She thought of Shiro. She missed her so much. Soon Shiro would finish school and get married. She had heard Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma talking about appropriate boys and arranged marriages. Lakshmi giggled. Somehow Shiro agreeing to an arranged marriage was difficult to imagine.
Lakshmi heard the motorcycle just as she walked past the weighing shed. It must be Periadorai. As was proper, she moved to the side of the road and stepped into the small ditch. She turned her face away, waiting for him to ride pass.
The motorcycle screeched to a stop. Glancing up, Lakshmi saw him get off. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t our little cake server.’ The words were heavy, slurred. He was drunk. She turned to run away.
White hands reached for her. She saw his face, sparkling teeth grinning like a mad dog, gold hair glistening in the moonlight. Sharp blue eyes filled with lust. She smelt alcohol.
***
She was on the floor of the weighing shed. How had she got there? She screamed and struggled.
He slapped her. Her head snapped back, smashed on the cement floor.
‘Shut up and enjoy it, you bitch,’ he snarled. ‘This is all you’re good for anyway.’ He ripped her blouse off in one movement, laughing as she tried to cover her breasts with her hands.
And the pain, oh dear God, the pain. Would it never end?
She lay on the floor sobbing.
The clouds passed and she saw his face in the moonlight filtering into the weighing shed – Periadorai.
He stood over her, fastening his clothes. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he threw a wad of fifty rupee notes on her as she laid sobbing and bleeding on the floor of the weighing shed. He reached down and held her face in his hands as she tried to crawl away. His nails cut into her skin. ‘You could make more money this way than as a tea plucker.’
The motorcycle roared away. She heard his laughter echoing into the night. A sound she would never forget.
Lakshmi sat up. She screamed and doubled up in pain.
Where could she go? What could she do?
If the other coolies found out, she would be subject to more agony and humiliation. Everyone in the line rooms would laugh at her. Her father would beat her. He would accuse her of going to Periadorai and offering herself to him. Worse still, now that Periadorai had used her once, he would expect her to be available for him whenever he wanted her. That was the way of the tea plantation.
Periamma – she would help her.
Gathering her clothes around her, she staggered to her feet. Pain shot through her lower body. She looked down at the blood trickling down her thigh. Sobbing and limping she scrambled up through the tea bushes to the Tea-maker’s house.
The kitchen light was still on. Lakshmi looked through the window. Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma were sitting at the dining table. Lakshmi tried to open the back door. It was locked. She banged on it. ‘Periamma, Periamma,’ she yelled. She heard footsteps. Tea-maker Aiya pulled open the latches that had been set for the night. Lakshmi stood there, looking at them, alternately sobbing and screaming. She knew she looked frightening. Her blouse was muddied and dirty and ripped across the front. She held the torn scraps together in her shaking hands. The scratches down her arms were bleeding stripes. There were red streaks of blood on her skirt. Her lips and face throbbed with pain, swollen and bleeding. She could hardly see from her right eye.
‘Lakshmi!’ Periamma gasped. She grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house. Tea-maker Aiya slammed the door shut behind her.
‘Who did this to you?’ Periamma whispered. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at Lakshmi. Tea-maker Aiya stood with clenched fists, breathing hard.
Lakshmi shivered, she couldn’t stop her body shuddering. Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t walk. She opened and shut her mouth. Then between sobs she shrieked. ‘Periadorai, Periadorai.’
Periamma held Lakshmi’s arms and helped her to a seat. Lakshmi tried to sit and then shot off the seat. ‘Nohuthu, nohuthu,’ she moaned. She collapsed on the floor, whimpering and writhing. The pain spiralled though the core of her. It was in her body but also in her mind.
Periamma sat on the floor by Lakshmi and took her hand. Lakshmi lay where she had dropped, curled into a ball, her body trembling, tears trickling down her cheeks.
‘Periamma, why did he do it? I thought I would die.’
Periamma didn’t answer. She squatted by Lakshmi, stroking her head. Taking the hanky she had tucked at her waist, she wiped Lakshmi’s face. Then, standing up, she went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water heater.
Lakshmi heard Periamma sob.
Tea-maker Aiya came over to her with a mug of tea. It was one of the family mugs, not the old tin one she usually used. He knelt by Lakshmi and offered it to her. Lakshmi struggled up. She reached out trembling hands to the mug, clutched at it and took a sip. She clasped the mug to her body, rocking herself back and forth. For a while, they remained in silence, Lakshmi sipping hot, sweet tea, Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma standing by her.
‘Come,’ Periamma took Lakshmi’s hand and helped her stand up. She led her to the bathroom. Lakshmi took off her torn clothes. Periamma looked at the bruises and teeth marks on her breasts and the blood on her thighs. ‘Aiyoo, how could this have happened?’
Lakshmi shook her head. There were no words.
Leaving Lakshmi in the bathroom, Periamma walked out.
Lakshmi bathed slowly. She scrubbed her skin with the soap. The scratches and bruises stung as she rubbed them, but she continued, trying to take away the shame, the pain. She washed away the blood on her thighs, but she continued to bleed.
She heard them talking just outside the bathroom door. She strained to listen
‘It is such a brutal rape, Appa. Dear God, how could any man do this to a helpless girl?’ Periamma’s voice was ragged and interrupted by deep gasping sobs.
‘It’s the way of the estates Lilly, plantation hospitality for the white Raj, the nightcap to the staff party.’
‘Can we do anything?’
‘Officially, no,’ Tea-maker Aiya said. ‘It’s the word of a coolie against that of the British superintendent. But I intend to confront Anthony with it tomorrow morning.’
‘Be careful Appa.’ Periamma’s voice caught on a sob. ‘Don’t get into trouble with Anthony Ashley-Cooper. You remember what happened when your father questioned his father’s actions.’
Tea-maker Aiya sighed. ‘I know, I know. Like I can ever forget. Let’s think about it tomorrow. For now, let’s just help Lakshmi.’
Lakshmi came out of the bathroom, dressed in a nightdress Rasiah Periamma had given her. There was already a fresh trace of blood on it.
Rasiah Periamma glanced at the blood stain. ‘You’ll have to go to the apothecary tomorrow,’ She helped Lakshmi lay out a mat in their bedroom.
‘Periamma,’ Lakshmi clung to her hand, ‘please don’t get into trouble because of me.’
Periamma squatted beside Lakshmi as she lay curled up on the mat. ‘Lakshmi, when you were just a little girl you came as a nanny for Shiro. You were frightened then and I told you I would look after you. You trusted me then. We will help you now also. Now go to sleep.’
Sleep? Lakshmi lay on the mat, hearing Periadorai’s laughter.
The house was dark. She could hear Tea-maker Aiya snore. Lakshmi lay curled on the mat. The pain between her legs now a dull ache.
What would become of her?
Chapter 11
April 1966 Watakälé
Anthony tossed and turned in bed. A vague feeling of unease, almost fear tingled through his consciousness, keeping him awake.
He lay in bed, mulling over the evening.
The Easter staff party had not been a total disaster. William’s behaviour was reprehensible as usual, but the staff seemed happy enough. Chatting with Mrs Rasiah had been interesting. She was so
proud of her children and her sons’ achievements. And young Shiro, he wondered what she looked like now. He dosed off, remembering the riotous curly hair, the defiant glow in her black eyes.
Anthony sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was midnight. Surely William must have got home by now? He rolled out of bed and padded barefoot through the dark house. In the office, he picked up the telephone and dialled William’s number.
The phone rang for a few anxious seconds. ‘Yeah?’ William snapped. Anthony breathed out a long, relieved sigh. ‘Oh, good you’re home,’ he said. ‘I was worried about you riding back tonight. You were so drunk.’
William hooted with laughter. ‘Sorry, little brother, you won’t get rid of me that easily.’ Anthony heard a sound of swallowing.
‘Are you still drinking?’
William ignored the question. ‘I had a very interesting ride home, little brother,’ he said, ‘a very interesting ride indeed. You never told me how much fun there is to be had in Watakälé.’
William’s words sent a chill down Anthony’s spine. ‘William, what happened?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough, little brother. Go to sleep. Good night.’ With another sharp bark of a laugh, William dropped the handset.
William, what have you done now?
***
Anthony woke to the jarring ring of the phone. He glanced at the clock – six in the morning. The morning after the staff party – who’d be awake at this time? He turned in the bed, shivered and pulled up the doona, waiting for Appu to pick up the phone.
‘Still sleeping.’ Appu said into the phone. Anthony rolled over and listened to the conversation. All he could hear was Appu’s repeated ‘aiyoo, aiyoo,’ every exclamation more shocked and distressed than the other.
It sounded serious.
Scrambling out of bed, Anthony started dressing. There was an insistent tap at the door. ‘Come in, Appu,’ he called out. ‘What is it? Has something happened in the factory?’
The door opened with a crash. Appu stood holding on to the doorpost with both hands. His eyes were wide open and tears streamed down his creased cheeks. The look in his eyes shocked Anthony to the core of his soul.
‘Come on man, tell me! If it’s so bad, I need to do something fast.’ Anthony reached for his shirt.
‘Nothing you can do, sir,’ Appu babbled. ‘Mr Rasiah, Tea-maker Aiya, sir. He is angry, sir.’
‘What about, man? Stop shivering like a leaf in autumn, and tell me. What is he angry about?’
Appu looked down at his feet. His Adam’s apple jiggled as he swallowed. ‘The coolie girl who was serving at the party, sir; she – she was hurt last night. Somebody did – did a bad thing.’
‘A bad thing? What are you saying man? Was she raped?’
Appu nodded.
‘But who the hell would do that in Watakälé? One of the staff, maybe? Most of them were drunk.’
Appu stared at the ground. He was shivering. ‘She said – said it was you, sir,’ he stammered.
‘Me?’ Anthony exclaimed in horror. ‘I came straight home and went to bed! You know that. I hope you told him?’
Appu nodded again.
‘Damn it!’ Anthony slammed his closed fist into the wardrobe door. ‘It was William! That’s what he was laughing about last night! He raped the coolie girl!’
Anthony dropped down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. What a mess. The bloody idiot, why couldn’t he keep his whoring away from Watakälé? ‘Where is Mr Rasiah, Appu?’
‘At the apothecary’s, sir. The girl needed treatment, sir.’ Appu was now sobbing. His shoulders stooped. His words came out in drawn out gasps.
Anthony reached out, and ignoring all proprieties of behaviour, placed a hand on Appu’s shoulder.
‘I’ll go immediately.’
‘No sir, not to the apothecary’s, sir,’ Appu shook his head. ‘Tea-maker Aiya said she is too frightened of seeing you. He said to meet him in the factory.’ Appu shuddered and gasped, wiping his tears with the tea towel he was carrying. ‘I’ll serve breakfast, sir,’ he said in a strangled voice. Pulling his body erect with obvious effort, he looked at Anthony.
‘No, just coffee. Thank you, Appu. And please ring Mr Rasiah and tell him that I’m on my way to the factory.’ Anthony spoke over his shoulder as he went into the bathroom. He splashed water onto his face. Rape on Watakälé, God only knew what that would do to his credibility with the staff and coolies.
When Anthony came out of the bedroom, freshly brewed coffee was on the table. Appu stood by the door. His face was washed. He was back to his groomed and dignified best. But his eyes were pools of sorrow mixed with anger.
Anthony downed his coffee and strode to his motorcycle. He knew Appu would testify that he had come home after the party and been in bed all night. But William, he would never be held accountable for this. The rape of a coolie girl by the British superintendent would never be reported to the police. Even if it was, it would never be followed up. That’s how things worked in the tea plantation under the British Raj.
This was plantation entertainment – colonial style.
***
‘No, Mr Ashley-Cooper, nothing you can do can make amends for your brother’s disgusting behaviour. You can’t buy off pain and shame.’
Mr Rasiah stood with his arms folded over his chest. Anthony wilted before the raw anger and blatant disgust in his eyes.
‘It’s what your family do well – rape.’ Mr Rasiah stepped back and leaned on the tea tasting bench. His lips twisted and black eyes flashed fire. He raised his voice. ‘My father worked for your father. Did you know that?’
Anthony shook his head.
‘He, your father – James Ashley-Cooper – kept an Indian coolie girl, a 15-year-old in the house. She got pregnant. He set her up in a house in Diyatalāwa.’
Anthony felt faint. He grasped the corner of the office table. ‘My father? A child? Here in the tea plantations?’
‘Yes, Mr Ashley-Cooper. The girl was in the bungalow when he brought your mother there as his bride.’
Anthony stifled a gasp. Memories flooded his mind – his mother’s refusal to speak of those early years. His father’s sarcasm. His mother’s words to him when he asked her about the plantation: ‘There are people who know what happened …’
‘But surely someone would know if he had a child by a –’
Mr Rasiah laughed. Lips curled in a sneer he leant towards Anthony. ‘Notice a half-breed coolie? For goodness’ sake, look around you, Mr Ashley-Cooper; you’ll see them everywhere. Olive skinned coolie men and women, boys and girls. Brown, grey and blue eyed. You probably have more than one sibling around here. But don’t take it personally. Your father was not the only British superintendent spreading his sperm in the tea bushes.’
Anthony stood dumbfounded. ‘Dear God, how could they?’
Mr Rasiah’s voice lost the painful edge. ‘It wasn’t all rape. Some coolie girls consider it a notch in their belt to bed the white Periadorai.’ Mr Rasiah stood silent and then sighed. ‘You aren’t like that, are you? I would have heard if anything happened.’
Anthony met his gaze. ‘Mr Rasiah, please let me help the girl. I want to make a difference.’
‘You can’t help her, Mr Ashley-Cooper. As to making a difference, you already have. Follow through on the coolies’ savings plan and staff provident fund.’
‘That I will do.’
‘As for the girl,’ Mr Rasiah continued. ‘We’ll take care of her. Your involvement would make it look like you were the one responsible, an admission of guilt.’
Anthony flushed at the implication and looked down. ‘I see. What do you think I should do?’
‘Don’t get involved in this incident. Look after Watakälé. Show that you care for the labourers and staff. Get down to the tea fields with the coolies and
get into the factory during manufacture, Mr Ashley-Cooper. Let the coolies know you are interested in the tea plantation – in the plucking, the manufacture – but also in them as people. And you will truly learn what is happening. The coolies will feel you care and they in turn will work better for you. Let them see you as a man, not the white lord of the British Empire.’
They looked at each other across the large old wooden desk of the Tea-maker’s office. The tall, young British man dressed in Savile Row woollen trousers, linen shirt and hand-crafted leather shoes; his sun bleached golden hair drooping over his tanned angular face. The dark skinned native Tamil Tea-maker, dressed in khaki trousers and a flannel shirt, his feet in worn leather sandals.
Finally, Mr Rasiah smiled. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, you are so unlike your father and brother. I’ll do something for you, Mr Ashley-Cooper. Watakälé will have the best price on the London tea auctions within six months. It’ll take some doing but it can be done.’
Anthony’s heart raced. Top the London tea auctions. That would be something to excite his father. ‘Can we aim for gold tip?’
Mr Rasiah shook his head. ‘No, wrong altitude, but we could try for silver tip.’
‘Let’s do it.’ Anthony held out his hand to Mr Rasiah. They shook hands and parted. Anthony looked back at Mr Rasiah as he climbed onto his motorcycle.
Friendship with the native staffers, wage increases for the coolies. This was definitely not what his father wanted.
But maybe it would go some small way towards paying back the hurt and pain his family had heaped on these people.
Chapter 12
July 1966 Watakälé
The roar of the approaching motorcycle and the crunch of tyres on gravel sent a shudder through Lakshmi’s body. She knew now that it was not Watakälé Periadorai who had hurt her, yet the site of his face with the piercing blue eyes, so like his brother’s, sent shafts of fear and pain through her. It was as if she were back on the floor screaming for mercy and getting none. She moved away from the gravel path, deeper into the bushes. Her trembling fingers struggled to pick the two leaves and a bud. She slowed, then stopped picking.
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