Empire's Children

by Patricia Weerakoon

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know who the father is. Mum and Dad are trying to help her. She has gone away to have her baby. Dad will get a job for her after the baby is born. That’s the best we can hope for.’

  This could not be happening. They had shared their most intimate secrets, planned to spend their lives together. Lakshmi had promised to be at her wedding. Their children were going to play together among the tea bushes, maybe even marry each other. Lakshmi and she were to grow old together as best friends.

  ‘The baby?’ she stammered.

  ‘Will go to an orphanage. Probably be adopted out.’

  The pain and sorrow that Lakshmi must feel weighed down on Shiro’s heart. She should have known. Deep sobs tore through her. She should have insisted that she come home when Lakshmi stopped writing. She could have done something. Found the man. She, Shiro, could have made him marry Lakshmi.

  She leapt up and spun round to face Victor. ‘But Victor, what if we could find the father? What if we told him what a wonderful girl Lakshmi is? What if he saw the baby? Surely he’ll want them both back in his life!’

  Victor sighed. He took Shiro’s hands in his. ‘No, Shiro. I told you. He doesn’t want to know anything about it. He never wants to see Lakshmi ever again. I don’t even know who he is.’

  Shiro glanced up. Her mother stood at the back door, watching.

  Shiro closed her eyes. She let her tears burn their way down her cheeks. This was her life, her family watching over her, always. Making sure she did the right thing, spoke to the right people and acted in the right way. Protecting her, keeping her innocent. Sending her to the right school so she could be ready to wed the man they choose to be a suitable mate for her.

  No more.

  She shook Victor’s hands off. ‘Some bastard raped her, right?’ she shouted.

  Victor jumped up and grasped her shoulders. ‘What do you know about rape? And I thought school taught you not to swear!’

  Shiro squirmed away from him. She felt hysteria bubble up in her. She gestured to her body. ‘Victor, look at me! I’m an adult! I have breasts! I get periods!’

  Victor’s jaw dropped to the ground.

  ‘I know about sex and babies! Boys and men stare at me! They want to kiss me, make love to me. I know they do!’ She laughed. ‘Even on the train today.’

  ‘Aiyoo, mahal. Where did you learn all this?’ Her mother stood beside Victor. Her face pale, her eyes wide. Hands covered her mouth.

  Shiro spun around to face her mother. ‘Not from those prudish teachers at that boarding school you sent me to. Where you think I am incredibly accepted and happy. The girls had a book. It had drawings of penises and vaginas and what happens with them. Some girls have boyfriends. They have sex with them and then talk about it. They boast about what they do. And rape – that’s what happened to the girls during the riots, remember? You said you saw it, Victor!’

  Edward came out to join Victor and her mother. ‘Shiro, darling,’ Victor started.

  ‘No!’ Shiro broke away from the circle of her family and fled to her room. She hurled herself onto her bed, buried her face in her pillow and howled.

  She stayed in bed, breathing heavily, her face buried in her pillow. She had no more tears to shed. Her mother and brothers stood talking outside her room. ‘Now what can we do? We can’t let her see Lakshmi, she won’t understand.’ Her mother spoke in a hushed whisper.

  Victor responded, his voice tinged with concern. ‘She’s not as ignorant about these things as we thought, Mum. Let’s just get through Christmas. She’s young; she’ll outgrow her attachment to Lakshmi. She talks about her new friend, Lalitha. She’ll be okay.’

  Shiro felt incredibly lonely. Outgrow her attachment – is that what they call it – her love for her best friend? Her soul-mate and she was supposed to outgrow it over Christmas. Replace Lakshmi with Lalitha. She loved Lalitha, but it was different. Nothing would be the same again.

  Her mother came in and sat on the corner of her bed. She caressed Shiro’s back, as if to absorb some of the pain.

  ‘I want to see her!’

  ‘You can’t see her, darling. She’s not here; we’ve arranged a job for her. It’s best you don’t see her again. I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry.’

  ‘No you’re not. None of you are.’ Shiro mumbled into her pillow. ‘None of you understand, do you? You wanted me to stop seeing her because she’s a coolie and you want me to make friends with high-class Tamil people and move up in society. You think that the private school and Colombo will do that. You don’t know anything. The girls are snobs. I don’t fit in there. And now I don’t fit here either. Lakshmi was my best friend. And now she’s gone. You sent her away! I have no one.’ she sobbed.

  Her mother continued stroking Shiro’s back. ‘Darling, please try to understand. Lakshmi got pregnant. If we acknowledge it, people will think Daddy or one of the boys is responsible. I know how you loved her and she loved you too. But this is not just about you, darling. It’s about family honour.’ She got up and left the room.

  Shiro stayed in bed, hugging the pillow. Deep shudders rent her body. She thought of Lakshmi’s Christmas present – the blue bracelet and chain.

  Lakshmi, her dearest friend, pregnant — a bastard baby — what will become of it? Who is the father? What will become of you, Lakshmi?

  No. She would find Lakshmi. She knew who would help her.

  Chapter 15

  December 1966 Watakälé

  A lazy mist drifted across the valley, now hiding, now revealing the mountaintops, caressing the bright green flush of tea leaves reaching up to be picked.

  The hill was across the valley from the Tea-maker’s house. It was the highest point in the plantation. The single gnarled and windswept tree on the top commanded an all-round view of Watakälé Tea Plantation.

  The chill wind ruffled the golden hair of the young man standing at the summit. He leant on his motorcycle, enjoying the sun on his head. The sharpness of the wind stung his neck and brought tears to his eyes. He fixed his binoculars on a crested hawk eagle circling overhead, then lowered them to survey the tea plantation and the progress of the tea pluckers.

  Anthony Ashley-Cooper was the happiest he had been for the last few years. Last week his father had told him that the last batch of tea from Watakälé had received the prestigious ‘Silver Tip award’ at the London tea auctions. This was the ultimate accolade for flavour, colour and quality in tea production – a winning combination largely due to the expertise and hard work of the Tea-maker, Mr Rasiah.

  When Anthony received the news, he had gone down to the factory and congratulated Mr Rasiah. Ever since the Tea-maker supported him in the savings plan fiasco, Anthony held him in high esteem. Of course, as the superintendent, it would be unseemly for him to voice that admiration to a native staff member.

  Anthony recalled the conversation on the day after the staff party incident with William. Mr Rasiah was probably the only member of the native staff who didn’t address the superintendent as ‘sir’ and had the nerve to advise him how he should run the plantation. Anthony had heeded his words and had taken to early morning walks through the plantation. He had come to enjoy the songs of birds at dawn and the pink and violet hues that lit the hills as the sun dispersed the misty haze from the mountain tops.

  During these walks Anthony would observe the women doing the tea plucking. He watched as they trooped, chattering, to the shed for muster, where the tea leaves they plucked were weighed and recorded by the Indian Kangani. Later in the morning he rode up a hill and looked around using his binoculars, watching the transport of tea to the factory and the men working in the field – pruning, fertilising, and conducting the daily jobs of a successful tea plantation. Sometimes he rode down and talked to them.

  After lunch, he went down to the tea factory and walked with Mr Rasiah through the pr
ocess of tea making. He had learned from the older man’s wisdom on withering times and roller settings, drying temperatures and grading. Finally, standing with the Tea-maker, he would go through the process of tasting and classifying the black tea produced that day.

  He liked this hill. It gave him a good vantage point. Anthony picked a group of tea pluckers just finishing the morning shift and watched them laugh and chatter as the Kangani marshalled them up the hill to the weighing shed. Some of the women were young, just teenagers. His thoughts went to his brother, William, and the horrible incident after the staff party.

  He hoped the girl was all right.

  ‘You are such a prude, little brother,’ William had taunted him last week at the Royal Hotel at Nuwara-Eliya. William, Anthony and some other superintendents from adjoining estates had been at the bar. Much to Anthony’s disgust, the conversation had drifted to discussing how sexy some of the young coolie women were. William had described a recent encounter with a coolie girl in Udatänná. The crude, obscene language turned Anthony’s stomach. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re missing, little brother,’ William had said, his disparaging tone belying the fact that he was only sixteen months older than Anthony. Revolted, Anthony had walked away. Drunken, mocking laughter had followed him out of the club.

  Anthony watched the tea pluckers as they moved up the hill towards a stream and a waterfall. His gaze was captured momentarily by a girl in a purple dress seated by the stream on a ledge of rock, engrossed in a book. As he watched, she flopped over on her back and folded her hands behind her head. The blouse of her dress hugged the curves of her shapely body. The gesture sent Anthony back in time to when he was sixteen.

  A thrill of excitement spiked through his body. Could it be her? He continued to watch through his binoculars. She jumped up and scrambled up the hill towards the Tea-maker’s quarters, her skirt riding up above her knees. It brought back memories of a little girl lying face down on a nursery floor. A scornful young voice rang in Anthony’s head: ‘Well, why don’t you go home then, you British bastard?’

  You certainly have grown up to be a beauty, Shiro Rasiah.

  ***

  Back in the Tea-maker’s house, the Tea-maker and his wife waited for Shiro.

  ‘She’s a dreamer!’ Lilly grumbled. ‘She lives in her fantasy world. Not in the least interested in cooking or sewing. You heard her this morning. What can we say for the marriage proposals? That she recites Shakespeare beautifully? That she can come up with some cock and bull imaginary story at the drop of a hat? You must stop encouraging her to try for the university entrance exam. She will get spoiled even more in university.’

  Rajan had returned from the factory for lunch. They stood watching Shiro wind her way up the hill. She was late for lunch, but in the laid-back life of the tea plantation, twenty minutes meant nothing.

  ‘What about the Chelliah boy?’ Lilly grizzled on. ‘He’s from a good family. He wants to get married soon. And he likes Shiro a lot.’

  ‘Lilly, Shiro is seventeen. She has just learned that she has lost Lakshmi, her best friend. She is heartbroken. Let her grow up.’

  ‘I left school at sixteen. We married soon after.’

  ‘And you make me a wonderful wife, Lilly. Shiro is different. Surely you can see that. Let her spread her wings and sit the university entrance exam. If she gets in, let her go to university.’

  ‘Aiyoo. That will be the end. What if she meets some Batticaloa boy or something in university?’

  ‘She will meet Batticaloa boys and Indian boys, she will also meet Muslim and Hindu boys, Lilly,’ Rajan said. ‘We’ll just have to trust her to make wise choices.’

  Lilly swatted her forehead with her palm. ‘Make wise choices! Since when has your daughter made wise choices? You will let her do what she wants, as usual. Someday you will be sorry.’

  Rajan nodded. ‘Yes, she has never had to choose. And you know what? It’s our fault, yours and mine. We need to stop protecting her and let her have her space and freedom.’

  Shiro ran the last few yards.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I was reading and watching the eagle. Isn’t he gorgeous? I kept thinking that somewhere out there Lakshmi is also watching the eagle.’ She threw her arms up. ‘I could see you watching me. You were talking about me, weren’t you? I’m safe anywhere in Watakälé. Everyone knows the Tea-maker’s daughter.’

  ‘We know you’re safe here, sweetheart.’ Rajan laughed and hugged Shiro.

  Chapter 16

  December 1966 Watakälé

  Shiro made her way to her special place, her book hugged to her chest. The rays of the morning sun slipped through the mist and teased the tea bushes with flickers of light. White butterflies flitted around her, a swarm on their way to Adam’s Peak.

  Lakshmi, I miss you so. This is all no fun without you, my friend.

  She looked up at the sky. It was her eagle again. He’d been flying around over this area every day for the two weeks that she had been at home. She watched as he swooped and settled on a high branch. She wished she could fly away with him – be free.

  Shiro loved this place – and yet she longed to have a new and different life far away from the tea plantations. Maybe she could travel to some distant country like Africa or Australia. Maybe she could be a missionary doctor or maybe even a flying doctor in Australia.

  The tea bushes reached to her waist. She remembered a time when she had to stand on tiptoe to see over them. That was a time when Lakshmi had been with her.

  Reaching her place, she spread her purple blanket and flung herself down on her stomach. She opened up her book. Soon she was lost in reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  ‘Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

  Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

  More than cool reason ever comprehends.

  The lunatic, the lover and the poet

  Are of imagination all compact.’

  The image of the lovers’ behaviour made her laugh. So that’s what the stupid girls at school meant when they said they were madly in love. She would take her time. Study and hopefully university – then love and sex!

  ‘Princess Shiro, I presume.’ The voice was distinctly British.

  Shiro swung her eyes up from her book. Brown leather shoes led up to a neatly creased pair of brown wool trousers. Tilting her head further revealed a brown leather belt then a white shirt open at the neck and tucked into the trousers.

  She leapt to her feet, her hands on her cheeks, ready to scream.

  ‘Please don’t be frightened, Miss Rasiah.’ The words were soft spoken, soothing.

  Shiro looked up at the tall Englishmen. He stood with his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. The sun behind him turned his blonde hair into a golden halo. His cobalt blue eyes creased at the corners. A smile dimpled his cheek and lit up his angular face. ‘Please, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been watching you for two weeks. I had to walk down and say hello.’

  Shiro continued to stare at him. Who was this picture book perfect white man? ‘Watching me?’ She stammered, stepping back from him, tensed, ready to run. She must not get familiar with strange men, especially not white ones. She should leave. But the look in his deep blue eyes kept her rooted to the spot. Somewhere in the hidden recesses of her memory the angular face and blue eyes were familiar. Who? When?

  Shiro screwed up her face, searching for the lost memory.

  ‘I’ve watched you through my binoculars on my daily rounds of the tea plantation. You seemed to be having a great time with your books. What are you reading?’

  Shiro ignored his question. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go home. My parents won’t want me to talk to you.’

  His smile widened. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you, princess? I’m Anthony Ashley-Cooper. We met when you were eight years old. I wasn’t very pleasant. May I proffer a bel
ated apology for my boorish behaviour?’

  Shiro gasped. The British bastard who stamped on the rose bush she planted over her cat’s grave! She put her hand to her mouth, remembering how she had insulted him that day. She pushed her knuckles into her mouth. Her body shook with suppressed laughter.

  Anthony laughed with her. ‘Remember? The day your cat died. Did you get another cat?’

  ‘Oh, I remember you.’ Shiro dropped her hand, collecting herself as memories of the day flooded back. Puckering her lips she made a vain attempt to look stern. ‘You didn’t want to play with a native child, remember?’ Surely, this was not the churlish spoiled brat who had come with the Irvine girls for tea all those years ago? The grown up Anthony was actually quite cute. Keeping serious was impossible. Amusement tweaked at the corners of her lips.

  ‘I apologise for my crass manner. What are you staring at? Have I a smudge on my face?’

  ‘No. It’s just that you’ve changed. You aren’t -’

  ‘Obnoxious? Pompous? Pig headed? I can think of a string of adjectives to describe what I was. It’s called growing up.’ He looked down at her. ‘And you? What are you up to, princess? Finished school yet?’

  ‘No, I’m still in school. And please, not princess!’

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten, you asked me to call you princess.’

  ‘That was a long time ago. Like you said, before we grew up.’ She stood up straight. ‘I believe it is proper that you call me Miss Rasiah, Mr Ashley-Cooper.’ She picked up her blanket and turned away. ‘Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking like this.’

  ‘Why?’ his voice called her back.

  Shiro stopped and hugged her blanket and book to her chest.

  ‘Because you are the white superintendent and I am the Tea-maker’s daughter.’

  Anthony stepped closer to her. He smelt of lemon and something else. Shiro couldn’t recognise it, but it was nice. Shiro swung round and looked into his eyes, expecting anger, exasperation. To her surprise his eyes twinkled with laughter.