. This is it, she said to herself. Her heart thumped against her breastbone. Taking a deep breath she rapped her knuckles on the doorframe and waited.The journey to Dharamsala involved taking two ferry boats, three commuter trains and sitting in a Leyland bus built in the 1930s for fifteen hours.
Lu See’s spirits were light, full of girlish energy. She couldn’t wait to see Sum Sum; the anticipation electrified her. Yet she tried not to get ahead of herself – there was no way of knowing if Sum Sum was in Dharamsala, or in Tibet, whether she was even alive at all. But somehow, in her bones, Lu See knew with an unshakeable certainty that she would find Sum Sum. She felt the pull of their friendship and an overpowering sense that fate was drawing close.
Dharamsala. She toyed with the word, rolling it around on her tongue like a salted plum. In Hindi it meant ‘sanctuary’, a place for injured souls. She wondered if the city in the upper reaches of the Kangra Valley would bring her soul the peace it craved.
Earlier, in Penang, with the thick smell of the sea in her hair, she watched loinclothed Lascars with arms and shoulders blackened from the sun unload a shiny red fire engine with a heavy lift derrick. A shout went up. The fire truck swung in the air like a toy. Children playing street badminton nearby dropped their racquets and gathered about, unable to contain their excitement, whooping with delight as the engine landed on the quay. Their excitement was infectious. It reminded her of the laughter she once shared with Sum Sum.
Then, as Lu See’s ship left Penang harbour, skirting the coastline, she stared out at the hills of George Town, at the fields of palm parched by the sun, at the fish farms, tin mines and coconut groves. A farmer reclined in the shade, on a makeshift bed made from coconut fibre rope and the image made her smile; it summed up everything she loved about Malay rural life; everything sleepy and calm.
Despite herself, she was touched by a sense of nostalgia.
Do you remember? Lu See lowered her eyelids. Do you remember, years before, standing on the deck of the Jutlandia? Watching the port recede from view, embarking on that adventure of a lifetime? You were the girl who’d never travelled beyond the Straits of Malacca. The girl who believed she controlled her own destiny.
‘‘How little I knew,’’ she murmured to herself. ‘‘How little I knew.’’
She turned and walked, walked all the way around to the bow of the ship, until the barrier at the end stopped her. She gripped the handrail tight and, feeling the breeze in her face, laughed at the sun.
Her lips tasted salt. Her eyes tasted happy tears.
She was on a new adventure.
And she was going to look forward not back.
When they arrived in Madras, Pietro took charge, flashing his diplomatic documents. But getting from Dr. Ambedkar Dock to the dilapidated Royapuram Rail Station proved to be a trial; the traffic jam of trishaws and rickshaws and the seething mass of people made Pietro swoon. ‘‘It’s like everyone’s rushing for the khazi but nobody’s got the key,’’ he moaned. Their Ambassador cab swerved past buses bloated with passengers. Each time they hit a pothole Mabel and Pietro yelped.
Their train for New Delhi left at 13.30. They made it with twenty minutes to spare. They were told they had to change at Hyderabad.
The station master wore a pair of open-toe sandals with yellow nylon socks which looked as if they hadn’t been laundered in a while. The fat folds on his neck were so deep they’d turned pink and crusty. Swollen like some gargantuan sweaty bean, he brandished their tickets and barked out their platform number.
‘‘This fella makes Uncle Big Jowl look like Fred Astaire,’’ whispered Mabel.
Thirty-six hours later, they alighted at Delhi Junction, pushed through the wall of warped-limbed beggars, and headed straight for the Maidens Hotel.
The following morning at 5 a.m., a bus took them north from New Delhi. Lu See peered out the window, rubbing the mist from the glass with her hand. She stared at the pre-dawn sky, cut and scarred with strips of colour – low clouds lit with orange and pink.
Meanwhile, Pietro pored over the Hindustan Times; there was no mention of Malaya in the ‘World News’ section. ‘‘All quiet at home,’’ he said, sounding relieved.
Lu See knew what he meant. There hadn’t been any trouble in KL since the incident outside her restaurant; but the fault lines had been drawn; a large portion of the community had been made to feel like aliens in their own country. It was, she conceived, only a matter of time before new racial tremors would shake the city. But she couldn’t worry about that now.
She tucked her chin into the crook of her arm and slept.
Five hours later they stopped to stretch their legs and relieve themselves behind the trees.
Three hours after that, they stopped for lunch.
Lu See emerged from the bus to the smells of woodsmoke mingled with the scent of sautéing pine needles and cow-liver mushrooms, and feeling the dry scrape of the wind against her cheeks. The rarified atmosphere made her momentarily dizzy; she took in a deep breath and steadied herself. In the small eatery the band of tourists found themselves seated around an oval table. They were served little round dumplings floating in a dark soup with large mushrooms.
‘‘What’s this?’’ asked Lu See, sniffing the steam.
Pietro glanced about conspiratorially and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He gave Lu See a ‘Ye Gods’ look. ‘‘It’s like something a swamp-dweller might eat.’’
Mabel offered a corner-of-the-mouth grimace.
Lu See examined the contents of the bowl, smelling it, weighing it first in one hand and then the other, before dipping her spoon in. She wondered whether this was how Sum Sum felt the first time she tried Stilton cheese.
Back on the bus Lu See settled into her seat and stared out of the window. She saw nomads living in tents made of animal hair. She saw windowless houses with shingle-covered roofs and walls made from loam; women in long kurtas, ghaghri, salwars and cholis; farmers working fields clad in kurtas and caps.
Along the road joining Haryana to Mandi she saw snowy mountain peaks, rock monasteries, donkey-drawn caravans. This is Sum Sum land, she said to herself, everywhere I look I see her face.
Up ahead she saw the rugged, muscled landscape and the outline of mountains stabbed by ice-caps. Itinerant herds of goats dotted the terrain like seedpods.
The bus stopped again in the late afternoon. The rest house had lotus blossom carvings adorning its doors with painted gyung-drung swastikas gracing its walls.
‘‘I think it must be market day,’’ said Mabel.
Basket makers, salt traders, silversmiths and weavers lined up to greet them. Their language spilled from their throats as snatched, angular sounds.
Twenty yards along, men hunkering down to shear sheep, white wool scattered like snow about their knees, looked up momentarily and smiled at Lu See’s camera. The thinness of the air made everything appear brighter and sharper. The rays of the sun seemed to travel farther.
After a while, they boarded the bus once again.
Lu See had read something – probably in LIFE magazine – about Dharamsala. ‘‘It’s one of the main towns of the Kangra Valley,’’ she told Pietro as he filed his nails. ‘‘And the mountain range encompasses three sides of it which give on to the valley stretching to the south. It’s something like 6000 feet. above sea level with very rocky ground.’’
He stuck a finger to his chin. ‘‘Good thing I didn’t pack my stilettos.’’
As they drew closer to Dharamsala, Lu See grew increasingly anxious. Will we recognize one another, will we still be friends? What would she see in Sum Sum’s face? Perhaps she’d see her own reflection.
As soon as they settled into their boarding house, Pietro decided to hang back and explore Dharamsala proper. ‘‘I’ll do some souvenir shopping. No point all of us barging in on the nuns and making a scene,’’ he said. Lu See agreed with him.
Lu See grasped the handle of her art portfolio case, touched Mabel’s elbow and led her through the bustling pavement life. Mabel had a Tupperware box tucked under her arm. Up ahead they could see the nunnery forecourt through the gates. Snow-splashed mountain peaks surrounded them. They passed letter-writers, paan sellers and women hawking rice. A woman with almond-shaped Nepali eyes, who seconds before was caressing her sandalled feet, held out a fistful of rice from a gunny sack. When Lu See shook her head no, she went back to massaging her big toe. A bit further on, under the shade of peepul trees, the letter-writers sat cross-legged on boxes, thrashing at the keys to their typewriters; every now and then they paused to listen to their clients’ dictation. Further on still, a paan salesman combined betel leaves with lime and tobacco.
Lu See and Mabel passed through the modest set of gates and into the temple complex. No one told them where to go or where they were allowed to go.
The air was crisp and clean and alive. Due to the steep altitude, their breath sat high up in their chests.
With the autumn chill gnawing at her, Lu See hopped about from foot to foot like a child eager for the loo.
‘‘Well, this is it,’’ said Mabel. ‘‘Geden Choezom Nunnery.’’
They looked up and saw butter lamps burning and nuns sitting cross-legged reciting Buddhist texts.
Overhead, prayer flags shook in flames of blue and white and yellow.
They approached the Dharma enclosure and each gave the mani wheels a spin.
‘‘Which way do we go?’’ asked Lu See.
‘‘Pietro said to head for the private huts next to the Dharma enclosure. I think this might be it.’’
‘‘God, I hope Sum Sum recognizes me.’’
‘‘We don’t know she’s even here. Don’t get your hopes up.’’
‘‘She’s here. I know she’s here.’’
They entered a small courtyard.
A few days earlier, Pietro, through his diplomatic connections, had made a telephone call to the local member of parliament; he in turn arranged for Lu See to meet with the chanting master.
Mabel went up to a young nun who was busy tending some flowers and asked for directions to the main office.
Lu See’s mouth felt as dry as crust crumbs. She just needed to see Sum Sum’s face. Hold her, touch her; she was dying to hear her laugh. Only then would she feel a sense of release.
Blindly, she followed her daughter down a corridor, the way a child usually followed her mother.
The chanting master, or Umze, was a sprightly thing called Ven Sengdroma. She wore wire spectacles and kept her hands folded in front in prayer pose.
‘‘Namas-te.’’ Ven Sengdroma greeted Lu See and Mabel with a warm smile and draped white scarves over their shoulders. Balmy jasmine incense and pale candlelight filled the room. Somewhere in the distance Lu See could hear the incantations of gods’ names being chanted. ‘‘The local member of parliament mentioned you are looking for someone specifically.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Lu See said. ‘‘Her name is Sum Sum.’’
Ven Sengdroma’s brow crinkled. ‘‘But there is nobody who goes by that name here.’’
‘‘But there must be.’’
‘‘Is that her Dharma name?’’
Lu See had no idea what Ven Sengdroma was talking about.
‘‘We have someone called Sonam who is only thirteen, a child really.’’
‘‘No, Sum Sum is her name and she is forty five years old.’’
‘‘Might you tell me anything more about her?’’
‘‘About your height. She was with the Ani Trangkhung Nunnery in Lhasa. Please,’’ Lu See heard her voice crumble, ‘‘she must be here.’’
Ven Sengdroma looked blankly at her. ‘‘I’m so sorry. It would seem that your long journey has been for nothing. There is nobody by that description that resides here.’’
‘‘Are you absolutely certain?’’ pleaded Lu See, desperately trying to hold her poise.
Ven Sengdroma’s expression turned inwards; hands reached for a set of mala beads. ‘‘You must understand that many of our sisters did not survive the journey. Some were forced to turn back.’’
Lu See’s eyes began to burn with disappointment. Please, God, don’t do this to me. Please tell me she’s safe. She tried one last time. ‘‘Aged forty five with a mischievous sense of humour.’’
Ven Sengdroma’s thumb flicked one bead to the next. ‘‘Mischievous sense of humour, you say … perhaps you’re thinking of Sengemo …’’
Mabel stopped when she reached what appeared to be a communal reception room. ‘‘It’s just up ahead. Go out through that back door. It’s the first hut to your right apparently.’’
Lu See paused, conscious of how anxious she’d become – her breath sounded too loud, and the curious frictionless thud sliding about in her head, she realized, was, in fact, her heartbeat. I haven’t felt like this since my Girton interview. Just relax, she told herself.
She rose up on her toes and bounced on her feet.
‘‘I’ll wait here. I think it’s best if you see her alone first,’’ said Mabel.
‘‘Are you sure?’’
Mabel nodded. ‘‘Maximum sure.’’ Yak butter candles burned all about her. ‘‘Leave the portfolio case. Come fetch me when you’re both ready.’’
The afternoon sunshine streamed through the slats in the shutters like sparkle-dust. A finger of sunlight illuminated Mabel’s face as she perched on a sheesham wood chair and toyed with the new engagement ring on her finger. Her eyes darted to the small but lustrous diamond that lit up her hand.
Her surgeon friend had proposed only days before. Did she love him? Yes. Did she still love Bong? Of course. She would never forget him. But five years had passed since his death and, post-Emergency, she’d had to move on with her life. She’d put herself back together and rediscovered her family. She still felt a penchant for the socialist movement, but instead of fighting she’d found a better way to help the poor – she healed them. Yes, her life was good again. It too was lustrous. It had the gleam of something perfect and intense and new.
Lu See gave Mabel’s arm a squeeze of support and made her way to unit 23-B. Once outside, Lu See looked up at the plate number, marked in red paint with the Tibetan words . This is it, she said to herself. Her heart thumped against her breastbone. Taking a deep breath she rapped her knuckles on the doorframe and waited.
Nothing. No reply. She did it again and gingerly poked her head round the half-open door with an enquiring look.
At the far end of the room a woman sat in shadow. She was hunched and withered in the ailing light. The windows were open and a cool breeze ruffled the pages of a prayer book, yet a sour smell like stale milk lingered.
‘‘Sum Sum?’’ Lu See called out, tentatively. She glared into the dark, searching the black shape of a face.
It took a long time for the crooked figure to stand up straight from her sitting position. Gradually, she moved out of the shadow, emerging like a withered bat from her shrivelled-up throne. She walked with laboured gasps, shuffling across a rug that had worn down to the weft, taking tiny steps as if weighed down by cement shoes. One pace forward, pause, another pace forward, pause.
The first thing Lu See saw were her chicken-feet hands and the raised green veins which were as milky green as drain water. They looked ice-bitten.
And then a finger of sunlight splashed across her face.
Lu See tried not to gasp. She saw an avalanche of age; the features of a ruined castle, weathered by a myriad of deep spidery lines; eyes blinded by cataracts. When their gazes met, there was no recognition in the woman’s expression whatsoever.
‘‘Sum Sum, it’s me. Lu See.’’
The woman tipped her shorn head in confusion. A gurgled emission of air escaped from her throat. That’s when Lu See saw the telltale droop and realized she’d suffered a stroke.
Lu See’s heart unravelled like a worn pair of rope-soled shoes.
‘‘I’ve come to see you. After all these years I finally made it.’’ She tried to sound cheerful. ‘‘Mabel’s waiting for you too.’’
The woman blinked. Her face resembled a deflated beach ball. Perturbed, she turned away.
Lu See persisted. ‘‘Pumpkin-head. It’s me, Lu See.’’
But to no avail. Slowly and deliberately, the woman turned and, walking with heavy steps, retreated from Lu See across the worn rug. When she reached her chair she sank back down, flecks of froth gathering on her lips.
Lu See watched the woman close her eyes, bowed by the weight of her illness.
A knuckle of despair lodged in Lu See’s throat. A dull ache bloomed in her chest. She rubbed a hand down her face and had a sudden mental picture of having to explain this to Mabel. Perhaps if she went to fetch one of the younger nuns, she might be able to help?
Then all of a sudden a chastising voice from behind boomed in her ears. ‘‘You cuckoo-clocks crazy if you think that me! She 68-years-old, lah!’’
Lu See spun round.
At first the shaven head took her by surprise. But then she registered the face, which was flat and furrowed with a crimp of anxiety between the eyes. It was undoubtedly her. It was Sum Sum.
Lu See stretched out her hands, taking Sum Sum by the forearms; Sum Sum’s fingers reached out to hold hers in return. Touching her skin, thought Lu See, was like touching her own flesh. It was the best feeling in the world.
They held onto one another for a long time. They hugged so hard their bones made clicking noises. Hinges creaking, hearts pounding, their lips parted into wide smiles.
Then, laughing, they looked into each others’ eyes as though they were nineteen again.
‘‘You look tip-top well,’’ said Sum Sum.
‘‘You’ve always been a terrible liar. Look at the skin of my neck, resembles somebody’s crumpled bedsheets.’’
‘‘Aiyo! What about me? My face so lined it looks like it made from jungle vines.’’
‘‘Nonsense, your skin’s still as smooth as mutton fat. Not too sure about the hairstyle though.’’
Sum Sum ran the palm of her hand over her bare scalp. ‘‘Why must you talk such crazy-crackpot things after all these years?’
Lu See’s soul overflowed with elation.
This was Sum Sum, her Sum Sum.
They’d both dreamed of this moment for over a quarter-century. Spilling over with happiness, Lu See squeezed Sum Sum’s arm again as if to make sure it was real, that she was real.
And then, quite unexpectedly, the two women burst into tears.
A little later they sat with Mabel in the communal living room. For a long while Mabel and Sum Sum stared openly at each other in fascination, like baffled, spellbound aliens from separate worlds meeting for the very first time.
‘‘I brought you something,’’ said Lu See eventually, breaking the silence.
Draping her blue prayer beads round her wrist, Sum Sum accepted the Tupperware box. She was dressed like all the other nuns, in a maroon wrap-around shirt called a dhonka and matching skirt, together with dark socks and sandals.
‘‘What’s this, lah?’’ She prised open the lid. ‘‘Aiyooo! I recognize these, they’re rosemary shortcakes!’’
‘‘You invented the recipe. I remember you used to eat two or three in one sitting.’’
‘‘Aiyo! They smell wonderful. Can I try?’’
‘‘Of course, they’re for you.’’
Sum Sum took a tiny bite, nibbling at it like a squirrel. She cupped a hand under her chin as the crumbs fell from her mouth, making ‘Mmmmmmm’ sounds like a child licking ice cream from a spoon.
‘‘And this is a photograph of my future husband,’’ said Mabel.
‘‘I bet he is magazine-cover handsome, no?’’ Sum Sum rubbed her eyes and focused hard on the image. ‘‘Looks strong like a yak. How long have you been engaged?’’
‘‘Only a few days,’’ Mabel conceded with a smile. ‘‘He proposed on the morning I left.’’
‘‘Mabel is going to marry a surgeon,’’ said Lu See, unable to keep the pride from her voice.
‘‘Wah,’’ Sum Sum declared with approval, her eyes radiant.
Then Lu See kept quiet for a while. She watched how attentive and polite Mabel and Sum Sum were with one another, both desperate to make a good first impression. She noted how they tried to make a connection, tentatively holding hands, touching fingers, leaving impressions on the skin shaped like expectant joy. Between them though still nestled a pile of unuttered questions that neither was yet bold enough to ask.
A younger nun came up to them and handed out cups of yak butter tea.
Sum Sum introduced her. ‘‘This is my friend Tormam.’’ Tormam bowed her head. ‘‘She saved my life many times when walking from Tibet.’’
‘‘Actually, it was Sengemo who saved my life. I was lost and she tracked my footsteps and found me.’’
Sum Sum took a slurp of tea. ‘‘You like our national drink?’’ She said to Mabel with a mischievous smile.
Mabel nodded with laughing eyes. ‘‘Like drinking a thick cup of oily mud.’’
Sum Sum launched into a story about eating stinky cheese in England. It made Mabel laugh. And for the first time Lu See realized how much they looked alike, how their smiles were the same, sloping gradually from left to right.
‘‘Hey, you still painting-painting?’’ Sum Sum asked Lu See.
‘‘Oh, yes, I almost forgot.’’ She reached across and unzipped her art portfolio case. One by one she removed the individual portraits of Mabel – acrylics, watercolours, even the odd oil. ‘‘You know, many years ago we had to abandon the big house, Tamarind Hill. I was forced to leave a number of things behind. But not these. These I have kept in a safe deposit box in the bank. They are more precious to me than money or jewellery. These pictures are my life.’’ She handed them to Sum Sum. ‘‘Which is why I’m giving them to you.’’
‘‘By Dharmakaya heaven! They are wonderful!’’ She clicked her tongue just to show how wonderful.
‘‘There’s one for almost every year of Mabel’s life, documenting her growth.’’ It’s a pictorial journal of all the times you missed. ‘‘Look, this is the first one I ever did of Mabel. A pencil sketch when she was less than three months old. I was on ship, returning from England.’’
Mabel and Sum Sum leaned in close, holding the portrait between them like an umbilicus.
‘‘Aiyo Sami! What a funny little nose you had!’’
Mabel’s eyes filled with a child’s delight. ‘‘Me? Look who’s talking, I got it from you.’’
They burst out laughing, rocking each other with their giggles.
Lu See excused herself. When the ache in her stomach was bad she always wanted to be alone. She found a small, abandoned room and sat down by the narrow window in a gold rectangle of light. Clutching at her insides, drawing in gasps of breath, she felt a cold perspiration form across her forehead.
‘‘Are you unwell?’’
Lu See glanced up and saw Tormam at the door. The shy-faced nun entered the small room and placed a reassuring hand on Lu See’s back. After several moments, Lu See explained her symptoms, her frustrations, her disheartening inability to find a cure.
Tormam’s hand went to Lu See’s abdomen; she made slow sliding motions with her palm; it felt warm and soothing. ‘‘We will sit together later and review not only the outward symptoms but the inner ones too. Let me first prepare a cooling remedy that promotes digestion. There are many herbs here that can be of use,’’ she said, reassuringly. ‘‘Many, many herbs.’’
‘‘Do you think you can help me?’’
Tormam’s voice was like a balm. ‘‘There are no incurable diseases, only incurable people. If your mind is willing, we will heal you.’’ She placed a set of prayer beads in Lu See’s hand.
Lu See shut her eyes.
Outside, cloud-trails marked the sky. The sun glanced off the shiny wing of an alpine bird.
Lu See opened her eyes and looked out through the narrow window and saw Sum Sum and Mabel strolling together, hand in hand, across the lawn. They were still laughing.
A long time ago, Second-aunty Doris had told Lu See that life was not made up of days or weeks or years but of moments. This was one of those moments.
Remember, keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the trembling leaves will stay away. Lu See smiled.
The prayer beads dazzled like orbs of blackened honey. She felt an inner glow of well-being. She had no regrets.
Her eyes grew bright and moist, like sun shining through spring raindrops. Finally, after years of being half of a whole, she was complete again. Full and round and whole once more.