Two years later ... March 1969 Nuwara-Eliya
Lakshmi stood before the matron of the Salvation Army children’s home. Tears streaming down her cheeks, her body trembling with horror at what matron had just said.
‘Aiyoo, amma. How can you just give him away like that? I am his mother. You know that I am saving money. I was going to get a proper job in Diyatalāwa and get a house. Aiyoo, my baby!’
The matron clasped Lakshmi’s shoulders. ‘Lakshmi, you signed the papers for adoption a week after you gave birth to Daniel. What happened to you is too common a story. But we could see even then how hard it was for you. Most girls don’t even want to see the baby. You loved him. That is why we let you come to see him. But you would never have been able to care for him.’
Lakshmi dropped to the floor and cradled her face in her hands. ‘Amma, I am earning. I am saving money. I work on my off day also.’ She sat curled on the floor. The horror of rape, the shafting pain of rejection by the Rasiah’s, these were nothing to the searing devastation of the loss of her child. What reason was there for her to live?
Matron squatted by her. ‘Lakshmi, you are thinking of yourself, not of your son. What sort of life can you give him? A small shack in Diyatalāwa? Scraps of food you bring home from the Hemachandra house? And how will you continue working with a child in the house?’ She stroked Lakshmi’s head. ‘Your son will be well looked after. The person who adopted him will give Daniel a good home and the very best education.’
‘No,’ Lakshmi wailed. ‘Aiyoo. Tell me where he is. I will go and get him back.’
The rhythmic pressure of the matron’s hand on her hair did nothing to calm the storm of agony in Lakshmi’s soul. Yet even as she struggled, she knew the inevitability of what had happened. And she realised that it was best for her son. He was only two years old. He would forget. She never would. She had taught him to call her amma. Matron hadn’t been happy about that. Now he would have someone else as his mother. Her beautiful boy, conceived in pain and sorrow. His skin and hair all gleaming gold, his eyes the blue of a clear sky. Her tears were for her as much as for Daniel.
A thought flashed through her mind. Surely matron would not have given Daniel to that man? His … she couldn’t even think the word. Daniel’s father?
‘Amma,’ Lakshmi grabbed matron’s hands. ‘Amma, you didn’t give Daniel to that man, Udatänná Periadorai – William Ashley-Cooper?’
Matron smiled. It was a tired smile, one that conveyed the emotions of having experienced great sadness. ‘Lakshmi, the Rasiahs tell me that Udatänná Periadorai doesn’t even know that there was a child from that day. No, we didn’t give Daniel to him.’
‘Then who, amma?’
‘No. We can’t tell you that, Lakshmi. It was part of the contract that you signed. The only way we will reveal your relationship to him is if Daniel himself comes to us. That will be when he is grown up.’
‘I will never see him again?’
Matron got to her feet and drew Lakshmi up to stand with her. She led her to a bench. ‘Lakshmi,’ matron drew her down on the bench and put her arm around her, ‘go back to the Hemachandra house. They are good people.’ She looked into Lakshmi’s eyes. ‘Give up the other thing you do.’
Lakshmi drew back from matron’s embrace. How could this be? How did she know? ‘Amma,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You work as Devi. I found out from another girl who saw you here with Daniel. She too, used to work with Malar. Got too old and no one wanted her. So she works here now. But she visits Malar in Diyatalāwa. She told me you work as Devi.’ Matron looked Lakshmi up and down. ‘That you are popular because you are clean and pretty and also because you speak English.’
Lakshmi stared away from matron. There was a spider’s web on the ceiling. A fly flew into the web. She watched as the spider approached the fly. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Matron turned her face back. ‘Lakshmi, Hemachandra Mudalali and Hamine are good people but they will not like it if they know about Devi.’
Lakshmi nodded. ‘They will throw me out.’
Matron nodded. ‘Stay with them. I know them. They will look after you.’
‘And my son, Daniel?’
‘You will never see Daniel again.’
She was back on the floor of Shiro’s bedroom. It was Rasiah Periamma who was speaking. ‘You will never see Shiro …’
Lakshmi howled. ‘Never see … Never see …’ she screamed in English.
A couple of other Salvation Army women, dressed in the traditional dark blue sari and white high neck blouse with the red and gold ‘S’, came rushing down the corridor. Together with matron they bundled Lakshmi into the office. One of them pushed a glass of water and a white tablet into her hand. ‘Here, swallow this,’ she instructed.
Lakshmi obeyed. What else was there to do? She would go back to Hemachandra Mudalali’s. Do her daily work.
Lakshmi walked to the bus stop. This would be the last time she would come this way.
No more Devi. Devi was dead.
It felt like she was dead too.
What purpose was there for living?