December 1967 Watakälé
The wind whistled around the Tea-maker’s house and rattled the window. It was five-thirty, far too early in the morning for anyone else to be up.
Shiro sat up in bed.
Are you awake, Anthony? Are you thinking of me? Well, soon you will know what your betrayal has done to me.
Shiro pushed back her purple blanket. She had no further use for it. She glanced at the corner of her room where the mat on which Lakshmi used to sleep still stood, rolled up and gathering dust. My friend, you would have understood the pain in my heart.
Never mind. It’s over.
She had to hurry. Raaken would be up by six to fix breakfast. By then it would be too late for them to do anything. She would be gone.
Shiro tiptoed past her parents’ room. Stopping for a moment, she looked through the open door. Her mother lay on her side. Her breathing regular. Her father was on his back, snoring.
‘I am so sorry’ she whispered.
She stood staring at her parents’ sleeping forms. I am truly sad to do this to you but I can’t go on. The whole thing is too much.
In the dark she stubbed her toe on the edge of the stove, causing a slight clattering sound. The cat sleeping in the ash under the stove mewed.
‘Shush.’ She bent to pat its head.
The pesticide bottle was on a waist-high shelf in the corner of the kitchen, alongside mops and cleaning fluids. She picked it up. The lid was screwed on tightly. She managed to get it open and raised the bottle to her mouth.
She felt the sting of the fluid on her lips. She swallowed. The first drops burnt her throat.
The cat meowed.
The kitchen light flashed on.
Raaken shrieked.
He dashed the bottle out of her hands. ‘Aiyoo Chinnamma,’ he screamed.
The bottle flew across the kitchen and shattered against the wall. Pesticide dripped down the wall and onto the floor.
The cat squealed and shot out into the garden.
Raaken, who had never touched Shiro in her life, held her in a tight grip as she struggled to get free. ‘Periamma! Aiya!’ he yelled.
Lights came on all over the house. Her parents came running into the kitchen.
Shiro howled. She had no words. Just demon cries from the hell her soul inhabited.
Raaken let go of her. Shiro sank to the floor. The pieces of glass from the broken bottle pierced her bare legs. The pesticide soaked her purple nightdress.
As in a dream, she heard her mother sob, ‘Mahal, mahal.’
With the help of Raaken, her parents coaxed and dragged her to bed.
She had no energy to fight them. She had failed. The family would rally around her again. They would protect her as they always did. She would have to live – and face life – without him. She lay curled in bed. The tears refused to come.
Her mother came in with a foul tasting mixture. ‘Drink this, darling.’
The drink made Shiro violently ill. She retched into the bowl her mother held.
‘Mahal, Shiro, why? Why did you do it?’ her mother sobbed.
Shiro lay shivering in bed. Let me die, she wanted to shout to them all. Can’t you see that I can’t live without him?
The rain eased and the sun struggled through the curtains of her bedroom window. The apothecary came and sat beside her. She obediently put her tongue out and moved her eyes and head as instructed.
She had known the apothecary since she was a little girl. He stroked her hair. ‘Shiromi,’ he said. ‘Do you want to talk about anything?’
She shook her head. What was there to say?
She heard the mumbled conversation outside her door. ‘Depression. Colombo – immediately.’
Soon after, she heard a car drive up. Victor came running into the room and sat on her bed. He took her hands in his. ‘Shiro darling, talk to me.’
Talk, talk, they all wanted her to talk. How stupid. She had nothing to say.
Shiro realised she hadn’t spoken a word since waking up.
***
The thunder and rain echoed the turmoil in Anthony’s heart as he rode down to the tea factory that morning. He had been awake all night listening to the rain on the roof and thinking of the dark future he faced without her.
He longed to turn into the Tea-maker’s house, to take Shiro in his arms and tell her he was wrong to send her away, that together they could face the world. Nothing mattered more than their love.
No, he could not. He would not do that to her.
He would go back to England. She would go to medical school, be a doctor. Be free to travel the world and fulfil her dreams. She was young. She would meet someone else. Learn to love again. He tortured himself with the thought.
Today he would tell Mr Rasiah that he was leaving, that all their plans for the betterment of staff and coolies were finished, crushed by the word of the mighty British Raj, his father, James Ashley-Cooper.
Anthony saw the apothecary’s motorcycle and Victor’s car parked in the drive of the Tea-maker’s house. A chill of fear raced through his body and centred in his heart. He heard her voice in his ear: ‘I can’t go on like this –’ He rode faster down to the factory, struggling to keep the motorcycle upright on the road slippery with mud after the rain.
Anthony pulled into the factory driveway. Through the office window, he saw Mr Rasiah pacing up and down. Anthony leapt off his motorcycle and walked into the office.
The usually impeccable Mr Rasiah was dishevelled. He looked like he had not washed his face or combed his hair. Even the buttons on his shirt were on wrong.
‘Mr Rasiah, is something the matter?’ Anthony asked. His heart cried out, please tell me she’s all right.
Mr Rasiah wheeled round to face him. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, I need to leave immediately for Colombo. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
‘What’s the matter, Mr Rasiah?’ Anthony took a deep breath. ‘Can I help at all?’
The Tea-maker’s face and shoulders sagged. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, you’re a good man. I wouldn’t normally share this with anyone outside the family, but I trust you. It’s my daughter, Shiromi. She tried to kill herself.’
Anthony’s chest constricted. Mr Rasiah was looking down and didn’t notice the fear and horror on Anthony’s face.
‘She tried to drink pesticide. The cook, Raaken, stopped her just in time. But the apothecary says she’s depressed and needs specialist treatment in Colombo.’
Anthony turned away from him and looked out at the clearing sky. He breathed deeply, trying to focus on the moment, not on the memory of her face and her tears.
‘Do you know what caused it?’
‘No, she won’t talk to us. She hasn’t said a thing since it happened early this morning. That’s why we need to get her to Colombo as soon as possible.’
Anthony stayed silent. I caused it, he wanted to scream back. She loved me. I tried to do what is right and I nearly killed her in the process. So, Mr Rasiah, what do you think of your trustworthy, good-man superintendent now, eh?
Anthony turned. ‘You can have the leave, of course. Take as long as you need.’ Reaching in his pocket, he took out his cheque book. He wrote out a cheque for fifty thousand rupees, tore it out and handed it to Mr Rasiah. ‘Consider this an early bonus payment for your work this year. Psychiatric treatment is expensive. Please get her the very best.’
The Tea-maker looked at the cheque and then raised his face to Anthony. The gratitude in the eyes of the usually proud man wrung at Anthony’s heart.
He held the cheque in both hands. ‘This is an answer to prayer, sir. Thank you.’
‘God go with you, Mr Rasiah.’
Anthony watched Mr Rasiah jog up the path to the Tea-maker’s house.
It was the first time in their acquaintance that the Tea-maker had addressed Anthony as sir.