Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

  The next morning, Balendran resumed his normal duties.

  He went first to their temple in Pettah. It was on a road that at one time had been one of the most exclusive residential streets in Ceylon. From the turn of this century, it had become increasingly a commercial street. The temple was a simple structure and would have had very little business were it not for the statue of the dancing Siva that was supposed to have miraculous powers. The Mudaliyar’s grandfather had owned a fleet of boats for pearl fishing. The legend was that, in a dream, Siva appeared to him, instructing him to cast his net at a certain place. He had obeyed, but, instead of a fine catch of oysters, his workers had drawn up the statue entangled in the nets.

  The man outside the temple who took care of people’s shoes for a small fee bowed low when Balendran got out of the can. He pushed at his assistant, and the boy ran inside to alert the chief priest of Balendran’s arrival. Balendran removed his shoes, stepped into the temple, and stood looking around him. This was his favourite time to visit, when no devotees were present. An air of repose permeated the interior. In one part of the temple was a shrine to the goddess Durga, where supplicants lit lamps made of halves of limes. Balendran noted the area was cluttered and untidy. He looked towards the office, wondering why the chief priest had not come out yet. Impatient with waiting, Balendran went to the office. There was no one there and he walked around the back to the chief priest’s quarters. He stood outside his house and called to him. After a few moments, the chief priest emerged, chewing betel.

  “I have been waiting,” Balendran said angrily.

  “Oh, durai, I’m sorry,” the chief priest said. “The boy came and told me you were here, but I thought, Why would durai come?”

  Balendran frowned. “Why not?”

  The chief priest opened his eyes wide. “Durai doesn’t know? Your father’s worker, Pillai, was here early this morning to empty the tills.”

  Balendran looked at him in astonishment. The chief priest turned away to spit betel juice into an old can, but Balendran saw the sly look on his face. The priest knew that Balendran was not aware Pillai had been.

  “Is there anything else the durai needs?”

  “Let’s inspect the temple,” Balendran said brusquely.

  “But your father’s worker already –”

  “Never mind. I wish to do it.”

  The chief priest reluctantly led the way and Balendran followed. The meaning of this was clear. His father, because of his failure to comply with his orders, was punishing him by withdrawing responsibilities. In order to win back a sense of honour, to demonstrate that he was still in charge, Balendran was more than normally critical, pointing out the slight tarnishing on the brass lamps, the old offerings that needed to be cleaned out, the fact that some of the statues had been lackadaisically dressed that morning. The chief priest nodded at all his comments and promised to fix everything he pointed out. Yet there was an indulgence to his tone, as if he were humouring him.

  When Balendran got into his car again, his hands were shaking with anger. “Home, Sin-Aiyah?” Joseph asked.

  “No,” Balendran said. “Take me to Brighton.”

  Even though Brighton’s verandah was crowded with petitioners, Balendran instructed Joseph to drive around to the front of the house. Rather than ringing the bell, he went along the verandah to the door that led into his father’s study. “Is anyone in there with my father?” he asked the next petitioner in line, a poor man.

  “Yes, aiyah,” he replied.

  Balendran stood outside the door, waiting. Everyone on the verandah was looking at him curiously, aware that he was the Mudaliyar Navaratnam’s son, but he did not care what they thought or how they felt about him standing outside his father’s door like a petitioner.

  Finally, a widow in a white sari emerged. Miss Adamson led her out. Balendran quickly stepped up to the door and said to a surprised Miss Adamson, “I want to see my father.”

  Balendran brushed past her and went inside.

  The Mudaliyar was pretending to attend to business at his desk, a thing he always did with the poorer petitioners. He would keep them standing by his desk for quite a while before he put down his work and turned to them with a weary air, as if they had disturbed him in the middle of some very important deliberation. Thus he did not glance up as Balendran approached the desk and stood in front of it.

  “Appa.”

  The Mudaliyar looked at him, startled.

  “I want to talk to you, alone.” He looked pointedly at Miss Adamson.

  After a moment, the Mudaliyar waved his hand at Miss Adamson and she left the room, going out into the vestibule.

  “I went to the temple today, but Pillai had already been.”

  The Mudaliyar indicated for Balendran to sit, but he shook his head, preferring to stand.

  “Yes,” the Mudaliyar said. “I thought it best. You have taken on more than you can handle. So I am relieving you of some of your duties. That way you can concentrate better on the others. Do them right.”

  Balendran’s face grew hot at this insult. “What?” he cried. “Which one of my duties have I not done right?”

  “I will not have my son raise his voice to me. Sit down. How dare you stand over me like this.”

  Balendran folded his arms to his chest. “That’s not the real reason.”

  “I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

  Balendran stared at him, disconcerted. His father had backed him into a corner by feigning ignorance. If he pointed out the actual cause, his father would dismiss it as fanciful imaginings. He felt a frustration boil up in him, so strong that he wanted to smash something.

  “Pillai has become lazy,” the Mudaliyar continued. “All he does the whole day is eat and sleep. This new responsibility will –”

  Balendran turned away and walked towards the door.

  “I haven’t finished speaking.”

  Balendran ignored him and left the study.

  As he stepped out, he noticed that all eyes were upon him and he wondered if the petitioners had overheard the conversation. He did not care. He walked quickly down the verandah. As he approached his car, he saw Pillai and Joseph deep in conversation. Seeing him, Pillai straightened up respectfully.

  “Sin-Aiyah,” Pillai said and opened the car door.

  Balendran ignored him and got in.

  “There is something for Sin-Aiyah on the back seat.”

  Balendran nodded curtly. He glanced at the parcel wrapped in newspaper. Pillai closed the door and bowed.

  As the car began to pull away from the house, Balendran looked at the parcel. After a few moments, he pulled aside the newspaper. It was some jumbu fruit. Pillai had picked them from the trees at the back, knowing how much Balendran loved them. He sighed deeply. It was a peace offering from Pillai, a way of making amends for taking over his duties. He folded the newspaper over the fruit and felt sorry he had been so rude to Pillai for something that was not his fault.

  When Balendran got home, he went into his study and slammed the door.

  After a few moments, Sonia knocked on the door and came in. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Balendran was sitting at his desk, his arms folded on his chest. “It seems I have been relieved of my temple duties. This has to do, no doubt, with my father’s anger.”

  Sonia walked over to him. “And what reason did he give you?”

  “It seems as if I have too many duties,” Balendran said sarcastically. “I need to concentrate on a few and get them right, rather than do all of them badly.”

  “Badly?” Sonia said, incredulous.

  Balendran felt comforted by the incredulous look on her face.

  “You perform your duties much more thoroughly than he ever did. Why, that chief priest was robbing the temple blind. I remember the first time I visited the temple with you. It was a pigsty. There were even pariah dogs in there. Ever since then, it’s been spotless.”

  She leant forward,
her hands on the desk. “I’ve often thought you feel grateful that your father gave you these responsibilities. But really, Bala, it wasn’t simply some act of goodwill. He had to do so. His affairs were in chaos. Without you, without your effort, none of us would be able to live the way we do. You are the true breadwinner in this family.”

  After Sonia had gone to see about lunch, Balendran stared ahead of him, thinking of the condition of the rubber estate when he took it over twenty years ago, the trees dying, the manager selling off part of the rubber and keeping the profits, the labourers living in squalor. He had sacked the manager, improved the conditions of the labourers, and introduced the notion of bonuses to keep his workers happy and productive.

  Balendran had known these facts before, but they came to him as a sort of revelation. He thought of the day his father had called him into his study to announce the transfer of responsibilities. He had wanted to cry in gratitude and kiss his father’s hand. For the granting of these duties had been more than an acknowledgement of his status as a married man and father to a son. It had been his father’s way of telling him that he was pardoned for what had happened in England. Now Balendran thought of his gratitude with irony.

  A notion suggested itself to Balendran. He would turn his punishment back on his father. He knew perfectly well his father would not be able to get along without him, that the family fortunes depended on his continued management of the rubber estate.

  Balendran opened a desk drawer and brought out some writing paper. The time to act was now, before his anger abated and he lost courage. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

  Dear Appa,

  I see now that you were right. My mind has not been on my duties of late. This book I am writing obsesses me. I fear, therefore, that not only have I been remiss in my duties towards the temple, but, further, I have not attended to the estate and other family affairs as I should. I think, in the best interests of all concerned, I should be relieved of all my duties until such time as I have finished my book.

  Your son, Balendran.

  Balendran had Joseph take the note to his father right away.

  That evening, Miss Adamson telephoned Balendran to say that his father wanted to see him. Balendran felt nervous at the impending confrontation, but his trepidation was easily surpassed by his exhilaration and excitement over seeing his father routed, over having his father at his mercy.

  When his car entered Brighton, Balendran instructed Joseph to take him around to the back. As if in anticipation of what was to come, there were no servants around.

  The door to his father’s study was slightly ajar. He knocked and went in. His father was dressed in a verti, with a shawl around his upper body. He was writing and he waved his hand at Balendran to come in and sit down, then he continued with his work. Balendran saw that the Mudaliyar was trying to gain an advantage over him by keeping him waiting. The very transparency of what he was doing made Balendran relax. The seriousness of his expression, his father’s frown, reminded Balendran of a child who had not learnt his letters but applied himself with great assiduity to his scribblings.

  The Mudaliyar finally finished, pressed a blotter to the paper, and put it away. He picked up the note Balendran had written to him and glanced at it again. Then he took off his spectacles. “Yes,” he said. “I have received your letter and thought about it carefully.”

  He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. “You are freed of your duties.”

  Balendran breathed out, astounded.

  “You should devote yourself to your book and finish it. I, myself, am a scholar and am aware of just how much effort goes into a work such as yours. This afternoon I have hired back Mr. Nalliah, our old manager.”

  “What?” Balendran cried. “But he was robbing us blind, Appa.”

  “I think Mr. Nalliah has learnt his lesson. People are capable of bettering themselves, you know.”

  Balendran stared at his father, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  “He must be paid a salary,” the Mudaliyar continued. “This, of course, means that there must be economizing in other areas. We are old people, your mother and I. At our stage of life, we cannot live without the few things we allow ourselves. You must, therefore, bear Mr. Nalliah’s salary. Whatever money you have drawn from the running of the estate must be reduced to meet the salary.”

  “Appa –” Balendran began to protest.

  “There is also the matter of your car. I have told Mr. Nalliah it will be at his disposal every morning and when he has to go to the estate.”

  Balendran started to protest again, but the Mudaliyar interrupted to say that the meeting was over. “Once you have finished your book and are ready to resume your activities, I will have Mr. Nalliah relieved of his.” With that, the Mudaliyar rose to his feet, waiting for his son to leave.

  “Good night, Appa,” Balendran said softly.

  The Mudaliyar nodded in reply.

  As Balendran came out of his father’s study, he heard someone coming down the passageway. Wanting to avoid having to make pleasantries with anyone, he stepped back and waited. After a few moments, Miss Adamson appeared. She was wearing a housecoat. Without knocking, she went inside the Mudaliyar’s study, shutting the door softly after her. In the silence, Balendran could faintly hear the sound of the clapping and singing that often emanated from the servants’ quarters at night.

  The study door opened. Balendran stood back in the shadow of the stairs. Miss Adamson went down the passageway and, after a few moments, his father followed. Balendran stepped forward just in time to see his father enter Miss Adamson’s room.

  A sound in his mother’s drawing room made Balendran glance upstairs. A memory came back to him of that time his mother had asked him to go to Miss Adamson for help, the half-sly, half-discomforted look on her face. Balendran felt giddy. He gripped the banister to steady himself. After a moment, he went shakily down the stairs.

  When he was outside, his legs felt as if they would give way under him. He sat down on the edge of the verandah and leant back against a pillar, breathing deeply. He thought of his mother. Behind her docile, naïve façade was a woman who was wise to the ways of the world. He felt a deep anguish for what she must suffer every day, what effort it must take for her to go about her daily routine, knowing all the while of this encroachment into her very home about which she could do nothing, like being constantly assailed by a pestilence of termites or rats. Not only had she grieved over the banishment of Arul all these years, but now she had this humiliating liaison to contend with. Even as Balendran was agonized by his mother’s terrible situation, he also felt a certain respect for her strength. While such a thing could have made someone unbearable to live with, his mother had remained kind and magnanimous to everyone.

  The singing from the servants’ quarters intruded on his thoughts. He glanced in that direction and he felt a terrible anger well up in him against the unfairness of a world in which people like his father managed to do as they pleased with no consequence. He would not let his father triumph over all of them.

  From tomorrow Mr. Nalliah would take over his duties, take over the use of his car. His car? It was not his car at all. It belonged to his father and he had only assumed the use of it. Balendran thought of his brother’s flat in Bombay. The furniture was broken and used, but it was his. He, Balendran, had worked hard at the family affairs, had considered whatever money he drew from the estate and temple to be rightfully his. Now he saw that he had been a fool to think so. The only thing that was his was Sevena; that and an inheritance he had from his grandmother.

  When Balendran got home, he found Sonia reading in the drawing room. She was so engrossed in her book that she did not hear him enter. He stood watching her for a moment, then called out her name. She looked up quickly and rose to her feet.

  “What did your father want, Bala?”

  “I need to talk with you,” Balendran replied.

  She was frightened by t
he seriousness of his tone.

  He came and sat down next to her, took her hand in his and pressed it. Then he got up and went to stand by the bookcase. “The thing I want to tell you is very hard for me to speak of … it has to do with my father. Something I learnt about him in India.”

  Then, not looking up, he told her about his father’s relations with Pakkiam’s mother, the reason he had brought Pakkiam to Brighton. He did not describe what he had seen this evening. It was too new for him to be able to speak about yet.

  When he was done, he glanced at Sonia. She was looking at him, appalled. He went and sat down beside her and took her hands in his again. Then he told her of the letter he had written to his father and the consequences of it.

  “You did what was right, Bala,” Sonia cried out. “I don’t care if we have to take rickshaws. It doesn’t matter.”

  The fierceness with which she spoke filled his heart with gratitude.

  “We’ll show him that we can manage very well without him.”

  “It’s not a question of our managing or not, Sonia. Certain wrongs must be righted. Others have suffered and they must be recompensed.”

  Sonia said she understood.

  “Before I left, Seelan and I found a small house for himself and his mother in a more pleasant part of Bombay. Yet that is not enough. When I was there, Seelan expressed a desire to see Ceylon. I will write and suggest a short holiday here, telling him that once he is ready to come, I will arrange his passage. If he finds that he likes it in Colombo, as a place to live, then I will help him establish himself here.”