Cinnamon Gardens (38 page)

The Mudaliyar sat down in his chair. “But didn’t you try to stop it?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“It would have made no difference if I had,” Balendran said. “Arul had left instructions and they were to be carried out. Besides, they are not in need of your assistance.”

The Mudaliyar leant forward. “Am I to understand that you did not broach the subject at all?” he said, his voice awful with anger.

“What would you have me do? Did you really think I could ask my nephew to let his father be cremated by people he doesn’t know, people who have rejected him because of his birth? How could you have even expected that?”

The Mudaliyar stared at him, astounded.

Before either one of them could continue, the study door
opened and Nalamma entered. She stood still when she saw her son.

“Amma,” Balendran said gently. “It’s over.”

“Aiyo,” she said. “Aiyo, aiyo.”

She swayed slightly.

Balendran, afraid she was going to faint, went and put his arm around her.

She looked from the Mudaliyar to Balendran. “When can I see him?”

The Mudaliyar glared at Balendran, as if to say that, since he had failed to bring Arul back, he could be the one to tell his mother.

“Come,” Balendran said, “let’s go upstairs. We can talk there.”

With his arm around his mother, he guided her out. As he left his father’s study, he glanced back and saw the Mudaliyar staring at him with a look of anger and hatred on his face he had never seen before.

When Balendran entered Sevena, Sonia was sitting in a corner of the drawing room, looking over some paperwork that related to the Girls’ Friendly Society. “Bala,” she cried and stood up quickly.

She looked at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”

He came to her and kissed her on the cheek, then sat down in a chair, suddenly very tired. Now that the strain of meeting his father was over, Balendran felt the sadness of his brother’s death take hold of him once again.

Sonia came and stood behind him. “Poor Bala,” she said and put her arms around his shoulders. He held her hands and kissed them. “Would you like some tea? A drink?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“When is the funeral to be?”

“It already happened.”

Sonia came around the side of the chair. “What do you mean?”

“All according to his instructions. A simple funeral for a simple man. No pomp and ceremony. He died as he had lived.”

“Have you told your father?”

He nodded. “Appa didn’t take it very well.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Sonia said with spirit. “I am proud of you, Bala. You did what was right.”

Balendran squeezed her hand in gratitude, comforted by her approval.

“And your mother?” Sonia said. “Should I go to her tonight?”

He shook his head. “She has retired to bed. Perhaps in the morning.”

“Very well then, let me go and tell the cook to prepare something for you to eat.”

Once Sonia had left, Balendran thought of his mother’s terrible grief. When he had explained why he could not ask that his brother’s body be returned to Colombo, he had been taken aback by her understanding and her support of his decision.

He found himself wondering how much she might have known about Pakkiam and his father. He tried to recall her treatment of Pakkiam, if there had been harshness, but he could not remember that being so. In all the interactions he recalled between them, his mother had handled her just like she would another servant.

The sorrow that Balendran felt made it difficult for him to sleep, despite his exhaustion. As he paced his bedroom, he found himself thinking about those yearly holidays his family took in Jaffna at their ancestral home. During the holiday he would be bored, alienated in this strange place, away from his friends, his familiar books and hobbies, forced to play with his Jaffna cousins who, in the ensuing year, had become strangers. Yet, when it was all over and he came back to Colombo, he would remember the holiday with nostalgia, suddenly missing the company of his cousins, the sea baths, the huge prawns from the Jaffna lagoon, the barren landscape with its palmyra trees, even the saline water of Jaffna. In the same way, Balendran felt a longing now for Bombay and his time there. Forgotten was the squalor outside his brother’s flat, the meagre meals, the stifling room in which he had slept. Instead, he remembered the conversations with his brother; Pakkiam, Seelan, and he sitting down to a meal in companionable silence.

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.