Return to Mandalay (16 page)

‘So what
has
our country paid? What have we given in exchange for this progress?’

Lawrence considered, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Did he mean the teak? Did he mean the rice paddy fields? Both were a rich source of income for British companies, such as the one which employed Lawrence. Was that what he meant by payment?

‘We have given our culture.’ Maya’s father nodded. ‘We have given our freedom. Our natural riches. And we have given away our right to rule our own country.’

Lawrence wasn’t sure that he could deny this. He almost
wished Scottie were here to make it all plain. ‘I understand what you are saying,’ he said. ‘But—’

‘And there are many much younger and more energetic than me,’ Maya’s father went on, ‘who are determined to see some change of their own.’

‘How will they go about it?’ Lawrence enquired mildly, wondering what he was getting into. And where the hell was Maya?

‘I am sure that they will try the peaceful way first,’ he said. He inhaled deeply, blowing out the smoke in a perfect ring. ‘After that, who knows?’

When Maya eventually re-entered the room, the talk turned to other things and very soon her father said goodnight and left them. But when he did, Lawrence was heartened by the warmth with which he shook his hand. Although British and a foreigner, perhaps he had, after all, passed that test.

‘Your father’s house is very fine,’ Lawrence said to her. He indicated the silk hangings and the vibrant tapestries.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I embroidered the tapestries myself.’

‘Did you, by Jove?’ Lawrence took a closer look at the silver, gold and red threaded silk on black velvet. There was a depiction of a dragon and another which was a landscape with a river, a sampan and a house built on stilts. But the one that really caught his eye was of a golden temple with two silver chinthes guarding the gate, their eyes glowing red like fire. The tapestries were the work of a skilled needlewoman, he realised. The touch was so delicate.

Maya came to stand very close to him. He could smell the scent of coconut oil, feel the warmth permeating from her skin. ‘So, do you still wish to know the daughter,’ she said softly, ‘now that you have met the father?’

He smiled. ‘I do.’

‘Then would you like to stay the night?’ she asked.

He blinked in surprise. ‘Here?’

‘Yes.’

‘With you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Maya …’ He wanted it more than he could say. But … ‘I can’t promise you anything,’ he said. Though the words stuck in his throat. Because he wanted to promise her things. Things that he had promised no woman. Already, he wanted to promise her the earth.

‘I am not asking for your promises,’ she said.

‘And your father?’

She smiled. ‘He does not want them either.’

That wasn’t quite what he had meant. ‘But—’

‘Ssh.’ She put her finger to his lips. ‘My father is not like other men. You will discover.’

‘Then …’

She wound her arms around his neck. They felt warm and surprisingly strong. She lifted her face to his. Her sleek black hair fell back from her face, revealing tiny and perfect ear lobes. ‘Sometimes, there is no need for words,’ she whispered.

And as she led him to her bedroom, as she untied her
longyi
and allowed the scarlet fabric to fall around her feet, as she came to him and he held her in his arms, slender, supple and warmer than he could ever have dreamt … Lawrence realised that she was right.

By the time they returned from the Gardens, Maya was rested and dinner had been prepared by a few of the younger women, under Maya’s direction. She wanted to give Eva something simple but traditional, so she had chosen her special fish curry, the chicken with peanuts and a refreshing and spicy salad. She would serve these with
hin-jo, balachaung
and other accompaniments.

‘What happened to your grandmother after the rout?’ Eva asked her as they ate. ‘Did she stay with the King and Queen?’

Maya smiled at her enthusiasm for the story. This girl could not wait, could she, to find out everything? She served her some of the curry and salad and thought back to her grandmother’s old, brown face, her liquid eyes, her gentle voice as she told Maya what had happened all those years ago. She thought of other things too, of her grandmother’s dark coiled hair which smelled of the coconut oil she poured over it once a month to keep it glossy and supple, a tradition Maya had continued with her own. Her grandmother, Suu Kyi, had washed Maya’s hair too, when her mother was sick, washed it with tree bark, lemon and tamarind rind to create a giant lather and hair that was squeaky clean and smelled of
the garden of paradise. Her grandmother’s hands massaging her scalp, the scent of the spices … Maya could close her eyes and still smell it to this day. She sighed. ‘Yes, she stayed with them.’

‘And were they kept prisoner by the British?’ Eva seemed outraged. She was looking very pretty tonight, Maya thought, tall and elegant in her simple blouse and long skirt, her skin slightly flushed from the heat and fresh air. Her hair too was dark and thick and it hung loose over her slim shoulders.

Maya tasted a little of the chicken. She remembered the details of the story very clearly for it had had a profound effect on her. Her grandmother had told her that the King had tried to sell certain jewels and possessions and that the British guards had found out, insisted he was being cheated and promptly appropriated everything of value that the Royal Family owned. But perhaps she should not tell the girl all these things. ‘They were taken to India,’ she said. ‘And it is true that they were not free to come and go.’

‘And your grandmother, Suu Kyi? Did she go to India too?’ Her eyes were dark, not like Lawrence’s eyes of clear sky-blue. Nevertheless, she had the shape of his face, the slant of his cheekbones. Maya had seen it, felt it. She had a certain look about her. And an honesty. Maya liked that.

‘Yes, she did. Later, she was told she could return here …’ Maya laid down her fork. These days she did not eat so much; her appetite was small. She was often tired too, she lacked the energy for long conversations and she needed help to prepare meals such as this one which once she would have loved to
cook alone. ‘But she did not return, not then.’ She was loyal to the Queen and to the princesses. They had lost so much already.

‘It must have been so hard for the King and Queen,’ Eva murmured. ‘After what they had been used to.’

‘It was.’ The girl was imaginative too. And Maya remembered making exactly the same observation to her grandmother. ‘The Queen expected the old Burmese ways to still be part of her life,’ she said. ‘The reverence, the
shiko-ing
, the respect. But everything changed and most people in the royal entourage left before very long.’

Ramon dished out more food to Eva and offered some to his grandmother. She shook her head. But she accepted the glass of water he poured for her.

‘What about the other servant girl?’ Eva asked as Maya had known she would. ‘What about Nanda Li? Did she leave too?’

‘Not at first.’ Maya frowned so as to remember more clearly every detail of what she had been told. ‘But Queen Supayalat continued to prefer Suu Kyi and Nanda Li grew very bitter. She was lazy too. Often, she refused to serve her Queen and one day, the Queen simply sent her away.’

‘And that was the last Suu Kyi saw of her?’ Eva asked. She had a healthy appetite. Lawrence too had always eaten well; his job had been physically demanding of course. Maya had often wondered how he had managed during the war. Some of the men she saw after it was over had lost much weight. They were so thin, you could see their protruding bones.

‘If only,’ growled Ramon.

Maya saw Eva look across at him, surprised. There was some tension between these two, she could feel it, though she did not know the cause. Ramon was stubborn of course, very loyal and sometimes prickly like a wild bush on the plain. And Lawrence’s granddaughter did not know the whole truth. Should she tell her? Maya had not yet decided. To tell Eva was to tell Lawrence. She did not have so much time left. But she would have to give it more thought.

‘No, it was not the last time,’ she said. ‘The Royal Family were moved to Ratnagiri, many miles south of Bombay. They remained in exile, stripped of all power. But the people who looked after their interests were not always unkind.’ She remembered what her grandmother had told her of the official’s wife who had befriended her grandmother and made it her business to try and find a husband for Suu Kyi. She hadn’t succeeded, but she had eventually persuaded her to return to Burma. There were new servants now, the Queen had become cantankerous and difficult, the princesses had grown and no longer needed her. The official’s wife was of Indian origin but she had family in Rangoon who would give Suu Kyi work. ‘I am giving you a chance of freedom,’ she had urged her. ‘You must take it.’

Suu Kyi had gone to the Queen and asked for her blessing. ‘Go,’ the Queen had told her. ‘Go while you can. I would go myself, if I could. And, please God, my daughters will return to Burma themselves one day.’

Maya told Eva this part of the story.

‘So she returned here,’ murmured Eva.

‘Yes, she did. The family she worked for moved to Mandalay,’ Maya told her. ‘My grandmother met my grandfather there, and she also met again with Nanda Li.’

The two families had had little contact. Maya remembered as a girl seeing Nanda Li’s son and his wife in the bazaar, her mother ushering her quickly away. And she remembered the man’s dark scheming eyes too, eyes that he had passed on to his own children, Maya’s contemporaries, and on even beyond this. The family had grown in power and wealth, but their reputation went before them.

‘One day, when I was a girl of sixteen,’ Maya said, ‘my grandmother gave me the pair of chinthes. And she told me the story of the rout of the last King and Queen of Burma, just as I have told it to you, my child.’ She nodded. ‘She told me to treasure them, and she warned me to keep them together for the sake of spiritual harmony. She told me that they would keep me safe and that the gift was the most special gift, that I should remember that.’

‘But you gave one of them to my grandfather.’

The girl, Eva, looked so innocent sitting there. Maya’s heart went out to her. ‘Yes, I gave one to your grandfather,’ she said. ‘When he was about to go to war.’

‘Before you leave, I have something I must give you.’ That is what she had told him. And she had withdrawn the teak chinthe from the faded red Shan bag she carried over her shoulder. She passed it, almost reverentially, to him. It meant so much.

‘What’s this, my love?’

But she could tell that he knew. Everyone who had lived in her country knew the role played by the chinthes. They protected, they guarded, they kept from harm. Traditionally, they guarded the temple. But they had been given to Maya’s grandmother because she had guarded the princesses. And now their strength was needed again. ‘It is all I can give you.’

‘And yet I have brought you nothing.’ He frowned.

With her eyes, she told him that no, he was mistaken, he had given her everything.

He held the chinthe up to the lamp and looked into its red eyes. ‘And where is his partner?’ he asked softly.

‘I will keep that one with me.’ She bowed her head. ‘They belong together. I hope and pray that he will bring you back to me.’ It was the first time she had said this. No promises. That was what she had always said before. Nothing about belonging. Nothing about forever.

He dropped the chinthe into his backpack. ‘I will take him with me wherever I go.’

Maya smiled to herself. If only he knew. But better he did not know perhaps.

‘Many people in Burma bury their treasures,’ she said. ‘It may be that when you go to war, you will have to bury him too. If you do …’ she smiled. ‘You must remember where and mark the spot, my love.’

Gently, he held her face between his two hands. ‘But I will never bury our love, Maya,’ he said.

‘Nor I.’ She looked into his blue eyes. ‘I will remember it for all of my days.’

He stroked her hair. ‘I will come back.’

She put a finger to his lips. ‘Whatever you do, my love,’ she said. ‘I will understand.’

She watched him go with his precious cargo slung over one shoulder. ‘Keep him safe for me,’ she whispered to the chinthe.

*

Later that night, after dinner, her father had grasped hold of her arm. ‘Mya?’

‘Father?’

‘Where is the other chinthe?’ He pointed up at the shrine where one lonely animal guarded the image of the Buddha who was, as he should be, placed higher than anything else in the room on top of a sandalwood box.

‘I have given it away,’ she said.

‘Given it away?’ He let out a curse. ‘How could you give it away? We may need that, when … when …’

She put her arms around him. She knew that her father, for all his bravado, was frightened too. The war was getting closer. They were all in danger. But she would far rather have the chinthe guarding Lawrence, than have the pair confiscated by the Chinese or Japanese.

‘He needs it more,’ she whispered.

‘So.’ He looked mournful. ‘You have given it to your Englishman?’

‘I have.’

‘Then you are a fool.’ He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair.

‘It was mine to give,’ Maya remonstrated softly. ‘My grandmother gave me the pair.’

‘I know. But still, it is a family legacy.’

‘I have respected the manner in which it should be given,’ she told him, love giving her a stubbornness she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘And I believe that it will come back to our family one day.’

He looked up at the shrine. Shook his head. ‘Does he know what it is?’

‘No. But he knows what it means.’

He patted her shoulder. ‘You must really love this man, my daughter,’ he said. ‘He must be your life.’

‘He is,’ said Maya. And that was the truth.

*

The rest of them were quiet as they listened to the remainder of her story. Maya wiped a tear from her eye.

‘And what happened after the war?’ Eva asked softly.