So when Vannan’s mother decided that Mahinda and I should get married, she executed her plan with military zeal. And the first part of her strategy was that I looked the part of a potential bride. Every morning Vannan’s mother would arrive with one or more of the village women to dress me.
‘What? Wear cream pants? Pants? You are a woman, not a man!’ she insisted, speaking through one of the village girls who had a modicum of English. ‘And light colours are only for funerals!’ she’d insist before wrapping me in the most sumptuously colourful yards of silk and before thrusting me in Mahinda’s face.
‘I am so sorry,’ Mahinda would mouth. But behind him, Lucky did a fair imitation of a stunned mullet.
‘You er . . . you . . . er . . . look beautiful,’ he stammered.
‘You’ve cavorted and partied with Bollywood stars and this is a simple village woman’s saree. I cannot believe you are amazed by this,’ I told him.
‘Well, I am. I think you are beautiful, but I’ll be damned if I have to stand here and defend myself for saying so!’ Lucky had snapped before stomping away. Only he’d come back not long later with his unexpected proposal.
‘It’s the saree, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘No, Marion, I love you and I want to marry you.’
‘Oh, Lucky . . .’
‘I’m in love with you and the thought of you marrying someone else is tearing me into shreds.’
‘You know I’m not going to marry Mahinda, don’t you? He and I have been friends for years!’
‘I know you won’t marry Mahinda. But you may marry Simon eventually. I love you, Marion. Please marry me.’
‘Simon and I broke up just before I left Australia. But I don’t even know you, Lucky.’
‘What do you mean, Marion? You and I shared a house for close to two months. You saw me through losing my mother. I doubt you could know me any better.’
‘But you don’t know me,’ I pointed out gently.
‘You know, I used to think that I didn’t know you – that you were an incredibly cold fish – but you’ve changed. No, Marion, you haven’t changed – I suspect you’ve always been that way. But now I’ve seen the side of you that you hide so well.’
‘I don’t hide anything!’
‘Oh really? I never saw you really smile until I saw you with the kids here at that orphanage, and I don’t mean just pulling your lips apart to show your teeth. I mean really smile. And when you do, the entire room lights up. And when you’re talking with the villagers here, that cloak of invisibility you’ve wrapped around yourself drops away. I see you, Marion. I see the kind, sweet and generous woman you are. And I want you. I want you as my wife.’
‘I can’t be your wife, Lucky. You don’t understand. I am broken. I must be. I have to be.’
‘Why, Marion? Why must you be broken?’
‘If my mother couldn’t love me, surely I must be broken.’
The coastal hamlets of Sri Lanka had been a safe haven for bandits, pirates and all manner of miscreants for thousands of years. Which was why the Sri Lankan navy had long had a presence in the Jaffna peninsula, to ensure that pirates did not harass the local fishermen. Unfortunately the eastern coast of Sri Lanka did not prove to be a safe haven for me. In fact Sri Lanka as a whole was not an ideal retreat for people who like to avoid issues and hide from themselves. Perhaps it was the dense population, perhaps it was the mosquitoes that make silence impossible because the constant slap-slapping required gives a person’s location away, or perhaps it was the universal trait of nosiness that marks all Sri Lankans whether they are Sinhala, Tamil, Malay or Burgher.
‘So tell me about your parents?’
‘Surely you must be an orphan or your family would have arranged a marriage for you by now!’
‘Are you sure you are Sinhala? You look Tamil to me.’
‘You must be Tamil.’
‘Sometimes you look Tamil. Sometimes you look Sinhala.’
‘Why aren’t you married?’
These questions were repeated over and over again as I travelled down the east coast from Trincomalee to Batticaloa then down to Matara. Dr Gurusinghe had decided that we would take the coastal road back to Colombo, explaining that he wanted to visit some of the more remote hospitals, making the return journey twice as long. And everyone, from the driver of the van to the busboys at the guesthouses, wanted to know all about me.
Whenever I managed to get away from nosy local inquisitors, I ran into Lucky. A man who could, in fact, give the Spanish Inquisition a run for its money. I avoided him by pleading tiredness, headache or work, but my luck ran out when I got to the southern city of Galle, just a day’s drive from Colombo.
‘You’ve avoided me long enough,’ Lucky said as he spied me at the reception of the hotel. Galle is a prosperous southern city with bona fide five-star hotels. I’d had my first hot shower in days and was feeling blissfully clean. ‘Can you please explain to me how you are broken?’
The foyer was packed and I wasn’t going to open up to him there – and certainly not in front of Dr Gurusinghe.
Lucky turned to him. ‘Dr Gurusinghe, Mahinda and Nimal have decided to have dinner in their rooms. I asked if they didn’t mind if I took my fiancé out for a romantic meal,’ he explained tightly.
Dr Gurusinghe looked between Lucky and I.
‘But we are not engaged!’ I snapped. ‘We aren’t getting married. I told you. I cannot. I am broken.’
‘Please explain,’ Lucky pleaded. ‘If you are rejecting my proposal, you must at least explain yourself.’
He took my hand and led me outside, and we made our way to the ramparts of Galle Fort by the dwindling light of dusk. A sea fortress built by the Portuguese some six hundred years ago, its fortified battlements were the perfect place for quiet discussion.
‘My parents never loved me,’ I told him. ‘Not my mother. Not my father. I have vague memories of my father holding me as a child but my mother never did. They never smiled at me. They never comforted me. They just looked through me.’
‘Are both your parents back in Colombo with your brother?’
‘My parents live quasi-separated. By and large Dad lives in a flat and appears for command performances for when my mother needs a social crutch. My mother destroyed him too.’
‘So she loves Ryan but not you?’ Lucky asked curiously.
‘She dotes on Ryan. She adores Ryan.’
‘Have you thought that it could just be a boy versus girl thing? I saw it a lot back in India. Sisters of my friends were ignored. And you know my own family history.’
‘I thought that might be it too, for a long time. But it’s more than that,’ I explained, stopping to lean against one of the battlements. Below the waves crashed relentlessly against the fort. ‘My mother actually hates me.’
‘So you think that just because your mother couldn’t love you, you aren’t worthy of love?’ Lucky asked.
‘It’s not just that,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how to love anyone else. And I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Is that what you are afraid of? That you won’t love me properly and hurt me? Marion, I love you. And I know you love me too!’
‘I don’t love you,’ I said.
‘Oh, is that why you always look after me, then?’
‘It’s because I’m a doctor. It has nothing to do with love.’
‘I grew up in a home where kindness and simple caring turned into the most devoted love possible between two people. My mother started by simply caring for my father and their love grew from there. It wasn’t romantic love but it was devotion and loyalty. Give us a chance, Marion. Please. I have enough love in me for both of us.’
Perhaps it was the moon glistening in the dark over the Indian Ocean down below. Or perhaps it was the pungent aroma of the vadai seller’s cart going past that made me quickly look in his direction. It could have even been the mosquito that bit me on the back of the neck just that second. But I did nod and that was all Lucky n
eeded.
‘So they’ve almost finished renovating the main salon. We’ve started working on the main weaving halls already. They should be ready in time for the grand opening in three weeks,’ Lucky said excitedly as he dragged me around the compound in Panadura by the hand.
‘And this will be where we’ll live!’ he crowed, pulling me into the grand residence that was being rebuilt.
‘Lucky, careful you don’t get too attached to this place. Sally and David could take it from you,’ I counselled him.
‘I’ll have everything I need in life if I have you,’ he smiled in return as he twirled me around the spacious formal living area.
‘And I thought you could have your clinic here and your studio there,’ he suggested – pulling me into an anteroom just off the side of the house and showing me a larger space overlooking the river. ‘Mahinda and I will have to conduct more and more business together, so I imagine we’ll spend half our time here and half our time in Australia.’
‘Slow down! My head is spinning!’
‘I intend on keeping it spinning!’ he cried. ‘Say yes. Say you’ll marry me on the day of the grand opening!’
‘But that’s just three weeks away! We haven’t worked anything out. I don’t know how I will work if we’re going backwards and forwards between Australia and Sri Lanka, and we haven’t even told our families yet!’
‘And that is the easy part to fix,’ Lucky cried now, pulling me out of the house into the main compound.
The compound itself was a hive of activity. Local basunnaha in sarongs were darting about carrying around tools and supplies. A whole batch of saree weavers had come over from India and they were setting up looms in the long galleries which would soon be filled again with local saree weavers, creating soft supple silk to be worn against the skin.
As Lucky pulled me across the compound, I dug my heels in for a moment and stopped to look around; taking in the old house that was being done up for a party like a grand old dame.
‘This is beautiful,’ I said softly. ‘And I know this is a bizarre thing to say, but I feel like I know this place.’
‘Of course you know this place,’ Lucky gloated. ‘I am Hindu. I believe in reincarnation. I know we have been together before. I am an Indian Saliya and you are a doctor from Melbourne! What are the odds? I bet we’ve been here together before!’
He dragged me on down the path. ‘My dad is in one of the teacher’s bungalows. The same one he lived in when he was a teacher. He insists he’ll live there and not up in the big house. He’s even started painting again!’
‘What’s over there?’ I asked, pointing to an open amphitheatre.
‘Oh, you’ll love this,’ Lucky cried, pulling me in that direction now. ‘Appa told me that it should be here and when I had the basunnaha dig, they found this!’ he cried happily, showing me an excavated statue of the goddess Saraswati. Behind the statue was a freshly rebuilt dais for her to be placed on.
I knelt down to look at the statue. It was almost perfect, barring the odd knick and scratch.
‘She was not damaged by the fires after the riot at all,’ Lucky observed in a reverent voice.
‘That is because she is perfect and beyond human harm,’ a familiar voice said calmly.
‘Mr Nair!’ I cried, standing up.
‘It’s Raju – or have you forgotten, my dear,’ he said with a smile, opening his free arm to give her a hug while leaning heavily on his cane with the other.
‘The statue itself is about six hundred years old. My great-great-grandfather brought it home from Tamil Nadu when he went there to get married. Apparently my great-great-grandmother had to leave her trousseau behind to make space for the statue and was not too happy about it!’
‘Good that you bring up the discussion of a trousseau,’ Lucky said smugly. ‘Because Marion will need one soon!’
‘Why, my dear!’ Raju cried. ‘I had no idea! Where is that boyfriend . . . err . . . fiancé of yours? Simon?’
‘Appa! She’s not marrying him!’ Lucky cried. ‘You said that you didn’t like the thought of Marion marrying a man who could not hold his drink! You said that! That night I came back from the open-air cinema! You said Marion should be made to see sense!’
‘So who is she marrying?’ his father asked with a cheeky glint in his good eye.
‘Your wonderful son!’ I replied, surprising myself.
‘I thought as much,’ Raju laughed, hugging us both. ‘Congratulations the both of you! Congratulations! Oh, Lucky, your mother would be so happy! It was her dying wish that you would marry this wonderful girl! We must meet with your parents, Marion,’ he said excitedly. ‘Soon. Custom is that the groom visits the bride’s family.’
‘My mother is here in Sri Lanka, as is my brother,’ I told him. ‘But there really is no need for any ceremony. I am more than happy for any meetings to be low-key affairs. And the same goes for any wedding. Quiet and simple.’
‘What nonsense! My aunt Gauri will arrive tomorrow and she’ll want to meet with your mother,’ Lucky insisted.
‘Yes, Gauri will want to meet your family!’ Raju agreed. ‘We cannot be backward about these things. Marriages are important and they need to be contracted properly. Lucky, we’ll need to hire some caterers. We need to take thirty-two varieties of sweets with us.’
‘And fresh buffalo curds and treacle. Is that a custom in Sri Lanka as well?’
‘Yes, it is! And three vats of turmeric. We do not want to offend the Gamages!’
Father and son launched immediately into organising the initial meeting while I started feeling ill.
‘Which day can we meet with your mother, my dear?’
‘Day after tomorrow would be best,’ I replied. ‘My uncle is having his skin graft operation tomorrow and he should be out of the woods by then, so please come and visit my mother and I at our hotel then.’
In the end it was three full days before Lucky and his father could come and visit with my mother and I. And it wasn’t at the hotel either, but in intensive care unit at Nawaloka. My uncle’s skin graft operation had gone horribly wrong.
‘I don’t understand how it happened,’ I explained to Lucky on the phone. ‘I was in there with Dr Gurusinghe. The operation itself was a success, but things went really badly in recovery. I just don’t understand how the necrotising fasciitis got into the sterile environment. I watched them clean everything down with alcohol before they brought him in.’
‘The what?’
‘Necrotising fasciitis – flesh-eating bacteria. Because his skin was already compromised, it spread like wildfire. I can’t bear it, Lucky. He is in so much pain. Our only hope is that he dies quickly.’
‘My father and I will come. You and your mother need us,’ Lucky said quickly and hung up before I could respond. No, my mother did not need company. She only needed a punching bag and I was providing that already.
‘It is all your fault this happened!’ my mother had screamed at me in the ward that Ryan was in. My mother had been instructed not to visit my uncle in the sealed ward. ‘Your fault!’
‘How, Mother? How can I be accountable for a bacterial infection?’
I could totally understand my mother’s distress, though. Morphine and painkillers could only numb the pain of being eaten alive so much. My uncle’s screams of pain had faded over the hours, not because of the pain relief he’d been given but because he was too exhausted to go on.
‘What did he do to deserve such a thing?’ I muttered softly, looking through the glass into the sealed room. My uncle was in complete isolation, attended by doctors and nurses in biohazard suits.
Her mother looked at me for a long moment and appeared as if she were about to say something, but stopped. ‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ she muttered, and walked off.
So I was sitting with Ryan when Lucky and his father came.
‘Ryan,’ I said, standing up. ‘This is my fiancé, Lucky, and his father, Raju Nair.’
‘I didn’t k
now you were engaged,’ my brother said, turning to look at me. ‘Nair? Is that Tamil?’
Lucky kissed me on the lips. ‘Sorry, darling, Appa’s paintings from India came. I had to see to their unloading before we came.’ He turned and held out his hand to my brother. ‘And yes, I am Tamil.’
‘I don’t have a problem with it, but you’ll forgive me if I hurry to the other side of the ward when my mother finds out,’ Ryan joked.
‘I am sure my son will do his best to charm your mother,’ Raju said, shaking Ryan’s hand too. ‘Now, tell me, how are you going with your rehabilitation? As you can see, I have been severely burnt, too.’
For the next quarter of an hour, Raju listened to Ryan and his fears about his recovery, then gave him some advice. ‘Focus on what you want to achieve. Have one ambition. I had a single ambition and that was to weave a particular saree in the memory of my first wife.’
‘Who are you and why are you speaking to my son?’ a shrill voice asked. ‘Marion, who are these people you’ve brought to speak to your brother!’
We’d been so caught up in conversation we hadn’t seen my mother come into the ward.
‘Amma, this is my fiancé—’ The rest of my introduction was cut off when Raju Nair turned to stare at my mother.
‘You!’ he cried, blinking hard, as if to get the dust out of his eyes. ‘I have finally found one of you!’
‘And who are you?’ my mother asked.
‘Raju Nair, Nila’s husband!’ he roared.
As Raju stood up, my mother turned on her heel and ran.
‘What’s going on? Who is Nila?’ I asked Lucky as we pursued Raju and my mother down the hallway. Raju must have been in pain, but he ran so fast that we could barely keep up.
‘She was Appa’s first wife,’ Lucky explained, looking confused.
‘Nila is the name of my mother’s sister who died in a bus crash!’
Mother stopped just outside the sealed door to her brother’s room as Raju advanced on her menacingly. ‘How did you kill her?’ he shouted.
And as she cowered from him, Raju looked up to see the name of the man kept under strict quarantine. Manoj Mendis.
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