‘And more famous than all the famous people,’ said Banni.
‘Of course!’
Banni said, ‘Sister, sing me my song.’ She meant the song Malini had made for her years ago: a song celebrating the beauty and wonder of Banni.
Malini, with some reluctance, began. ‘All the people come to see, the treasure of our family…’ Malini’s song petered out.
‘Go on!’
‘No, that’s enough. That song was for when you were an infant. You are too old for it now.’
Banni was about to shout at her sister, but something in the stern look on Malini’s face stopped her. She said nothing for a minute. Then, quietly, ‘Okay. I was sick of that song anyway.’ Then she added, almost beneath her breath, ‘I’m sick of everything. I want Appa and Amma.’
‘What?’ said Malini.
‘Nothing, ’ said Banni.
Malini imagined that they must make a strange spectacle, traipsing through the forest: a tall girl in a sari leading the way, a smaller girl in jeans behind her, another girl in a long Bon Jovi T-shirt and khaki shorts, then Gayan and Amal in Bart Simpson pyjamas. All were washed and refreshed, all had brushed their hair. Anyone who didn’t know their story might almost have thought they were on their way to some special event – a birthday celebration, or a day at the market.
The western track that Malini had chosen from three that diverged in different directions was perhaps too well-worn for safety. But she stayed alert, ready to herd her refugees into the forest at the first sign of strangers. It was mid morning before her nerve was tested. Nanda called to Malini, ‘Wait!’
Banni, whose hearing was the most acute of all of them, had stopped dead on the track with her head raised.
Nanda said, ‘Banni, what is it?’
‘She hears something,’ said Malini in a whisper.
‘Hears what?’
‘Four people,’ said Banni. ‘Ahead of us. Four.’
‘Four?’ said Nanda. ‘How can he she tell? I hear nothing.’
Malini whispered, ‘It’s her special thing. She’s usually right.’
The forest on each side of the track was dense. Malini could get everyone concealed in a few seconds if necessary. She said, ‘Keep going,’ but had no sooner spoken than a group of Buddhist monks in orange robes came around a bend in the track. Nanda, Amal and Gayan immediately clasped their hands beneath their chins. The monks walked slowly, weaving their shaven heads to the left and right, up and down, in the manner of birds. It took Malini a few moments to realise that they were blind.
The monk in the lead, an older man, came to a halt, sensing people ahead of him.
Nanda called to him, ‘Sohoyura, sadarayen piligannawa, Brother, you are welcome.’
And the monk replied, ‘Oba dhanagana lakema sathutak, pleased to meet you. Oba kohendha, Namgi? Where are you from, Sister?’
‘Dhura,’ said Nanda, ‘far away.’
The monk explained that they were pilgrims, on their way to the temple at Somawathie, further south. ‘We will turn off this road and find our way to the shrine,’ he said.
Banni, fascinated by the sense of direction of a blind man, asked him how he would know when to turn. All of the monks giggled, as if Banni had said something hilarious.
‘Everyone knows where Somawathie is!’ said the monk.
The monks continued on their way. As they passed, first Malini, then Nanda and Banni and Gayan murmured words of parting, good wishes. But as the monks passed Amal, without the least warning, he began to sing. He stood with a straight back, his chin tilted high, and from his throat came a sound like a songbird of the forest. He sang Mahayana sutras, sacred verses that honour the teachings of the Buddha. The beauty of his voice, issuing from his skinny frame clad in Bart Simpson pyjamas, was startling. One of the monks turned his head, as if to acknowledge the beauty of the singing. When the monks were out of sight Amal stopped singing as suddenly as he’d started.
Banni, in her amazement, said to her sister, ‘Did you hear that? He should be on television! He should go on Sri Lankan Idol!’
‘Amal was raised by monks until he was four,’ said Nanda. ‘They taught him to sing.’
‘Why did he not stay with the monks?’ said Malini.
‘The soldiers came,’ said Nanda. ‘They hanged the monks.’
Malini and Nanda each carried a candy-striped bag holding their food, utensils, and odds and ends. It was a struggle; the bags were heavy. This was the first time since the separation from her parents that Malini was free of worry about where the next meal was coming from. And yet, relieved though she was, Malini couldn’t stop thinking of her parents. It had become her habit over the past four days to check the signal and the battery status on the phone tucked into her sari every hour or so. The signal fluctuated from medium to weak to non-existent, and when she’d last checked the battery an hour earlier, the screen was blank. She would have to use the recharger, which meant that she would first have to find a town with electricity or at least some place with a diesel generator. A big, big risk.
Wrapped in her thoughts, Malini was only dimly aware that the path she had taken with Banni and Nanda and the boys led steadily uphill with a valley below. She knew she was heading west, and that was all that mattered for the time – west to the big highway, across the highway and deeper into North Central Province towards the town of Galenbindunuwewa, then north to her grandfather’s village of Ulla Alakana. It was only when Banni tugged at her arm and said, ‘Look!’ that she properly returned to the here and now.
Banni was pointing towards an almost sheer wall of rock on the far side of the valley. Down the rock face ran a waterfall that plunged into the river below. And the rock face ran for a long, long way upstream.
Nanda said, ‘No bridge here. And the rocks are too big.’
This river must be Mahaweli Ganga, Malini thought. She had known that it lay ahead and was hoping to find a bridge. They would have to walk upstream to find a safe place to cross.
They followed the valley until the land sloped down to the river, and by noon found themselves on the bank. A break in the rock face on the far side meant that this was the place at which they would have to cross; a better place might never appear. But the river here was wide and fast-flowing. The boys and Banni would never stand up against the force of the current.
Malini said, ‘Rest while I think.’
Nanda took care of the meal – oranges and Pepsi. Malini walked down to the lapping water to study a clutter of logs and branches that been had been trapped by an outcrop of rock. She picked up a piece of wood and threw it out into the stream. The current took the floating wood a little way downstream, but also across the stream towards the far shore.
What if a raft could be built, Malini thought, and the children held tight to it and the current took them to the far shore. Was it possible?
Malini called the boys and Nanda to her. ‘Now you have to work,’ she said, and she sent them up into the fringe of the forest to cut vines, as many as they could, and bring them back to her.
It was her idea to bind the logs and branches together with the vines; then the children could hold fast to the makeshift raft and let the current draw it to the opposite bank. The danger was that the raft would continue on down the river towards the sheer rock face, or that the children would lose their grip and be swept away.
Malini said to herself, I should not take this risk. But she was the only one worrying. The boys and Nanda, even Banni, all threw themselves into the project as if it were a fabulous adventure. The branches were hauled from the stream, laid out on the bank, lashed together with vines. Gayan, usually quiet and withdrawn, shrieked with glee as the raft took shape.
All the while, the sky grew darker. A storm was coming. It was on the tip of Malini’s tongue to say, ‘No, it’s too dangerous. We will walk until we find a safer place.’ That was what she should do. And yet she was reluctant to deprive the children of their fun. But if someone drowned, would they say
, ‘Don’t worry, it was fun’?
The raft must have a name. Malini asked for suggestions. Amal suggested ‘Warrior Boat That Kills Our Enemies’, but Malini said no, the name must be a happy one that pleased all gods. Banni said, ‘We will call it “Pepsi”,’ but that name, too, was turned down. Malini herself suggested a two-word name, made up by joining the Tamil word for ‘peace’ with the Sinhalese word for ‘happiness’, but this pleased no one. Finally Malini said they would give their raft an English name, for in history the English had enjoyed great success at sea. ‘The Queen Elizabeth,’ she suggested. Only Malini spoke English, however, and ‘The Queen Elizabeth’ was abandoned. With the storm coming closer, Malini accepted ‘Warrior Boat That Kills Our Enemies’, and the raft was pushed into the stream and held secure with two lengths of vine.
The two carry bags were made of a tough, waterproof fabric. Malini tucked her mobile phone and recharger into one of them, whispered a quick prayer, and fixed the two bags on the raft. Then she slipped into the river beside the raft – the water came up to her waist.
She called the boys to her, and helped them and then Banni onto the raft. It would be the task of Malini and Nanda to push the raft out into the current, hold it with both hands and attempt to steer it towards the far bank by kicking their feet. Malini knew she was a strong swimmer, but Nanda? Malini had not thought to ask her if she could swim. She did so, just as the raft was about to be pushed into the current.
‘No, not in my life,’ said Nanda.
‘Then make sure that you hold tight to the raft,’ said Malini. ‘You are not scared?’
‘Very scared,’ said Nanda.
Rain was drumming on the river surface. Malini pushed with her feet and the current took hold of the raft and swung it out towards the middle of the stream.
Amal cried out with joy.
Banni said, ‘Push harder!’
The raft moved slowly with its human cargo. Nanda kicked furiously with her feet. Malini called to her, ‘Just hold on! Don’t kick!’
Now Malini could feel the powerful tug of the current, and she knew instantly that she had made a mistake. The raft picked up speed and swung around, so that Malini and Nanda were now at the front.
Nanda was in danger of being pushed under by the bulk of the raft. ‘Climb onto the raft, Nanda!’ Malini cried.
Nanda hauled herself up and managed to struggle on board. The raft was now swinging wildly. The boys were still shrieking with delight, but Banni was holding on for her life.
The flow of the current brought the raft to the far shore, but at such a speed that it crashed against the bank and rebounded into the surge. When it swung into the bank again it caught against an outcrop of rock and Malini was able to find her footing and hold the raft steady against the pull of the current.
‘Jump off!’ she cried. ‘Be quick.’
Nanda helped Amal onto the bank, but Gayan attempted to jump just as the raft tilted in the flow and he crashed into the water. Malini, holding the raft against the current, could only scream as the current caught him and bore him away.
Banni leapt from the raft into the river – what was she thinking, Banni who could not swim? – and by flailing away with her arms reached Gayan and held on to him. Malini, trusting the raft to Nanda’s strength, swam to both children, seized them by the hair, and kicked her way to the bank.
Nanda and Amal strained to hold the raft against the rush of the river. But it became too much, and the raft tore itself from their grasp and swung back out into the current. Malini watched in horror, thinking of the phone. With Banni and Gayan safely on shore, she launched herself back into the river, overtook the raft with powerful strokes and held to it as it lurched and dipped. She was being carried down to the sheer rock face but she refused to let go of the raft. She could hear, dimly, the cries of Nanda, Banni and the boys, like the screeching of parrots. The raft smashed into the rock face, spun out into the middle of the river, then spun back and struck the wall again. This time, it wedged itself into a broad gap in the rock face. Malini, with barely a breath left in her, scrambled onto the raft, grabbed the carry bags and held them to her. The force of the current freed the raft from the cleft in the rock face and Malini, as sodden as a river rat, was again borne downstream. She held tight to the carry bags. ‘Shiva, in your mercy save me – that is my prayer!’
Banni stood wailing on the bank of the river, head thrown back, tears flowing down her cheeks and falling off her chin. Nanda and the boys tried to comfort her, without success. Whenever her wailing turned to words, all that came out of her mouth was, ‘Sister! Sister!’
The rain had eased off and the heat of the sun raised steamy water vapour from every tree and bush. The last of the storm clouds sat on the peaks of the hills that reared almost sheer from the river’s edge. Finches gathered to chatter in the ferns, as if attracted by Banni’s howls.
But Nanda had her eye on a new mass of cloud sweeping in from the east. She urged everyone to shelter under a massive overhanging boulder, and the boys obeyed her, but not Banni, who was crying, ‘Come back, Sister! Come back! All my bangles I give to you!’ This was a serious sacrifice; Banni’s bangles had been her pride and joy, but they’d been left at the house when the soldiers came.
The rain came down with such ferocity that Nanda was able to prevail on Banni to take shelter. But even under the roof of rock, she wept loudly and called on her sister to return. Nanda, who sat stroking Banni’s hand, secretly doubted that Malini could have survived.
Banni seemed to read her mind. ‘She will come back! I promise you.’
Nanda agreed. ‘Of course!’
The rain fell so heavily that it formed a temporary waterfall, curtaining off the entrance to the shelter. Nanda feared a mudslide, or even an avalanche. She had seen it happen in the past: the rain loosened boulders, and the plunging stones knocked others in front of them. Even the boulder she and the children huddled under could be smashed by tumbling rocks. But what was to be done? Until the rain stopped, it was impossible to see more than an arm’s length away. And she had to get the children dry as soon as she could. They were already shivering in their sodden clothes.
Dim though the light was beneath the boulder, Nanda could just make out a natural tunnel that appeared to lead upward in a gradual way. She climbed up to investigate.
The tunnel opened into a broader gallery, and Nanda had to judge whether it was safer for the children to remain where they were, or to risk moving them into the gallery. If a mudslide come down the mountain, it might entomb them, but if rocks came down with the mud, they might all be crushed under the boulder. She decided she would risk the gallery.
First, Nanda had to persuade Banni to retreat into the tunnel.
‘And Malini? What will my sister think when she comes back and finds us gone? No! Here I stay!’
Nanda went out into the pounding rain. Above the bank of the river she made a big arrowhead shape with rocks, pointing towards the boulder. Then she took off her Bon Jovi T-shirt and attached it to a stick driven into the ground, so that it would act as a signal.
Nanda was putting on a show for the children’s sake, trying to appear the very model of bravery and competence. But the truth was that she could barely hold herself together. Malini had come into her life like a blessing, and she adored her. She’d come to think of Malini as her protector. For the first time ever, Nanda had begun to believe that her journey through life might lead to some sort of haven. But now Malini was most likely dead. She was constructing a signal for a person who would never return. The full burden of the life she’d led before the comfort of Malini settled on her heart once more, and she ached in every muscle with grief.
With only her frayed singlet and her shorts to clothe her, she called Banni to look at what she’d done.
‘Do you see?’ she said to Banni. ‘She will know where we are.’
‘You will catch a bad, bad cold,’ said Banni. Then she added, ‘Nanda, I thank you.’
&n
bsp; Nanda led the way on her hands and knees. Banni brought up at the rear, urging on the boys in front of her. As Nanda lifted her head to peer into the gallery, a thousand tiny lights came to life. She gasped with astonishment. The boys behind her baulked, not knowing what was happening ahead. Banni bumped into Gayan, and shrieked in Sinhala. ‘Do I want your behind in my face?’ she said. ‘No, I do not!’
‘I am sorry,’ said Gayan. ‘Truly, Banni, miss.’
‘Shush!’ said Nanda.
The lights were – well, what were they?
‘Insects,’ Nanda whispered. ‘Like fireflies.’
Insects they were, luminous insects, but they looked like jewels. In their light, Nanda could just make out the dimensions of the gallery, and it was huge, enormous: ten houses could fit into the cavern. Pillars grew up from the floor and down from the roof, as if a temple had been constructed here by some strange race: built, then abandoned.
‘Oh, children!’ she called. ‘This is magical!’
All alarm forgotten, the boys crawled over each other to reach the gallery.
‘Aiee!’ cried Amal.
And Gayan, his head raised in wonder, clapped his hands together lightly, as if in praise. He said, ‘It is the home of Buddha. Oh, surely!’
Nanda wriggled her way from the tunnel into the gallery. She stood and gazed around. The other children joined her, Amal squeaking with the wonder of it all, Gayan gazing about gravely. The insects could not be seen, only their light, no matter how close they got to them.
Nanda took a cautious step, and another. Then she stopped. On the floor of the gallery lay the remains of a campfire: charred sticks, grey ash. And close by, a backpack and an open metal box full of cartridges. Nanda had seen cartridges like this before. The soldiers without uniforms who had come to the orphanage carried guns that fired rapidly and threw out shells of this sort. Nanda backed away, as if the cartridges were venomous snakes. ‘Don’t touch them!’ she told the boys. ‘Don’t go near them!’ An awful trembling came over her, and a sickness in the pit of her stomach.
Malini Page 6
