the train from Colombo, they rode his lorry from Diyatalāwa to Watakälé. Edward and Shiro squeezed into the front of the lorry with the driver, while Victor hopped in the back among the sacks of rice and bags of produce. Shiro liked Hemachandra Mudalali. He was fond of her too. Often they stopped at his store or house for tea before driving home with the lorry driver. Today she found a box of Black Magic chocolates on the passenger seat with a note ‘from Hemachandra Uncle to Shiro baby’.
Edward ripped it open and shoved a mint cream in his mouth. ‘Here.’ He held the open box to Shiro. ‘Stop being a glum puss and stuff your face with some cherry chocolate.’
‘No.’ Shiro pushed the box aside and turned to look at Victor through the back window of the driver’s cab. ‘What happened to Lakshmi? Why are you not telling me about her? She will be better when she sees me.’
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a box. She opened it to show a bracelet and chain of blue semi-precious stones set in silver. ‘You know how Lakshmi loves brightly coloured jewellery. All she has ever had are those stupid glass bangles her mother discards. I saved my pocket money all year to buy her these as a Christmas present. Don’t tell her though, okay? She’ll love them, I know she will.’ Shiro shut the box and clasped it to her bosom, as if the jewellery were Lakshmi herself. ‘If this doesn’t make her feel better, nothing will.’ She prattled on about Colombo. Her brothers remained silent.
Forty-five minutes later, they were home. Jumping out of the lorry, Shiro dashed inside and flew into her father’s arms. Her mother hugged her with a dignity Shiro now knew came from an upbringing where people didn’t act intimate in public. ‘Mum, I got an “A” report. That should make you happy. And guess what? I passed Tamil literature. I can now put all that behind me and concentrate just on the science subjects.’ Shiro looked closely at her mother. ‘Mum, you look so tired. Isn’t Lakshmi here to help you with the Christmas cooking?’
‘Come, darling,’ her mother took her hand and hustled her into her bedroom. ‘I made you a new purple and white quilt. You can take it to school next term. Now you must wash and get ready for dinner.’
Shiro followed her mother. Why was everyone dodging her questions? What was going on?
Soon they were sitting at dinner table. Usually Lakshmi would serve them. Today Raaken brought in the food. Shiro looked around at her brothers and parents. Everyone seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her. Even Raaken shuffled out without greeting her. Then Edward caught her eye and winked. Victor frowned at Edward and looked down at his plate. They all picked at their food.
There was silence around the table. The family were never this silent at the beginning of the Christmas break.
‘Tell us about school, darling,’ her mother smiled across the table.
‘Mum, you know all there is to know. I write it all to you weekly,’ Shiro looked around the table. ‘What’s with you all? How come everyone’s so quiet?’
No one replied. Shiro reached for a string hopper. ‘Mum, where’s Lakshmi?’
Everyone froze. Shiro looked around, puzzled. Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. Victor and Edward looked at each other. Her father stared at his string hoppers as if he’d never seen one before. Raaken stood with one hand on the door post.
Long moments passed by. Shiro stared from one to the other. ‘I will talk with you about it later, darling,’ her mother waved her hand, dismissing the topic.
A memory flashed into Shiro’s mind – memory of a cat, its skull crushed by a falling Jak fruit. Her mother had said exactly the same words in exactly the same tone.
She wanted to throw up the string hopper she had just swallowed. Something had happened to Lakshmi. Maybe she was not just sick. ‘Is she dead?’ she whispered.
‘Of course not, darling.’ Her mother frowned. ‘Why would you think that? She’s just – well, not in a fit state to come play with you these holidays.’
‘Then she’s dying!’ Shiro’s voice rose in pitch. ‘She’d never keep away from me unless she was dying! I must go see her at once.’ Shiro sprang up, tilting the plate, spilling the string hoppers on the tablecloth. The chair rocked and crashed to the floor.
‘For goodness’ sake, tell her the truth. She’s sixteen, she can handle it.’ Victor’s voice was sharp with anxiety.
There was silence around the table as the family looked at each other.
Raaken rushed in and wiped the spil
t string hoppers. He pulled up Shiro’s chair.
‘Handle what?’ Shiro said.
Her mother reached over and took Shiro’s hand. ‘Darling, Lakshmi isn’t actually sick,’ she said. ‘She can’t come to be with you because she’s pregnant.’
Everyone watched Shiro. No one spoke. The grandfather clock in the sitting room droned out seven chimes.
How could she be pregnant? Pregnant meant sex. Sex meant marriage. She realised what must have happened. ‘What do you know? Lakshmi beat me to it! So what’s the big secret there? She got married and is pregnant.’ She laughed and looked around the table. ‘Relax, okay? I’ve learned about how people get pregnant.’ Shiro sat down and reached for another string hopper. ‘Who did she marry, Mum? Can I go visit her tomorrow? When’s the baby coming? Guess it must have been a real rush thing? We promised to be at each other’s weddings. But then she’s so much older, I guess she couldn’t wait!’ She mixed in the chicken curry and took a mouthful. ‘I can’t wait to see her.’
Silence descended around the table again. Shiro stopped eating and looked around the table. Her mother had her head bent. Her eyes were shut tight. Tears trickled down her cheek. Her father leant his elbows on the dining table, his hands tented as if in prayer. Victor stared at the floor. Edward rocked back, staring at the ceiling, his fingers interlaced on his stomach. Shiro looked from face to face. The air around the table was oppressive, frightening.
Her father scraped his chair back and stood up. ‘I’m going back to the factory to check the withering,’ he said. ‘Victor, you said Shiro can handle it. You tell her.’ He turned and walked out.
Victor took a deep breath. He got up, took Shiro’s hand and walked with her out into the garden. A cold breeze blew from the valley, working chilly fingers into their clothes. Victor drew her down on the little wooden bench under the mango tree. She moved close to her brother and pulled her purple jumper around her.
Victor put his arm around her. ‘You see, Shiro, Lakshmi is pregnant, but she’s not married. The father will never marry her. He doesn’t want anything to do with Lakshmi or the baby.’
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