Malini

by Robert Hillman

  As the afternoon wore on, Banni stopped complaining and instead began to cry softly. Malini found a place sheltered by trees and undergrowth where they could rest but still stay hidden. She sang softly to Banni, first a folk song that her father loved about a monkey who thinks the crescent moon is a huge banana, then a pop song by Miley Cyrus.

  Malini thought, Songs are well and good, but what will we eat?

  By this time, Banni had fallen asleep. Malini looked fondly at her younger sister. Most of the worst things that the war had brought to Satham had been hidden from Banni. She didn’t know that innocent people had been murdered by soldiers. She didn’t know that villages had been burned to the ground. Before today, she had never seen the anger on the faces of young men with guns in their hands. It was no wonder she thought of all that had just happened as a big nuisance.

  Spotted doves and magpie robins were cooing and chattering in the branches above. One of the magpie robins hopped down, one twig at a time, and stared at Malini with curiosity. She loved the feathered creatures of her island, one of the great havens in the world for birds of so many species. In happier times, she had sat in the back garden of her family’s home with her father to watch the birds on the boughs of the cucumber trees, the puwak palms and pudding-pipe trees. Her father would say, ‘Do you know what the birds are thinking, Malini, my love? They are thinking, Those poor creatures without wings! What a woeful life they lead!’

  From out of nowhere, a kingfisher flashed by, its blue plumage brilliant in the slanting rays of the sun. Malini called, ‘Oh!’ Then she said, ‘So beautiful!’ Without intending to, she had woken Banni, who immediately began to sob once more.

  ‘Banni, I saw a kingfisher! The most beautiful bird in the world.’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  ‘If there is a kingfisher, there must be a stream nearby. Come, we’ll find the stream and drink some water.’

  ‘I want Pepsi.’

  ‘Yes, but not today. Today, we drink water.’

  Banni reluctantly followed her sister through the trees. The two girls were off the path now. Every few steps, Malini stopped and listened, trying to pick up the sound of running water. And whenever she stopped to listen in this way, she also caught the distant sound of heavy weapons – she tried not to think about what that meant.

  The stream was swift and clean. The water jumped over the rocks as if in delight at its freedom. Malini helped Banni down to the bank, then showed her how to cup the water in her two hands and drink it down. Banni had great difficulty and spilt the water down her blouse. ‘I want a cup,’ she cried.

  ‘No cups today, Banni. Here, watch me again.’

  As Malini bent over the stream, she glimpsed something on the other bank that made her stop and stare. At first she couldn’t find what she thought she’d seen in the dense foliage that came right down to the water’s edge, but then, with a start, she saw it again, and there was an added surprise: what she’d imagined must be a statue half buried in the leaves and ferns became a living man.

  He was sitting completely still in a cross-legged position, his long grey beard reaching down to his waist. He looked very old, his face deeply lined. Malini might have grabbed Banni and run for her life, except for the expression on the man’s face. He wore a huge smile and in the light that reflected off the water, his eyes twinkled.

  Banni was still grizzling about not having a cup. Without taking her eyes off the man, Malini reached behind herself and held Banni by the shoulder.

  ‘Banni,’ she said, ‘look and see who is here before us at the stream.’

  Banni looked. ‘Ayya. Eppadi irukkinka, how are you?’

  Malini had thought her sister would be alarmed at the sight, but then she realised that this was the holy man, the sadhu, who came now and again to Banni’s school to bless the children. Malini had glimpsed him only once, more than a year ago, but she knew he was a man who enjoyed laughter, and that he was also considered a genius among magicians; he would thrill the schoolchildren by making rocks float in the air and flames appear on his fingertips. He could call birds down from the trees, wild birds that had never known captivity, and by some skill make it appear that they were reciting poems that told of the deeds of ancient heroes. When they knew he was coming, the children would bring small gifts of food. Their mother, a very frugal woman who watched her purse closely, would throw off all restraint when she prepared food gifts for the sadhu, providing Banni with the best cashews and the most succulent melon she could find in the market. She would roll up a broad banana leaf and tell Banni to flatten it before the sadhu and place the nuts on one side and the melon on the other.

  The old man called across the stream. ‘Banni, the moon girl. I see you there.’

  He came quickly to his feet and walked through the rushing stream as if he were travelling on a paved road. Once on their side of the stream he placed the flat of his hand on Banni’s head and tilted his own head to one side, as if listening.

  ‘Oh, the thoughts in this moon girl’s brain box!’ he said. ‘Strange and wonderful.’

  Banni said, ‘What am I thinking? Tell me what I’m thinking.’

  ‘You are thinking of Pepsi. You are thinking of guava and coconut roti. You are thinking of television. Yes, all of these thoughts are in your head!’

  Banni shrieked with delight. ‘It’s true! But you must punish Malini. She makes me walk when my feet are sore.’

  The old man laughed and wagged his finger at Banni. ‘Punish this brave girl? No, no, moon girl, not in a million years of my life.’

  Malini smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But why do call my sister “moon girl”?’

  ‘When the full moon shines,’ said the old man, ‘Shiva comes and leaves this child gifts in her heart.’

  Malini put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. ‘Are you sure it is to our Banni that Shiva comes?’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes, indeed yes,’ said the old man. ‘One day she will surprise you.’

  Banni said, ‘Make a Pepsi come with your magic. Make coconut roti come.’

  ‘To make Pepsi come to the forest is beyond my power, moon girl. But I can make vadai, fritters, and beetroot pachadi, salad, come to the forest.’

  The old man bent down and picked up Banni as if she were as light as a kitten. ‘Come,’ he said. He stepped into the stream with Banni in his arms, and Malini followed. The bed of the stream was covered in loose stones that slipped under Malini’s feet and so the old man held out a hand to her, holding Banni securely with just one arm. The water rushed against Malini’s legs, but she felt no fear of being swept away while the sadhu held her hand.

  Once across the swift water, the old man lowered Banni to the ground. He picked up a smooth stick, as white as bone, which he had left on the bank and that served him as a staff. He parted the ferns with the stick, revealing a path. He led Malini and Banni along the path until it crossed a second path, and there, where the two paths met, stood a shrine of stone and wood dedicated to the god Shiva. The god sat cross-legged, with eyes closed in meditation, arms extended. At the foot of the shrine small pottery dishes filled with food had been left by travellers as offerings to the god. Not all of the food looked fresh, but the rice cakes did, and the dishes of guava.

  The old man pointed at the food and said, ‘This will restore your strength.’

  Malini was horrified. To take food that had been left as an offering would be a sacrilege. Everybody knew that. Malini hadn’t realised just how strange the sadhu was.

  ‘We are not permitted to steal food from a holy place,’ she said.

  The sadhu stood before the shrine and spoke. ‘Shiva, our life, may these children partake of this splendid guava at your feet? Shiva, our life, may these children enjoy the rice cakes left at your feet?’

  A deep voice came from somewhere above, higher than the treetops. ‘With all my heart!’

  Malini gasped and took a step back from the shrine. But Banni shrieked with laughter and clapp
ed her hands. Malini looked at the sadhu, then at Shiva. The shock she felt was not to do with the god speaking from the sky. No, it was to do with the sadhu using his magic to make it appear that the god had spoken.

  ‘Oh, Ayya,’ she said, ‘but this is disrespectful, surely!’

  The sadhu knelt before Malini and put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘My girl,’ he said, ‘do you think the Lord Shiva would wish children to go hungry when there is food at his feet? Shiva, who loves you like Ganesha and Kartikeya and Ashoka Sundari, his own three children? He would not wish that. Now eat.’

  Banni seized a rice cake and devoured it. Malini, whose table manners had always been impeccable, picked up the guava and ate it slowly. Despite what the sadhu had told her, she still felt uneasy.

  The old man asked Malini what destination she had in mind.

  ‘My grandfather’s village of Ulla Alakana. It is many kilometres away.’

  The old man said, ‘It is the war that you’re fleeing, child?’

  ‘Yes, the war.’

  ‘And your honoured father and mother?’

  ‘They are trapped in the fighting.’

  The old man shook his head and walked in a small circle, stamping his feet. ‘This war is a curse for everyone,’ he said. ‘Even the victors will suffer.’

  He pointed with his white stick to a path that led through the forest. ‘Go this way,’ he said. ‘And on your journey, listen for footsteps. Shiva will follow you. But do not turn from your path. Do not look back.’

  Now he placed the palm of one hand on Banni’s head, and the other on Malini’s. He spoke the words of a language Malini had never heard before. Then he produced from the folds of his garments an earthenware bottle with a wooden stopper. He removed the stopper and offered the bottle to Malini.

  ‘Before you go,’ said the old man, ‘you must refresh yourself.’

  Malini tilted the bottle and drank down the cool water. It tasted as if it had come from the purest stream of a tall mountain. The old man took the bottle and handed it to Banni.

  ‘First, close your eyes,’ the old man said to Banni, and she did as she was instructed. ‘Now sip.’

  Banni sipped once, twice, three times. She was smiling when she lowered the bottle. ‘Pepsi!’ she said.

  Malini resumed their journey with an aching heart. The time she’d spent with the sadhu had reminded her of how good it felt for someone else to take responsibility, how good it felt to be cared for, and loved. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She said to herself, I do not have the strength for this. I am only fourteen years old. But a minute later, she’d had a rethink. Only fourteen, so what? Just get on with it.

  Banni was cheerful after their refreshments of rice cakes and guava. She chattered happily. ‘When we reach Appappa’s house, he will say, Oh, precious child, my heart soars when I see you! He always says that when he comes to our house. He will say, In all the world, is there a child as beautiful as Banni? It’s true that I am very beautiful, isn’t it, Malini? Malini?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh yes, Banni. Of course.’

  Malini came to a sudden stop. She held up her hand to caution Banni.

  ‘Shh, Banni. Something is wrong. Be quiet for a minute.’

  A strong smell of burning filled the air. Dense forest concealed the way ahead, but Malini could just make out the charred trunks of mesua trees.

  ‘Banni,’ she said, ‘listen to me. Wait here. Sit on the ground and make yourself small. Put your arms around your knees. Don’t come out of hiding until you see me.’

  The carefree look had fled from Banni’s face. ‘Don’t leave me here!’ she said.

  ‘Banni, do as I say. Now. I’ll come back in a minute.’

  Malini crept between the trees, pausing every few seconds to glance around. How used to stealth she had become in just a single day! It was as if she had trained for years to move invisibly in and out of shadows. Malini wondered whether the war did this to people – made them wary about everything. At first she hadn’t even trusted the sadhu!

  She could glimpse before her an open area where small flames flickered. The smell in the air was very strong – not just the smell of burning, but of fresh earth mixed with the tang of sulphur. Overhead, the broad leaves of the tall trees had been stripped away. She ventured further, then stopped on the lip of a crater torn in the earth by what must have been a bomb. The raw earth still smouldered in places. Whole trees had been ripped apart and lay in fragments around the crater. But why had the bomb been dropped here, in the middle of the forest? Malini’s father had told her that sometimes when the LTTE air wing of light planes had very little fuel, they’d be forced to drop their bombs before they reached their target to lighten their load. Malini thought of the destruction such a bomb would have caused if it had landed on a house, or on people – too dreadful!

  The western sky was streaked with the crimson of sunset. Evening was settling in. A forlorn feeling came over Malini when she returned to Banni, alone with her sister in the forest without a morsel of food, without water, without shelter. They had been walking for hours.

  Banni began to whine. ‘Malini, take me to the toilet. I must go.’

  ‘Behind those ferns,’ said Malini. ‘We are in the forest, Banni.’

  Banni looked horrified. ‘Take me to a proper toilet!’

  ‘Banni, things have changed. We must make do in this new world.’

  Malini realised that shelter was the pressing need. Walking further tonight seemed futile. She gathered her strength, scrambled down into the bomb crater and scooped out a shallow ditch. It would provide a little warmth, maybe, if they cuddled up. Banni had emerged from behind the ferns and was watching with a baffled expression.

  ‘Come down here, Banni.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Do as you’re told!’

  Banni clambered down into the crater reluctantly.

  ‘Tonight,’ said Malini, ‘we sleep here in these ditches. Animals will keep away. They’ll be suspicious of the smell of scorched earth.’

  Banni settled herself into the ditch with evident disgust. Malini unwrapped her sari and used it to cover her sister. Left with no defence against the chill of night but her short-sleeved blouse and her underwear, Malini wriggled herself closer to Banni’s body, only to be shrugged off.

  ‘Don’t suffocate me!’ Banni complained.

  Malini struggled for the comfort that would bring sleep to her tired and aching body. But before she allowed herself to relax, if relaxation was possible at all, she checked the mobile phone to see if she had missed a call from her father. There was no signal at all.

  Banni whimpered, ‘When will we eat?’

  Malini answered, not quite honestly, ‘Kalaiyil, in the morning.’

  Sleep came at last.

  Malini awoke at dawn. The clouds in the east towered into the sky. Birds were calling in the forest – wood pigeons and bulbuls. The thing she was most aware of was the cold. She prepared herself for the first of the day’s complaints from her little sister – probably to do with being hungry and dirty.

  But when she turned over, she saw that the rest of the ditch was empty. Malini seized hold of the sari, left draped over the edge of the ditch, as if, impossibly, Banni was hidden beneath it. She leapt from the crater and shrieked her sister’s name. Birds rose from the trees in alarm. Again and again she shouted, rushing first one way and then another. In her panic she even added a threat to her cries. ‘Banni, if you are playing games with me, there will be a smack!’

  Where would Banni go? Why would she leave the crater? Was it possible she’d been abducted? No, that was nonsense. This was Banni just being Banni, Malini hoped, finding every way she could to make her sister’s life even more difficult.

  Malini shouted until her throat was raw, then, in a lull between cries, she heard a girl’s voice, singing. Malini stood stock-still, trying to pick up the direction. Then she recognised the song – it was the theme song from Sesame Street, a f
avourite of Banni’s when she was younger.

  Relief flooded through Malini like warm honey.

  Banni strolled out of the forest towards Malini with a garland of wildflowers in her hand.

  Malini kept her temper, just barely. ‘Banni, you mustn’t wander away like that. You made me sick with worry. Why didn’t you answer me when I called you?’

  Banni smiled innocently and pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. She held the wildflowers out to her sister. ‘Mannikkanum,’ she said, apologising. ‘For you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Malini. ‘That’s a lovely thing. But did you hear what I said about—’

  ‘I wanted to do something nice for you,’ said Banni.

  ‘Something nice for me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Malini felt guilty. This was the thing about Banni: she could be a nuisance all day, then suddenly do something so sweet and charming that you felt bad for scolding her.

  Malini wrapped herself in her sari and tied on her sandals. She had eaten so little, yet she wasn’t hungry. Her anxiety about her parents had taken away her appetite. She said to Banni, ‘If I can find you some food, I will. But will you be brave until then?’

  Banni said, ‘I am always brave.’

  The two sisters set off along the forest path, Malini holding in one hand her little garland of wildflowers.

  Malini knew that if she started their journey from the heart of the island and chose to go north, south, east or west, they would come to a village within an hour. Her island home, carpeted with small villages, had been settled for thousands of years, and for most of those years, people had grown the food they needed in fields just beyond the fringe of their villages. Many villages were self-sufficient. Within each small community, someone would weave, someone else would have learned carpentry, and yet another villager would know about medicinal herbs. A bone-setter would go from village to village, tending to fractured limbs; a travelling dentist would pull teeth. Villagers usually lived their whole lives in the place where they were born.