Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

  She turned towards the drawing room and screeched out for Dolly. It took a few tries before Dolly finally heard her. When she appeared at the doorway, Philomena sent her to get a drink, then turned to Louisa.

  Louisa now told Philomena about Annalukshmi’s supposed threats not to cooperate with any attempts to arrange a marriage.

  When she was finished, Philomena cried out “Hah!” in amazement, then shook her head to say she was not a bit surprised.

  After that, it did not take Louisa much work to convince her cousin to try to expedite matters with the Macintoshes.

  Philomena Barnett acted quickly and, on Tuesday, she arrived at Lotus Cottage with the news. The Macintoshes had agreed to a meeting. It was to take place on Thursday evening at Lotus Cottage.

  Annalukshmi felt that there were more important considerations at the moment than for her to be bothered with nonsense that would lead nowhere. Yet she had, after all, given her initial permission for things to proceed with this Macintosh boy. The meeting with him would have to be gone through.

  The smell of freshly mown grass was something that Annalukshmi always associated with special occasions, usually birthdays. When she came home early on Thursday afternoon, Ramu was cutting the lawn with a long knife, the piles of grass like tiny hills all over the garden. As she stood on the verandah watching him, she felt as if it was indeed someone’s birthday, but, instead of joy, she felt the slight biliousness that had been with her the whole day return, strengthened. She went to find her mother and Kumudini, shaking her head at her foolishness for ever agreeing to go along with this. As she came out of the back door and made her way along the verandah to the kitchen, she smelt the odour of pastry frying in coconut oil, yet another thing she associated with birthdays. Usually the smell made her hungry, but now it increased her feeling of queasiness. When she came into the kitchen, Louisa and Kumudini were making patties. “Akka,” Kumudini said on seeing her, “I want you to look at something.”

  She washed her hands and led Annalukshmi to their bedroom. Manohari was at the desk making a garland of jasmine flowers. On the bed was a sari of Kumudini’s. A pink Paris chiffon with a pattern of little birds on it. Annalukshmi disliked it immediately. The sari was too girlish for her.

  “What do you think?” Kumudini asked.

  “You’ll look like a delicate, feminine flower of Tamil womanhood in it,” Manohari added caustically.

  “No thank you,” Annalukshmi said to Kumudini. “I think I’ll wear my plain white cotton sari.”

  Kumudini looked at her aghast. “You can’t be serious, akka,” she said. “That’s a daily-wear sari.”

  “I’m not about to get all dressed up for nothing.”

  “Very well, akka,” Kumudini said. “In that case, you can heat up the coals and iron the sari yourself. I’m not going to do it.”

  Annalukshmi envisioned the laborious process of ironing the six yards of material that constituted a sari. “Well, I suppose it will do,” she said rather ungraciously.

  Kumudini saw she had the advantage and decided to press further. She held up the garland of jasmine flowers. “How about this?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not. I hate the heaviness of it in my hair.”

  “Chutta has gone through a lot of trouble to make it.”

  Annalukshmi shook her head.

  “Look, akka. Either you do it my way or yours.” Kumudini began to pick up her sari.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Annalukshmi said. “I’ll wear the wretched garland.”

  Kumudini not only got Annalukshmi to wear the sari and the hair garland but, with some resistance, was able to apply a little red salve to her sister’s lips, some kohl around her eyes, and powder to lighten her darkness.

  When Kumudini was done, she stepped aside so that her sister could see the result of her handiwork in the mirror.

  Annalukshmi looked at herself and grimaced.

  “You look very nice,” Kumudini said.

  Annalukshmi looked at Manohari, who nodded her approval. She stared at herself in the mirror, still unsure.

  At that moment, they heard the gate opening.

  “My goodness,” Kumudini cried and glanced at the clock on the wall. “They couldn’t have arrived already.”

  Footsteps could be heard coming along the verandah. They got up and went to see who it was.

  As they came out of the bedroom, Louisa was hurrying across the drawing room ahead of them.

  Philomena Barnett appeared at the front door. One look at her distraught face and they knew there had been a catastrophe.

  “Oh cousin,” Philomena gasped. “Oh cousin, cousin, a terrible thing has happened. The boy has bolted.”

  “What!”

  “He’s run away, cousin,” Philomena said. “The dirty, dirty fellow has run away.”

  Louisa cried out in horror.

  “Akka has been abandoned,” Manohari exclaimed. “Deserted like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations.”

  This was too much for Louisa. She slapped Manohari, sat down in a chair, and burst into tears.

  Louisa and the girls were able gradually to extract the story from the nearly hysterical Philomena. The Macintosh boy, it turned out, had run away to live with a woman who had a house in Pettah. An older woman. A rich woman. A divorced woman. A low-class parvenu, Philomena added. His parents had tried to dissuade him from this woman. They had come up with the proposal of Annalukshmi. Once he had seen Annalukshmi’s photograph, he had actually been willing to meet her. Then this morning he had left, taking hardly anything with him. A real filthy, useless cad, Philomena declared. He was now living in sin with this woman.

  Once Annalukshmi had heard the whole story, she stood up and began to walk towards the bedroom. Kumudini rose and followed her.

  “Akka,” she said and touched her arm.

  Annalukshmi shrugged off her sister’s hand. “Well, that’s an end to that, isn’t it,” she said and went off to her room.

  When she got inside, she bolted the door, then sat down at the mirror and stared at her made-up face. What bloody nonsense, what a waste of time all this had been. She was a fool not to have put her foot down before. There were more important concerns in her life right now than that Macintosh boy. Picking up a towel, she began to take her make-up off, scrubbing viciously at her skin. She unwound the jasmine garland from her hair, threw it in the wastepaper basket, and tied her plait into a knot at the back of her head. She quickly removed the sari.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Annalukshmi read, not as if she hoped to find a solution to the impending marriage with Muttiah in the book, but because she knew, instinctively, that what she was to do next would come to her only if her mind was otherwise occupied. Pacing the room fretfully would not provide the solution.

  In the evening, a package came for Annalukshmi. She was still in the bedroom, despite repeated attempts by Louisa and her sisters to come in as, after all, it was her sisters’ room too.

  The package for Annalukshmi had been delivered brusquely. A man had knocked on the gate, handed the parcel wordlessly to Letchumi, and left. Louisa and the girls had risen from their chairs when Letchumi had brought the parcel to them, a piece of cardboard wrapped in brown paper and string. “Miss Annalukshmi Kandiah” was written on it. There was no sender’s name or address. They eyed the parcel as if they expected it to explode. After some deliberation, they took it in to Annalukshmi.

  When Louisa knocked on the bedroom door, they heard a rustle as Annalukshmi got up from the bed and came to the door. “I just want to be left alone, Amma,” Annalukshmi said in a pleasant voice.

  “The thing is, kunju, a package has come for you.”

  There was silence from the other side. Then the bolt was drawn and the door opened. They stared at Annalukshmi. There was a certain serenity in her eyes, a certain set to her jaw, that they had never seen before. Annalukshmi held out her hand for the parcel and Louisa reluctantly relinquished it. “Are you all right, kunju?”
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br />   She nodded and shut the door.

  Annalukshmi took the parcel to her bed, untied the string, and pulled aside the paper. It was a sketch of herself, based on the photograph they had sent the Macintoshes. Yet it was different from the photograph. The Macintosh boy had changed the perspective and she was being looked at from below, her lap disproportionately large. The folds of her sari had been simplified too and that, combined with the perspective, gave her a sense of grandness.

  Annalukshmi lifted the sketch out of its covering to get a better look. As she did so, a note fell to the ground. She picked it up. “I wish it could have been otherwise,” it said. “But that would have been dishonest.”

  Holding the note in one hand, the sketch in the other, she sat on the bed. Yes, she thought, it would have been dishonest. In a strange way, he had done right by her. He could have easily married her for the sake of respectability and then continued his affair with this woman. She would not have known about it and, even if she did find out, she would have been powerless to do anything. She thought of how Aunt Philomena had described the woman. Older, divorced, perhaps a parvenu. All qualities that did not fit in a Cinnamon Gardens family. He had chosen the more difficult route, but, she saw with admiration, he had followed his heart. Rather than bow to his family’s dictates, he had simply run away. The solution Annalukshmi had been looking for was now before her.

  She smiled. It’s a pity we didn’t meet, she thought. We would have been good friends.

  12

  What is the raft of “Will” and “Wont”

  Against love’s raging waters?

  – The Tirukkural, verse 1134

  “Bala, where on earth have you been?” Sonia asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.

  Balendran came up the steps to the verandah. It was a rhetorical question, for Sonia knew he had been at the commission sittings with Richard, as he had for the last week.

  “Sorry I’m late for lunch,” he replied guiltily.

  “It’s not about lunch,” Sonia replied. “The world has been to see you this morning. First it was Appa. He paid an unexpected visit to the temple and found that the tills have not been cleared this week. I told him you had been at the hearings with Mr. Howland and he was not too pleased about that, as you can imagine.”

  Balendran felt a twinge of nervousness. “I’ll go by tomorrow,” he mumbled.

  “Then there’s trouble at the estate. Your kangany is up to his old tricks.”

  Balendran sighed. He was eternally involved in the tussles between the foreman and the workers. “Has he been skimming the workers’ pay again?”

  Sonia shook her head. “He’s found a whole new way of getting up to devilment.”

  She told him what had happened. The kangany’s sister had reached a marriageable age and he was looking for a prospective groom for her. He had hit upon a young man named Naathan, who was, however, already promised to a young woman named Uma. In order to divide them, he had convinced Naathan that his betrothed was unfaithful. Now Uma had come to Balendran to seek redress and was waiting in the servants’ quarters for him to return.

  Balendran remembered Uma well. A pretty, vivacious young woman who was a good worker. While they waited for lunch to be laid out on the table, Balendran sent for her.

  Uma wore a calf-length sari. In the style of many low-caste women, she did not wear a blouse, the fall wrapped tightly around her breasts for modesty. The heavy gold mukkuthi in her nose enhanced the darkness of her skin.

  When she saw Balendran, she started to weep. She got down on her knees and tried to touch his feet. He was never comfortable with this sign of respect and he hurriedly told her to stand up.

  “Aiyo, durai,” she said in Tamil. “You are our mother and our father. Please help me.”

  He had her repeat the story because Sonia’s Tamil was poor and he wanted to make sure that he got it right. When Uma was finished, Balendran said, “I will come the following week.”

  “But we are to be married the following week, durai.”

  “You must go immediately, Bala,” Sonia said. “This weekend, at least.”

  “But I promised Richard I would take him to Galle on Saturday,” Balendran started to protest. Then he looked at Uma’s tear-stained face. “All right,” he said to her, “I’ll come this weekend.”

  Her face lit up with joy and she attempted to touch his feet again.

  The rubber estate, out of all his numerous duties, was Balendran’s pet child. It had been badly abused before he took over, the manager, Mr. Nalliah, keeping some of the profits from the sale of rubber, the workers poorly paid and living in miserable conditions. Balendran had set into motion some of his own liberal notions on work and the rights of employees. He had fired the manager, rebuilt the houses of the workers with proper water and sanitary facilities, and introduced the concept of bonuses to keep his workers happy and productive. Most of all, he had broken the stranglehold the kangany had on them. Uma’s gratitude would have usually pleased him tremendously. Yet now he felt irritated by her dependency on him. It had interfered with his much looked forward to trip with Richard.

  “When will these damn people ever solve their own problems,” he muttered to himself as he went to wash up before lunch.

  While Balendran splashed his face with water, he thought of Richard and him walking on the ramparts of the Galle fort. He sighed in exasperation at the good time he would be missing. Then an idea struck him. Since the commission did not sit on the weekend, he could ask Richard to come with him to the estate. He dried his hands on his towel and went to the dining room, his humour restored.

  Balendran arrived for the Donoughmore hearings late that afternoon. A. E. Goonesinha and the Labour Union were before the commissioners, and, as Balendran walked in, Goonesinha was telling them that the Labour Union was in favour of adult suffrage irrespective of race, caste, or creed because they felt it would raise the status of the poor. They were for female franchise, too, especially for the working woman because, unlike the more fortunate women, she faced the stern realities of life. She had to earn her livelihood.

  In other circumstances, Balendran would have paid great attention to Goonesinha’s testimony, happy to finally hear his own views expressed by someone to the commissioners. But now he looked around for Richard, his mind solely on their trip to the estate.

  Richard was sitting in the back row and, as always, had reserved a seat for him.

  Balendran noticed that F. C. Wijewardena was looking at him, and Balendran nodded in greeting but did not make any move towards him. Balendran made his way along the back row to Richard.

  “You were late. What happened?” Richard whispered as Balendran sat down next to him.

  “Some ruckus at the estate,” he whispered back. “I have to go up this weekend to see about it.”

  “The trip to Galle is off?”

  Balendran shook his head. “I was thinking we could visit Galle and then go to the estate.”

  “But really, Bala,” Richard began to protest, “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Rubbish,” Balendran said. “The estate is my pride and joy. I would be disappointed if I couldn’t show you around and boast a little at what I’ve done there.”

  Richard scrutinized his friend’s face to make sure he was genuine, then he smiled to express his consent.

  After the session was over and people were leaving, F. C. called out to Balendran to wait for him.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Richard said.

  “Bala,” F. C. said as he came up to him, “it’s so nice to see you at the sessions.” He patted him on the back.

  Balendran did not venture any comment.

  “By the way,” F. C. said, “about that night. Let’s just put it behind us, all right?”

  “I don’t know if that will be possible,” Balendran replied. “It seems that our attitudes are fundamentally different. I don’t know what we will have to say to each other in the future.”

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p; “Now, now, Bala, it’s silly to let our opinions get between us.”

  “Our opinions are part of ourselves, F. C. They are not so easily overlooked. As you well know, when people act according to their opinions they can end up ruining other lives.”

  “My goodness,” F. C. said with an attempt at levity. “You sound dreadfully dull and serious, like one of those Labour Union chaps.”

  Balendran did not reply. He bowed slightly and then left to find Richard.

  That evening when Balendran got home, he informed Sonia about his plans to take Richard to the estate. As he told her, he knew that he should ask her if she wanted to come too, that if he did, she would say yes. But he refrained from doing so. He knew he was being selfish in excluding her, yet he felt irritated with her for wanting to come. Still, the sight of his wife’s hurt face at the table made him feel he would try in some way to make it up to her.

  Richard and Balendran left Colombo on Friday afternoon. They were both companionably silent as they drove along. Occasionally, Richard would ask a question about a sight they had just passed and Balendran would explain it to him.

  When they reached Galle, however, Richard became very animated, excited by the seventeenth-century Dutch fort in front of them. Balendran had Joseph take them in through the old entrance so he could show Richard the Dutch East India Company coat of arms, with its rooster and lion crest and 1669 date above the portal.

  The extensive fort enclosed the modern town, whose streets were clean and shaded by suriya trees. As they drove into the fort and down one of its narrow roads, Richard sat up in his seat and began to look around him, asking numerous questions about the old buildings, the dwellings with their deep, shady, pillared verandahs.