Cinnamon Gardens (47 page)

The commission’s recommendations, in one aspect, pleased Balendran. The commissioners, displaying a reformative attitude that put the Ceylonese to shame, had recommended universal franchise, making Ceylon the first Asian country to receive it. This, Balendran knew, was perhaps the greatest reform the Donoughmore constitution would bring. With universal
franchise, the semi-feudal structures of Ceylon would begin to loosen.

Balendran put down his paper and went to stand at his study window.

In the days that followed his encounter with his father, Balendran had expected to feel a sense of freedom. He had spoken aloud to his father, and in some sense to himself, of his struggle, the difficulty of living with who he really was. But instead of release, a feeling of dejection took hold of him, as if he had reached a goal, an end, and found it curiously hollow.

A few days after the incident at Lotus Cottage, Balendran had told his father about Seelan’s return to Bombay. He had tried to convince him to consider passing on to Seelan the share of the family wealth that had belonged to Arul, saying that it was important to make his peace before he died with this restitution in Arul’s name. His father had remained obdurate.

One afternoon, not too long after Seelan had departed from Colombo, Nalamma surprised Balendran with a visit. She explained that her husband had let her know what had happened at Lotus Cottage. Balendran told her of his failed attempt to convince his father to allow his grandson an inheritance. Nalamma had said, “You must understand that a man like your father, irrespective of how he appears, always lives with the consequences of his actions.”

In the proceeding months, Balendran had visited his father’s house rarely. On those occasions that he did, he found his mother distracted and tired. Though from time to time his father expounded loudly about the scoundrels in the Labour Union and their causes, which he said would prove to be the
ruination of Ceylon, he seemed otherwise withdrawn and to have aged.

The torches were lit along Brighton’s driveway, giving it a festive air. Once again, it was the Mudaliyar’s birthday. As Balendran and Sonia’s taxi turned into the gate, he saw that his mother had added a new touch to the celebrations. Along both sides of the driveway, stretching from the gate to the porch, was a row of little clay lamps, their lights like fireflies flickering in the darkness.

When the taxi stopped under the porch, Pillai came down the steps to open the car door. He bowed respectfully. “You are wanted upstairs, Sin-Aiyah.”

Although Pillai spoke in a neutral tone, Balendran knew immediately that something was wrong. Sonia and he exchanged looks. They went in quickly.

Before they even reached the top of the stairs, Balendran could hear the raised voices. He entered in time to hear Louisa say, “I am at a loss to understand my daughter. An absolute loss.”

Balendran quickly surveyed the family present; Louisa shaking her head, distraught; Kumudini holding her arm in comfort; Philomena Barnett by the dining table, a vindicated look on her face; Manohari enjoying the whole proceedings and Nalamma trying not to notice what was going on. He now realized Louisa had been referring to Annalukshmi.

Louisa had seen him and she came towards him. “Thambi, the most dreadful thing has happened. You must talk some sense into Annalukshmi.”

“We found a letter,” Kumudini said. “It seems that akka has applied to a school in Jaffna.”

Balendran raised his eyebrows.

“A Hindu school,” Louisa cried.

“Mark my word, it’s that Miss Lawton’s girl who is encouraging her in this nonsense,” Philomena said. She turned to Balendran. “That girl is now living with some man in Pettah. They say she is married, but I have my doubts. He’s a Labour Union man, so I would not be in the least surprised if they are living in sin.” She began to go around the table, checking the place settings. “Poor Miss Lawton. Her blood pressure went up so high, she had to stay in bed for a week. Still, what can you expect? These foreigners and their notions on raising up low castes. If you rear a snake even from the time it is born, will it not ultimately turn around and sting you? It is in its very nature to do so.”

Philomena continued about her business, oblivious to the change in the room. She did not see Nalamma turn away with an expression of sorrow on her face or Balendran and Sonia glance at each other or Louisa fiddle with the palu of her sari. A year ago, Philomena’s comment would have hardly been heeded by them. Now, on all their minds, was the thought of Seelan back in India with his mother.

“Where is Annalukshmi?” Balendran said to break the silence.

“Who knows,” Manohari said. “She flounced off downstairs a few minutes ago.”

Balendran went to look for Annalukshmi, and was told by one of the servants that she was in the study.

He knocked on the door and went inside to find his niece seated in a chair by the desk. There was a stubborn, irritated look on her face.

Balendran came and perched on the desk in front of her.

“I have been sent to rescue you from running off to Jaffna and becoming a Hindu.”

He spoke with good-natured irony, and Annalukshmi could not help but smile. “Don’t worry, I am quite safe from that,” she said satirically. “One faith is enough of a burden.”

Balendran looked at her keenly. There was a quiet determination in her face that he had never seen before.

“Do you
really
want to go to Jaffna?” he queried.

“It’s a possibility.”

He waited for her to go on.

She shrugged. “I am considering many possibilities. I might go to Jaffna, I might go somewhere else, perhaps even Malaya with Kumudini, as she will need some help with her baby girl.” She gestured to her surroundings. “Or I might just stay right here. After all, it’s not such a bad life, is it? And I am beginning to meet new people … interesting people.”

She leant forward, her face shining with enthusiasm. “Everything is changing; Bala Maama, I don’t really know what I’m going to do.” Her face became stern. “But when I do decide, I will do it.”

They were both silent for a moment, listening to the voices of servants on the verandah.

“Seelan has finally replied to a letter I sent him,” Annalukshmi said.

“Oh?”

“I thought about it for a long time, maama. I don’t think Seelan and I would have been well matched. I don’t think we would have seen eye to eye on things that are important.”

“It is good to know these things before one makes an irrevocable choice.”

“I wrote to him and said that I do indeed return his respect, and I hoped we would be able to correspond as cousins.”

“I’m so happy to hear it, merlay. It is my wish that some day Seelan will be fully accepted in this, our family, and be able to claim what is rightfully his.”

After Annalukshmi had left to go upstairs, Balendran continued to sit where he was, thinking of youth, his youth, and his mind filled with a memory. Richard and he walking from Sheffield to Edward Carpenter’s house, the deserted road, the rolling green fields on either side. Richard, as they walked along, had turned to him, held his gaze and, with an ever so slight movement, touched the brim of his hat. It was a gesture of friendship, a confirmation of the amity between them. Matching that memory came a more recent one, the time at the Galle Face Hotel when they had sat together speaking of their shared past.

Balendran now understood clearly the cause of his discontent, his sadness in the last months. He was lonely, not for friendship exactly but for someone with whom he could truly share himself.

He was still for a moment, lost in thought. Then he glanced at his watch and sat down at his father’s desk. From his coat pocket he took out his wallet and from it pulled the visiting card Richard had left at his house the one time he had visited. He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. He undid the cap to the inkwell and dipped his father’s pen in it.

Balendran sealed the envelope, addressed it, and put a stamp on it. He put it in his coat pocket. He would post it tomorrow.

In the vestibule, Balendran could hear Sonia talking to his father, preparing for the arrival of the guests. He turned the light off by the desk and left the study.

His wife and his father were now by the door. His mother led the way down the stairs with Philomena Barnett. Behind them were Louisa, Kumudini, Manohari, and last, lagging behind, Annalukshmi.

As Balendran looked around at his family, he was filled with a sudden tenderness for them that had not existed before, an affection that sat strangely light on him. In the past, they were the things he had drawn around himself, entangled his soul in, weighed his desires down with. Now they stood apart from him and they had, as a result of this detachment, become strangely sweeter.

The first cars could now be heard coming up the driveway. Balendran straightened his tie and went to take his place amongst his family.

Kumari Jayawardena greatly influenced the direction this book followed. It is thus fitting that the acknowledgements begin with her. Her unpublished research on the Women’s Franchise Union and early feminism in Sri Lanka – which she so generously shared with me – inspired the character of Annalukshmi. Her books,
The Rise of the Labour Movement in Ceylon
and
The White Woman’s Other Burden
, were also invaluable. Her stories about various Cinnamon Gardens families helped me get a sense of what went on beneath the polished veneer.

My gratitude to my partner, Andrew Champion, for his enormous patience with my daily doubts; his help with various knots in the plot; coming up with the title; martinis at six o’clock; good sense, plants, cats.

My thanks to my family, as always, for their support and love.

The following people read the early drafts of this novel and I am indebted to them for their valuable input: Rishika Williams and Fernando Sa-Pereira, who helped me with interesting insights into Annalukshmi’s and Balendran’s characters; also
Sunila Abeysekera, Manel Fonseka, Kumari Jayawardena, Jeff Round, Tony Stephenson.

I would like to give special thanks to my editor Ellen Seligman at McClelland & Stewart for her meticulous and creative editing of this book, for forcing me to go that extra mile (and for her strong faith that I could, indeed, do it); my editor Will Schwalbe at Hyperion in New York, for pointing out that a historical novel can be a metaphor for the present, for his encouraging calls and e-mails while I was in Sri Lanka, for his conviction that I could do it again; John Saddler at Anchor; my agents Bruce Westwood and Jennifer Barclay for, among other things, the box of books they sent me while I was in Sri Lanka – further proof that their regard for me goes beyond their excellent representation of my work internationally; Heather Sangster, formerly of McClelland & Stewart, who stuck with the copyediting even after she had left; Anne Valeri, my publicist at McClelland & Stewart.

This book was heavily reliant on research, so I wish to thank the following people for their time and effort:
In Sri Lanka:
Manel Fonseka, who put me into contact with numerous interesting people; Mr. C. I. Edwards, Sr., who, despite difficulties of speech because of illness, brought the 1920s alive for me; Reverend Lionel Peiries, for interesting reflections on the Cinnamon Gardens crowd; Mrs. Sathasivam of Cambridge Place, for details of Hindu culture and for arranging for me to visit a temple and its trustee; Chloe De Soysa, whose memories of the saris and food at her parents’ parties provided helpful detail; Siro Gopallawa, who so patiently photocopied the Donoughmore Commission Report for me, five pages a day; Anjalendran, for help with architectural details; Jan Bruinsma, whose house was a haven for us during the year in Sri Lanka.
In Singapore and Malaysia:
For the oral histories they shared with me – Dr. S. R. Sayampanathan, Mrs. Jayalukshmi Sivarajah of Klang, Dulcie Abraham, Mrs. Ampalapillai of Scotts Road. Mrs. Shellatay Rao of the Arkrib Negara and Dr. Kathirithamby-Wells pointed me in the right direction in terms of my research. Kurt Crocker and Andreas Wan for their hospitality. Ian Gomez for his friendship and good times, so essential when one is in a foreign country.