December 1966 Watakälé
A lazy mist drifted across the valley, now hiding, now revealing the mountaintops, caressing the bright green flush of tea leaves reaching up to be picked.
The hill was across the valley from the Tea-maker’s house. It was the highest point in the plantation. The single gnarled and windswept tree on the top commanded an all-round view of Watakälé Tea Plantation.
The chill wind ruffled the golden hair of the young man standing at the summit. He leant on his motorcycle, enjoying the sun on his head. The sharpness of the wind stung his neck and brought tears to his eyes. He fixed his binoculars on a crested hawk eagle circling overhead, then lowered them to survey the tea plantation and the progress of the tea pluckers.
Anthony Ashley-Cooper was the happiest he had been for the last few years. Last week his father had told him that the last batch of tea from Watakälé had received the prestigious ‘Silver Tip award’ at the London tea auctions. This was the ultimate accolade for flavour, colour and quality in tea production – a winning combination largely due to the expertise and hard work of the Tea-maker, Mr Rasiah.
When Anthony received the news, he had gone down to the factory and congratulated Mr Rasiah. Ever since the Tea-maker supported him in the savings plan fiasco, Anthony held him in high esteem. Of course, as the superintendent, it would be unseemly for him to voice that admiration to a native staff member.
Anthony recalled the conversation on the day after the staff party incident with William. Mr Rasiah was probably the only member of the native staff who didn’t address the superintendent as ‘sir’ and had the nerve to advise him how he should run the plantation. Anthony had heeded his words and had taken to early morning walks through the plantation. He had come to enjoy the songs of birds at dawn and the pink and violet hues that lit the hills as the sun dispersed the misty haze from the mountain tops.
During these walks Anthony would observe the women doing the tea plucking. He watched as they trooped, chattering, to the shed for muster, where the tea leaves they plucked were weighed and recorded by the Indian Kangani. Later in the morning he rode up a hill and looked around using his binoculars, watching the transport of tea to the factory and the men working in the field – pruning, fertilising, and conducting the daily jobs of a successful tea plantation. Sometimes he rode down and talked to them.
After lunch, he went down to the tea factory and walked with Mr Rasiah through the process of tea making. He had learned from the older man’s wisdom on withering times and roller settings, drying temperatures and grading. Finally, standing with the Tea-maker, he would go through the process of tasting and classifying the black tea produced that day.
He liked this hill. It gave him a good vantage point. Anthony picked a group of tea pluckers just finishing the morning shift and watched them laugh and chatter as the Kangani marshalled them up the hill to the weighing shed. Some of the women were young, just teenagers. His thoughts went to his brother, William, and the horrible incident after the staff party.
He hoped the girl was all right.
‘You are such a prude, little brother,’ William had taunted him last week at the Royal Hotel at Nuwara-Eliya. William, Anthony and some other superintendents from adjoining estates had been at the bar. Much to Anthony’s disgust, the conversation had drifted to discussing how sexy some of the young coolie women were. William had described a recent encounter with a coolie girl in Udatänná. The crude, obscene language turned Anthony’s stomach. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re missing, little brother,’ William had said, his disparaging tone belying the fact that he was only sixteen months older than Anthony. Revolted, Anthony had walked away. Drunken, mocking laughter had followed him out of the club.
Anthony watched the tea pluckers as they moved up the hill towards a stream and a waterfall. His gaze was captured momentarily by a girl in a purple dress seated by the stream on a ledge of rock, engrossed in a book. As he watched, she flopped over on her back and folded her hands behind her head. The blouse of her dress hugged the curves of her shapely body. The gesture sent Anthony back in time to when he was sixteen.
A thrill of excitement spiked through his body. Could it be her? He continued to watch through his binoculars. She jumped up and scrambled up the hill towards the Tea-maker’s quarters, her skirt riding up above her knees. It brought back memories of a little girl lying face down on a nursery floor. A scornful young voice rang in Anthony’s head: ‘Well, why don’t you go home then, you British bastard?’
You certainly have grown up to be a beauty, Shiro Rasiah.
***
Back in the Tea-maker’s house, the Tea-maker and his wife waited for Shiro.
‘She’s a dreamer!’ Lilly grumbled. ‘She lives in her fantasy world. Not in the least interested in cooking or sewing. You heard her this morning. What can we say for the marriage proposals? That she recites Shakespeare beautifully? That she can come up with some cock and bull imaginary story at the drop of a hat? You must stop encouraging her to try for the university entrance exam. She will get spoiled even more in university.’
Rajan had returned from the factory for lunch. They stood watching Shiro wind her way up the hill. She was late for lunch, but in the laid-back life of the tea plantation, twenty minutes meant nothing.
‘What about the Chelliah boy?’ Lilly grizzled on. ‘He’s from a good family. He wants to get married soon. And he likes Shiro a lot.’
‘Lilly, Shiro is seventeen. She has just learned that she has lost Lakshmi, her best friend. She is heartbroken. Let her grow up.’
‘I left school at sixteen. We married soon after.’
‘And you make me a wonderful wife, Lilly. Shiro is different. Surely you can see that. Let her spread her wings and sit the university entrance exam. If she gets in, let her go to university.’
‘Aiyoo. That will be the end. What if she meets some Batticaloa boy or something in university?’
‘She will meet Batticaloa boys and Indian boys, she will also meet Muslim and Hindu boys, Lilly,’ Rajan said. ‘We’ll just have to trust her to make wise choices.’
Lilly swatted her forehead with her palm. ‘Make wise choices! Since when has your daughter made wise choices? You will let her do what she wants, as usual. Someday you will be sorry.’
Rajan nodded. ‘Yes, she has never had to choose. And you know what? It’s our fault, yours and mine. We need to stop protecting her and let her have her space and freedom.’
Shiro ran the last few yards.
‘Sorry I’m late. I was reading and watching the eagle. Isn’t he gorgeous? I kept thinking that somewhere out there Lakshmi is also watching the eagle.’ She threw her arms up. ‘I could see you watching me. You were talking about me, weren’t you? I’m safe anywhere in Watakälé. Everyone knows the Tea-maker’s daughter.’
‘We know you’re safe here, sweetheart.’ Rajan laughed and hugged Shiro.