A houseboy ushered them to some chairs on the verandah and went to fetch his mistress. The doors to the drawing room were open and they saw him knock on Mrs. Nesiah’s door and tell her she had visitors. To their surprise, Mrs. Nesiah did not come out immediately. Ten minutes passed and she still did not appear. Louisa leant over and whispered, “Cousin, was it eleven o’clock she asked us to come?”
“Yes, yes,” Philomena replied.
Another five minutes passed and Louisa was about to ask her cousin if she were sure she had got the day right when Mrs. Nesiah’s door opened. She came across the drawing room to the verandah. Rather than acknowledge their presence at once, she directed the houseboy to bring out two glasses of lime juice. Then, with a slight nod and a smile, she sat in the chair across from them. She looked at them expectantly, almost as if she did not know why they had come. Philomena sat forward in her chair. “Louisa, this is Rani Nesiah. Rani, this is my cousin, Louisa.”
Louisa and Mrs. Nesiah nodded at each other.
Mrs. Nesiah, Louisa noted, was one of those very dark-skinned women who insisted on wearing talcum powder, which gave her a strange greyish colour, like a corpse.
Mrs. Nesiah waited until the houseboy had served their drinks, then said abruptly, “About this proposal, anyway.” They waited for her to continue, but she was silent again. “You know we have had another one, too. A girl from a very good family and we have to consider your daughter in the light of this other proposal.”
Louisa watched her carefully, wondering where this was leading.
“Ronald has to complete his studies. He must go to England to get his F.R.C.S. With just Ceylonese qualifications, he will be good for nothing. The thing is, we cannot afford to send him. So we are looking for a girl whose family will educate him in England. That must be part of the dowry.”
They stared at her in shock.
Louisa sat back, feeling her heart sink. Educating a husband in England was an expensive venture, more than Kumudini’s share of the estate would cover.
Philomena was the first to recover. “How … how much would it cost?”
Mrs. Nesiah stated the figure.
Louisa sighed. It was far beyond anything they could afford. Mrs. Nesiah turned to her. “Ronald’s education is very important to us. I’m sorry, but you must understand that.” She waited for some acknowledgement of this fact and, after a moment, Louisa nodded.
Mrs. Nesiah stood to indicate that the meeting was over. “Thank you for taking the time to come,” she said. Then, without waiting for them to even go down the verandah steps, she turned and went into the house.
By the time Louisa reached the road, she was furious. She opened her umbrella with a snap and began to walk briskly towards Albert Crescent. Philomena had to hurry to keep up with her, not even having a chance to open her umbrella. “The cheek,” Louisa cried. She stopped and turned to her cousin. “How dare she treat us like that, as if we were beggars?”
She stalked away again. Philomena opened her umbrella and went after her.
“Who do they think they are?” Louisa said. “Just because their son is a doctor they can treat people like dirt!”
“Unfortunately, that is the way it is, cousin,” Philomena said placatingly. “If you have a doctor for a son, you can ask for the world and get it.”
“I’m glad Kumudini is not marrying into that family. Very glad indeed.” Yet, even as she said it, Louisa felt a keen disappointment. She slowed her pace and they walked along in silence.
“Well,” Louisa said, trying to cheer herself up, “other offers will come along. And, besides, there is Annalukshmi’s proposal to look forward to.”
“I’m sure that will go very well, cousin,” Philomena said soothingly. “I have given the photograph and so far nothing. But no news is good news.”
Louisa could not help being troubled. This meeting had made her realize just how small the girls’ dowries were once the rubber estate in Malaya was divided amongst them.
Philomena hailed a rickshaw at the top of Horton Place and they parted company. Louisa walked back to Lotus Cottage, every now and again shaking her head. She would have to face Kumudini and tell her what had happened.
When Louisa got home, Kumudini had already come back from the School for Ladies, anxious to find out the result of the meeting. She was tidying the glass-fronted bookshelf in the drawing room, taking the books out and wiping them with a feather duster. When she saw her mother, she continued to busy herself, not wanting to appear eager.
Louisa had seen her daughter’s darting look and a sense of dread took hold of her. She came in and put her umbrella away in the stand by the front door. Then she sat down on the drawing-room sofa. “Come here, Kumudini,” she said and indicated to the spot next to her.
A shiver of excitement went through Kumudini. She came and sat down on the sofa, her duster still in her hand.
Louisa felt a throb of sorrow for her daughter. “My dear,” she said.
Kumudini held her breath, waiting for her mother to speak.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news. They have refused.”
“Refused?” Kumudini said incredulously.
“We … we just don’t have the sort of dowry they want. It seems that Ronald, their son … there is the F.R.C.S. he must do in England.”
Kumudini got up and went to the bookshelf. She took out a book and began to dust it. She was curiously calm, yet she was aware that calmness was not the appropriate reaction. She tried to think why she was so collected, then realized that she knew this refusal could not be genuine. There had been a mistake. Ronald was enamoured of her. He had told Sylvia’s brother that over and over again. He would not be moved by such considerations as the size of her dowry. She was confident that Ronald, once he had heard about the interview, would be furious and would rectify the situation. Her mother had not reckoned on the strength of Ronald’s feelings.
Kumudini was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of her sisters coming in through the gate. Not wanting Louisa to tell them the news, thus forcing her to have to explain her own belief, she went out to greet them with a composed expression on her face. They were walking up the path and the moment they saw her, they cried out, “What happened?”
She shrugged and waited for them to reach the verandah steps. “There are some things to be ironed out,” she said.
Louisa had come out onto the verandah. She stared at Kumudini incredulously.
Annalukshmi and Manohari glanced from Louisa to Kumudini, not sure what had happened. Kumudini, seeing that she was under scrutiny, turned and went inside. The moment she was out of earshot, Louisa grimaced, “They have refused.”
Annalukshmi and Manohari drew in their breath in dismay.
“Why?” Annalukshmi finally asked.
“It had to do with the dowry. It just wasn’t enough.”
Annalukshmi walked past her and went inside to look for her sister. She found her in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, still holding the duster. “Kumu?” she said uncertainly.
After a moment, Kumudini looked up at her. “Amma has got it all wrong. Ronald will not care about the size of my dowry. When he hears what happened, he will correct things.” Yet, now that she had actually spoken her hopes, a sinking feeling began to take hold of her. “After all,” she said, her voice catching, “after all, why is this F.R.C.S. so important? He can be a doctor without it and earn a very good living.”
Her sister’s expression did not support any of her hopes.
“Akka,” she said and now her voice was plaintive, “he loves me. I know he does. He told Sylvia and Dicky. I could see from the way he looked at me.”
Annalukshmi put her bag down. She came and sat by her sister. “Kumu,” she said, and her tone made Kumudini shudder.
Annalukshmi put her arms around her sister and drew her tightly to her. Louisa and Manohari had come to the bedroom door, but Annalukshmi gestured for them to leave. She gently stroked her sister’s hair
and Kumudini began to weep.
That evening, as Annalukshmi watched Kumudini sitting in a chair on the verandah, her hands in her lap, uncharacteristically idle, she felt some of her sister’s melancholia transfer itself to her. She found herself thinking of Mr. Jayaweera and the distinct coolness that had sprung up between them since their last conversation at Miss Lawton’s house a week ago. Annalukshmi had gone over and over that conversation in her mind, wondering what she had said about his brother that had so deeply offended him. After all, she had only tried to speak well of him, tried to place his brother’s deeds in a favourable light. What was all the more alienating was that Nancy’s friendship with him seemed to have deepened. She had come upon them a few times in conversation, but somehow she had not felt comfortable joining in.
The next day, Annalukshmi had a free period in the morning. When she arrived at the staff room, she saw that Mr. Jayaweera was alone in Miss Lawton’s office. She recalled her thoughts of the night before and, on impulse, went and stood in the doorway. He rose from his chair.
They were both silent and then she said, “Mr. Jayaweera, I feel that I have offended you in some way and I would like to apologize for whatever it is.”
A darkness descended over Mr. Jayaweera’s face.
“When I spoke about your brother,” Annalukshmi proceeded anxiously, “it was only in the most respectful way. But of course I can see how his actions have inconvenienced your family, I understand –”
“No, Miss Annalukshmi, you do not. You do not understand at all.” He paused for a moment, playing nervously with the pencil on his desk. “That story Miss Lawton told you about my brother at the estate, it is wrong. I am the one who influenced workers to strike.”
“I thought –”
“Oh no, it is my brother who is in the Labour Union. But I was the one who encouraged workers to fight for their rights. They work so hard, their lives are so difficult, living one family in one room, no toilet. Like slaves.”
“But it was your brother who went to jail.”
Mr. Jayaweera was silent again. “Remember I said that people with big ideas never think what the cost is to others? I was talking about myself. I never thought about my mother and my sisters. I am the one who is breadwinner, that is my role in the family. My brother convinced me to allow him to go to jail, so I could continue to support my family.”
He saw the appalled look on her face. “Now you must think I am a very bad man. And a very foolish one.”
Annalukshmi made an attempt to protest, but he held up his hand. “It is something I am very ashamed of.”
They were both silent. In the quadrangle, a physical training class was in progress and they could hear the whistle of the teacher, the thud of the ball. “I know that ladies who are best friends tell each other everything,” Mr. Jayaweera said. “But please, do not tell Miss Nancy.”
Annalukshmi nodded to say that she would keep his secret.
10
The lute is bent, the arrow straight: judge men
Not by their looks but acts.
– The Tirukkural, verse 279
On the morning following the unpleasantness between Balendran and Sonia, he apologized for his rudeness of the night before, explaining that tiredness had been the cause. Things went on as usual. Then, two days later, Balendran came home to find that Richard had paid a visit and left his card behind. As he put Richard’s card into his wallet, Balendran felt a heady relief, and the gloom that had stayed with him since that fraught moment between them in his father’s house partially lifted.
Balendran knew Richard well enough to know that his visit was not a sign of forgiveness, but rather the opening of a door. As Balendran went to wash before lunch, he felt a little ashamed that he had not made the first effort, since the onus of explanation was so clearly on him.
He had, in all honesty, thought of it yesterday when his car had passed the Galle Face Hotel. Yet the understanding that he might have to discuss how their relationship ended made him defer his visit for another day. Now Richard had come to see him, and Balendran knew it was his duty to return the visit, to offer Richard an explanation. As he bent over the sink and splashed his face and neck with water, he decided that he would try, as much as possible, to avoid discussing their relationship and particularly its ending.
Balendran cancelled his afternoon appointments and went to see Richard. When he arrived at the hotel, he was informed that Mr. Howland had left to observe the sittings of the commission. Rather than return in the evening, he decided to go to the Town Hall and see if he could find Richard there.
The Town Hall was on the north side of Victoria Park. It was an imposing, domed white building with a tall colonnade in front.
As his car drew near, Balendran saw that the street in front of the Town Hall was lined with cars. He told Joseph to drop him at the entrance and then go and find a place to park.
As he entered the public gallery, Balendran saw that the Ceylon National Congress was before the commission today. Their deputation consisted of the president, E. W. Perera, the secretaries, S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike and R. S. S. Gunawardena, and a few others. There were a lot of Congress members present in the gallery. Balendran spotted Richard sitting in the front, his head bent over his notepad, but it was too crowded for him to find a place by him. He heard someone call his name quietly and turned to see his friend, F. C. Wijewardena, indicating a spot next to him. Balendran made his way down the row. As he did so, a number of Congress members around him, all old boys of his alma mater, the Colombo Academy, called to him softly and a few shook his hand.
“Well, well, what a surprise,” F. C. said ironically when Balendran was seated. “I thought you avoided the fracas of hands-on politics. Preferred to see things from your ivory tower.”
Balendran smiled. “I do make exceptions.”
F. C. bent across him to the Congress member on his other side, also an old classmate of theirs. “This bugger is useless,” he said. “How many times I have asked him to join our congress.”
“Yes, yes, Bala,” the man said. “Bad form. This is in the service of your country, no?”
Balendran smiled again but did not reply. He tried to concentrate instead on the session. The Congress position was as he had expected from everything F. C. had told him. They were for restricting the franchise because if the vote was made universal it would allow in a class of men who would not use responsibility in exercising their vote. They were also against communal representation and they wanted self-government.
As Balendran listened to the Congress deputation, his eyes kept wandering to Richard, who was intently writing notes.
Finally the session was over. People began to get up and make their way out of the public gallery. Balendran stood up.
“Why don’t you have some tea with us?” F. C. asked.
Balendran shook his head. “I’m … actually here to meet a friend.” And he looked over at Richard, who was walking in their direction.
“Well,” F. C. said. “Here’s a vision from the past.” Then he glanced at Balendran.
Richard now saw them and his steps faltered. He straightened up and came towards him. “How nice to see you,” he said formally to Balendran, then nodded politely at F. C.
“Mr. Howland,” F. C. said and held out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
Richard regarded him for a moment, puzzled, then he recognized him. A cold look passed over his face. He bowed slightly in reply.
F. C. withdrew his hand. “Well, Bala,” he said, “we’ll be seeing you and Sonia tonight for dinner.” He patted Balendran on the shoulder and left.
The public gallery was clear by now. Balendran and Richard were silent, looking at each other.
“Sonia said you called on me.”
Richard nodded.
“So I thought I’d come right away.”
They began to walk out of the gallery together. When they got outside, the colonnaded verandah was deserted. Richard looked at him i
nquiringly. Balendran, seeing that his friend was waiting for him to say something, said, “We … we should go somewhere quiet, where we can talk.” His voice wavered slightly.
“How about the hotel?”
The hotel garden was crowded, most of the tables taken by people having tea. Balendran and Richard stood looking around, not knowing where to seat themselves. The head waiter came up and pointed out a table, but it was sandwiched between two groups of noisy Europeans. Balendran looked at his friend for guidance.
“It will not do,” Richard said to the waiter. “Have some tea sent up to my room.”
“Will we not be disturbing Mr. Alliston?”
“Oh, Alli,” he said. “Alli has left. Gone to India.”
“India?”
Richard smiled. “Evidently, Ceylon does not provide enough stimulation for our Alli.”
An uneasy silence fell between Richard and Balendran as they walked down the red-carpeted corridor to Richard’s room. Once Richard had opened the door and let them in, Balendran stood awkwardly, looking around him. It was a small room, not one of the hotel’s lavish suites, as Balendran had imagined.
“Make yourself at home,” Richard said and pointed to a wing-back chair. Then he went to put his coat away. Balendran sat down.
After a moment, Richard came and stood in front of him. “Well, here we are,” he said and lifted his hands. He let them fall by his side, then went to sit down in the chair opposite.
They were silent for a while, Balendran with his head turned, gazing out of the window, Richard looking at his hands.
“I think there has been a misunderstanding,” Balendran said suddenly. “There is something I need to explain. About Sonia.”
“I already know about you and Sonia,” Richard said. “I asked Sonia how you’d met when I had tea with her this morning.”
Balendran looked at him in astonishment.
Richard got up and went to stand by the window. “There are other things. Things we need to talk about.”
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