Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

– The Tirukkural, verse 465

  The monsoon, which had been greeted with such relief when it arrived in early June to dispel the heat, had quite outstayed its welcome by July. The residents of Colombo found it vexatious to have their days governed by the great gusts of rain that materialized with little forewarning. For, when they arrived, everything had to stop until their tumult had subsided. Pedestrians and rickshaw riders would find themselves rushing for inadequate cover under the nearest tree or in a building. There they would find themselves stranded, shivering in their damp clothes for five minutes or an hour, it being useless to try to brave the rain with umbrellas, which would quickly sail away in the wind broken and twisted. Even those with the privilege of cars were not much better off. In a few minutes, a road could flood, forcing them to abandon their automobiles and also run for protection.

  The insides of houses were not inviolate either. The monsoon’s dampness, like a thief, had slyly crept through Lotus Cottage. The residents of the house constantly came upon evidence of it in their personal belongings. Louisa would open her spice chest to find that the curry powder had clumped into useless, earth-smelling lumps. Annalukshmi, much as she tried to protect her small collection of books by wrapping them in cloth and storing them in her almirah, would inevitably discover that the ends of pages had curled up, that the books had developed a hump in the middle. The verandahs on which they conducted so much of their life were now mostly out of bounds. They were forced to spend their time inside the house, the constantly grey sky making the drawing room gloomy, the electric lights permanently on. It was inevitable that, in this confined situation, the habits of one would come to annoy the other.

  As You Like It had won second place at the inter-school Shakespeare competition. With her afternoons and evenings free again, Annalukshmi found that time and her family sat heavily on her. There were moments when she felt close to snapping at Kumudini, whose stomach by this time was very large, and who constantly moaned about the rain or asked her in a helpless tone to fetch things for her. Manohari had colonized the dining-room table, where she left her homework long after it should have been put away. To provoke her sister, Manohari from time to time would look up from her work and, in a tremulous, high-pitched voice, declaim a line from As You Like It.

  Nancy was busy with her own affairs and Annalukshmi saw her infrequently. Mr. Jayaweera, with some degree of difficulty, had been able to find himself a low-paying job as a clerk in a small mercantile firm. While on the surface, Nancy and Miss Lawton seemed to carry on as usual, Annalukshmi thought the headmistress looked strained. Nancy had confided that visiting Mr. Jayaweera in Pettah was a continuing source of dissent between her and Miss Lawton. Because of this unfortunate state of affairs, Annalukshmi’s contact with Miss Lawton took on a distanced quality.

  Annalukshmi felt an unsettled yearning for something, some sense that her life was not confined to a repetition of the same things. It was in this spirit that she sent Ramu, their gardener, to the top of the road for a rickshaw one Saturday morning. She would go and see her Aunt Sonia, who was always a source of new ideas and intelligent conversation.

  When Annalukshmi arrived at Sevena, the houseboy let her in, explaining that her aunt and uncle were not home, but that her uncle would be returning soon. She went into the study and began to browse through the bookshelves while she waited for Balendran.

  Annalukshmi had gone up the ladder to look at the books on the top shelf when the front door opened and she heard someone enter. A man with an unfamiliar voice was talking to the houseboy. After a moment, a young gentleman appeared in the doorway of the study. Because she was at the top of the ladder, Annalukshmi hastily drew her sari in around her legs.

  He inclined his head formally. “Good morning,” he said, without any sense of surprise at seeing her there.

  She nodded in reply and came hastily down the ladder, wondering who this stranger was that had walked so casually into her uncle’s study. When she got to the bottom, she stood uncertain.

  “I am Dr. Govind,” he said. “A friend of Mr. Balendran visiting from India.”

  Annalukshmi stared at him, intimidated by his formal manner, the British intonation to his voice. He was wearing a neatly pressed white cotton suit. Everything, from his carefully parted and brilliantined hair to his polished shoes, was impeccable. Though he looked as if he were in his twenties, she felt as if she was in the presence of a much older man, someone like her grand-uncle, the Mudaliyar.

  A silence had fallen between them. It was her turn to say something. “I’m Annalukshmi.… Mr. Balendran’s cousin’s daughter.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  He extended his hand and she hesitantly shook it.

  He gestured to the book in her hand. “Ah, I see you like to read. I, too, am very fond of books. One of my greatest pleasures.” He tried to glimpse the title. “May I ask what you are reading?”

  She held the book out to him. It was a book discussing the philosophy of Hinduism. Something she had never read anything about before.

  “Is this your interest?” he asked, surprised.

  “I … I’ve read most of the novels in here and was looking for something new.”

  “Ah. Then may I interest you in a novel I have just finished? It’s called A Passage to India.

  Annalukshmi nodded to say that she had, of course, heard of the book.

  “Have you read it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you must let me lend it to you.” Without waiting for her response, he quickly turned and left the room.

  Annalukshmi was a bit taken aback.

  Just then, the front door opened again and she was relieved to hear her uncle talking to the houseboy. Annalukshmi went into the vestibule to meet him; at the same moment the young man came out of the guest room, holding a book.

  Balendran, who was handing a package to the houseboy, stared at them in surprise.

  “Bala Maama, I came to see Sonia Maamee,” Annalukshmi said.

  At the same instant, Seelan, for it was indeed Seelan, said, “I was just getting Miss Annalukshmi a book.”

  Balendran looked from one to the other, trying to discern what interaction had passed between them, if his niece knew that this was his nephew. Yet the calm expression on her face told him that Seelan had not revealed his identity to her and that he best go along with this for the time being.

  Seelan now proffered the book to Annalukshmi and she glanced at Balendran. “Dr. Govind wants to lend me a novel he recommends,” she said, unsure whether to take something from someone she hardly knew.

  Balendran had turned away to hang up his hat and he dropped it in surprise. He glanced at his nephew as he bent down to retrieve it.

  “May I, Bala Maama?”

  “Yes, I don’t see why not.”

  Annalukshmi smiled at Dr. Govind to express her thanks for the book and she took it from him. He bowed in return and she could not help thinking what an odd, overly formal person he was.

  When Annalukshmi said she would be leaving, Balendran did not insist that she stay for lunch as he usually would have.

  Once he had seen her off at the gate, he walked slowly up the front path, lost in thought. Govind. The name was strangely familiar. Then he remembered that it was the name of the bank manager who had allotted Arul his monthly allowance. He understood why Seelan had been reticent about his identity. Annalukshmi’s arrival had probably taken him by surprise and, in order to spare himself the embarrassment of her astonishment at who he was, he had told a lie. Balendran felt he was to blame for this. Seelan had only been in Colombo two days, and Balendran had not yet made a point of announcing his nephew’s presence. He was waiting for the right moment to do so. For his mother, he knew, seeing Arul’s son for the first time would be a moment of tremendous import.

  Seelan was in the drawing room, an uneasy look on his face.

  “Seelan,” Balendran started to say, but Seelan raised his hand.

&nbs
p; “I know what you are thinking, Bala Maama,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell her who I was. So I gave her the first name that came to mind.”

  “I understand. I will tell her myself, if that makes it easier.”

  “I would rather stay Dr. Govind for the time being, if you don’t mind.”

  Balendran stared at him, astonished. Then he felt a rush of sympathy for his nephew. He put his hand on Seelan’s shoulder. “Seelan, there’s no need to keep up this fiction. I would be proud to introduce you as my nephew.”

  “And then nobody would want anything to do with me.”

  “No, Seelan. What’s in the past is past.”

  Seelan looked down at his hands, a stubborn expression on his face. “You overestimate people.”

  Balendran gazed at his nephew, not sure what he could do or say, but hoping it would be only a matter of time until Seelan saw things differently. Meanwhile, he would respect his wishes and delay introducing him to his family.

  Yet Seelan’s words had left Balendran feeling saddened.

  The next evening, Annalukshmi accompanied Kumudini on the walk the doctor recommended she take every day now that she was entering the more advanced stages of her pregnancy. In the two months since Kumudini had arrived home, Annalukshmi had noticed that her sister’s moodiness seemed to have passed.

  They were returning to Lotus Cottage along Horton Place when they saw a young man standing at the gates of Brighton, looking in. Annalukshmi drew in her breath, for she immediately recognized Dr. Govind.

  “Who is it, akka?” Kumudini asked.

  Before Annalukshmi could reply, Dr. Govind saw them. A flustered look crossed his face. He hastily removed his hat.

  “Miss Annalukshmi,” he said and bowed.

  “Dr. Govind,” she replied and inclined her head.

  Kumudini was staring at her questioningly, and she introduced him as their uncle’s friend.

  They nodded to each other in greeting.

  “How is the book, then?” he asked eagerly. “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Yes I am,” Annalukshmi said, even though she had not begun it, preferring to read the book about Hinduism she had taken from her uncle’s study.

  “I don’t usually enjoy books set in India. But since it was by such as well-known British author, I thought it was worth a try.” While he spoke, he extended his gaze to include Kumudini. He saw the puzzled look on her face and added, “I had the good fortune to meet your sister at Mr. Balendran’s and recommend a book of mine.”

  Kumudini looked at Annalukshmi in unconcealed surprise.

  In the midst of her own concerns, Annalukshmi had forgotten to mention this meeting at her uncle’s. Yet now, under Kumudini’s gaze, she felt ill at ease, as if she had been hiding something. She glanced at her sister. Kumudini was regarding her with an appraising look.

  Seelan took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead.

  “It’s such a hot evening, isn’t it?”

  “We live just over there,” Kumudini said, pointing towards the lane to Lotus Cottage. “Would you like to come inside and have a drink?”

  “I’d be delighted,” he said.

  Kumudini began to lead the way with him and Annalukshmi followed, stunned by the way her sister had taken command.

  Kumudini was, meanwhile, quizzing Dr. Govind about himself.

  “Are you from Britain?” she asked innocently, having noted his British intonation.

  “No, madam,” he replied, “though I spent a good many years there.”

  “Qualifying as a doctor,” he added and glanced quickly at Kumudini. He was suitably gratified by the awed look on her face.

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Britain,” Kumudini said.

  “You should, madam. The mother country is a must.”

  He began to tell her about the sights of London, and Kumudini listened with a feigned eagerness.

  They had reached the gate now and he gallantly held it open for them. As Annalukshmi passed him, he smiled at her.

  Louisa had gone to a ladies’ auxiliary meeting at the church and Manohari was alone on the verandah doing her homework. She put her pencil down in astonishment when she saw the young man with her sisters.

  “Chutta,” Kumudini said as they came up the steps, “this is Dr. Govind, a friend of Bala Maama.”

  She nodded to him and glanced curiously at her sisters.

  “Please do sit down,” Kumudini said. “What would you like to drink?”

  “A glass of water would be fine.”

  Kumudini went to ask Letchumi to bring it, and returned. An awkward silence fell among them. Annalukshmi stood by a verandah pillar and Manohari pretended to busy herself with her homework. Not having brothers, the girls were unaccustomed to the presence of a young man in their house, unsure what to say to him, how he should be treated.

  “Tell us more about London,” Kumudini said in desperation.

  “Ah yes, London, madam,” he began, only too happy to oblige.

  In the midst of his description of the great dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Letchumi brought out the glass of water. He took it from her with a nod and drank it. A silence fell again. After a moment, he stood up. “I’ve presumed too much on your time already.”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Kumudini said, though she was relieved.

  He tipped his hat to all of them and left.

  The moment the gate had closed behind him, Kumudini turned to Manohari. “Well, chutta, isn’t he perfect for akka? A doctor. London-qualified and everything.”

  “For God’s sake, Kumu,” Annalukshmi said, now understanding what was behind her hospitality.

  “Oh, akka, don’t be so blind. What do you think he was doing outside Brighton? He mentioned it was such a hot evening, hoping we would invite him in and he could visit with you.”

  “Madness. He hardly knows me. We only exchanged a few words yesterday.”

  “What does one need but a few words.”

  Annalukshmi shook her head. She was beginning to be truly irritated with her sister.

  “Chutta, what do you think?” Kumudini asked, appealing to her younger sister.

  “I’ve presumed too much on your time already,” Manohari said in a perfect imitation of Seelan’s overly formal manner, his British intonation.

  Kumudini was not amused. “Nonsense,” she said. “He is a very polite, refined man. He speaks beautifully too.”

  “Ah yes, London,” Manohari said, imitating his “beautiful” speech. “Did I tell you I had tea with the king? Simply marvellous. Scones and Devonshire cream.”

  Kumudini wagged her finger at her older sister. “You mark my words, akka. He is interested in you.”

  With that, Kumudini went inside.

  Annalukshmi shook her head. Her experience with the Macintosh boy had shown her the wisdom of not interpreting simple events or coincidences in the wrong way. There could be any number of reasons why Dr. Govind was outside Brighton. Since he was a friend of her uncle, he probably knew the Mudaliyar as well and had come to pay him a visit. It was ridiculous to imagine that he had been standing outside the gates of Brighton in the hope that she would pass by.

  Two young women, whether married or not, engaged in a conversation with an unknown man on Horton Place was not something that could escape attention or comment.

  Pillai, who was supervising the cleaning up of the driveway, had observed the meeting. He conveyed this unusual sight to his wife, Rajini, who brought it to the attention of Nalamma. That evening, Nalamma sent Rajini, under the pretext of borrowing some cloves, to find out from Letchumi more details about this young man. Letchumi, though by no means fluent in English, was able to tell Rajini that he was a doctor from India by the name of Govind.

  At dinner that night, Nalamma looked at her husband until she got his attention. Then she said, “What is the name of the bank manager in India. The one who used to arrange the payments for our son?”

  The Mudaliyar stared at her in surprise
. “Mr. Govind,” he said after a moment.

  She nodded and continued to eat her dinner.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I was thinking about it, for some reason.”

  23

  What good are outward features if they lack

  Love, the inward sense?

  – The Tirukkural, verse 79

  The next morning, Balendran was in his study when the bell rang. He heard Sonia go towards the front door and, after a moment, the sound of his mother’s voice. Quick footsteps approached his study. Nalamma entered without knocking, Sonia behind her. He stood up.

  “I have always thought you incapable of deceit,” Nalamma said.

  She sank into the chair across from him, took out a handkerchief, and wiped her face. “Aiyoo, what a thing.”

  Balendran stared at her, nonplussed.

  “I’m talking about your Dr. Govind,” she said, irritated that he was playing innocent.

  He sat down slowly in his chair.

  “Bala, what is happening?” Sonia demanded.

  He waved his hand at his wife to be silent. “You know,” he said to his mother.

  Nalamma told him that Seelan, posing as Dr. Govind, was seen yesterday on Horton Place outside Brighton. He had been talking to Annalukshmi and Kumudini and was invited to Lotus Cottage.

  When she was finished speaking, Sonia asked Balendran what Nalamma had said, for she had been unable to follow her rapid Tamil. Balendran repeated the story in English. Sonia breathed out in astonishment.

  “Where is he now? Where is he staying?” Nalamma asked.

  He glanced at his mother. She was twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. “Here.”

  Nalamma stood up quickly. “In this house? He is here now?”

  “No, Amma, he has gone to the Fort. To look around Colombo a bit.”

  Nalamma was silent, playing with the clasp of her handbag. “How could you not have told me?”

  Balendran came to her side. “Forgive me. It was not supposed to happen in this way,” he said. “I was trying to give Seelan time to get his bearings first. If you would like to wait and see him, he should be here soon.”