Seven years later ... December 1965 Watakälé
Picking up the slate and the piece of chalk, Lakshmi copied the words Periamma had written on the piece of paper. The chalk screeched on the slate. Lakshmi struggled to form the words. It was hard work writing English. The letters were different from the Tamil alphabet she had learned in the few years she had gone to the estate school.
It was almost seven years since Shiro had gone to boarding school in Colombo. Lakshmi had settled into a routine. She went to tea fields to pluck in the morning then finished the work in the line room and spent the evening with Periamma. She was supposed to help out in the house but with Shiro gone to school and the boys in Colombo there was little to do. So the evenings were times when Periamma taught her English. Lakshmi lived for the evenings and for the twice-a-year holidays when Shiro came home.
Shiro wrote long letters to her. They were about the boarding school in Colombo. Lakshmi still couldn’t read all the words in these letters. Lakshmi numbered the envelopes and saved them in a box under Shiro’s bed. Then begged Periamma to read the letters to her over and over again till she knew them by heart. Periamma didn’t mind reading Shiro’s letters. She said it brought Shiro closer to them both. Lakshmi repeated the letters to herself when she felt alone in the line room.
Putting the chalk down, she pulled out the box of letters and picked up letter number three. She traced the scribbled handwriting of her friend. This was an early letter.
Periamma walked in. ‘You’re travelling memory-lane again are you, Lakshmi?’ She laughed at Lakshmi’s expression. ‘It means you are thinking back to what is in that letter.’
Lakshmi nodded. That was a nice word, memory-lane.
She held out the letter. ‘Periamma, do you have the time?’ She said in English, happy to see a smile of acknowledgement.
Periamma took the letter from her and picked up the slate full of Lakshmi’s poorly formed words in her other hand. ‘You are getting good in your English writing. Soon you will be able to write letters back to Shiro.’ Smoothing down the purple cover on Shiro’s bed, she sat down.
Miss Grace Rowling told us today that the British missionaries built the Methodist boarding school in Bambalawatte in 1910. In her words, it was to be a little seaside oasis of England in the busy, hot and humid capital of Sri Lanka. Miss Grace is our school principal – she also looks after the God side of what we study, like reading the Bible and praying. Miss Grace is old.
Periamma stopped and smiled. Lakshmi knew why! She continued reading.
Not as old as Mummy and definitely not as ancient as Achchi. Miss Grace is white like the Periadorai’s daughter, Janet. She is a little like the angel we put on top of the Christmas tree. She wears starched print cotton dresses that reach to below her knees, the neckline of the dress high with a pure white lace collar. Her golden hair is curly and shiny.
Now about the school. I am going to tell you about it so you can imagine what I am doing every day – all the time.
A high brick wall, six feet tall, separates the school from the seaside railway line and the sea. You will love the sea, Lakshmi. Remind me to tell you about it when I come home at Christmas. The wall is topped by barbed wire and broken glass. I asked Miss Grace if it was to keep the girls from escaping. She thought it was very funny. She said no, it was to keep, in her words, undesirable elements from the compound. I told her that I would like to see an undesirable element, which made her laugh even more. She has a laugh like little bells ringing. The buildings …
Lakshmi’s thoughts drifted as Periamma continued to read about the rooms and the verandas, the study and music areas and the tennis and netball courts. She listened again as Shiro described a typical morning at the school.
The rattle and hoot of the train carrying early morning workers from the villages down south into their work in Colombo shakes our second floor dormitory. We have a big fat ayah – a sort of servant called Soma who wakes us up at five forty-five in the morning. She stomps around opening all the windows, letting drops of salty sea spray and wind into the room. Then to make sure we are up she clangs a huge big brass bell!
We have prayer time every morning. I like prayer time. Miss Grace reads the Bible. Lakshmi, you MUST learn to read the Bible. At least get Mummy to read it to you. It’s full of really interesting stories. The other day she read to us about this guy who had to never cut his hair…
Shiro’s letters were full of happy, fun things. But when she’d visited last December, she had a different story to tell. She told Lakshmi that there were girls who bullied her because she was an estate girl. She said she hated the boarding, but loved going to classes. Lakshmi had to swear on the eagle to keep their secret. She was never to tell Periamma that Shiro was not happy.
Periamma finished reading the letter. Lakshmi reached into the box and handed her another one. It was a new one, written just a month ago.
She laughed. ‘You want to hear about Shiro’s new friend? It is good that she is making friends in Colombo.’ She stopped and glanced at Lakshmi. ‘Don’t worry. You will always be important to our Shiro.’
Important. No one cared for her. Maybe it would be different with Shiro? Maybe they would stay friends? Soul-mate was the word Shiro had used last December. Periamma continued to read.
There’s a new girl in the boarding this term. She actually came in about halfway through. Poor thing was so lost. Miss Grace asked if I would help her settle. Lalitha Pragasam is a Hindu. She’s a little older than the others in our class. She grew up in a rubber plantation, so we sort of fit together. Her mother is an Indian like Lakshmi, but her father owned a small shop in a village down south near a place called Kalutara. He is dead and her mother married again. Lalitha says that’s why she is in the boarding. Lakshmi, you will like Lalitha. I’d like to bring her home one holiday. We could have the best times ever – the three of us.’
Shiro wanted Lakshmi to write to her. What was there to write about? That she had started working as a tea plucker? Walking barefoot between the tea bushes, trying to pluck more leaves than the others? She could describe life in the line room – the smells, the dirt. Maybe she would write of how Periamma has taught her to clean her nails every evening. How she now had her own toothbrush in the toilet in the garden.
Periamma folded the letter and put it back in the box. ‘You miss her, don’t you Lakshmi? I do too, but it’s good for her to be in Colombo. She is learning to behave like a lady. Making friends of her own class. She is happy there.’
Lakshmi nodded. She understood. Shiro needed friends of her own class, not like her, a coolie. ‘Yes, she is happy.’
‘And,’ Periamma continued, ‘I have a surprise for you. Shiro is coming home next week for the Christmas holiday.’
Lakshmi leapt to her feet, beaming. ‘Periamma, that is very good.’
A rumble of thunder drowned out her words. A flash of lightning lit up the room. Periamma switched on the light. ‘You should go home now, Lakshmi. It’s getting dark and –’ they both jumped at another closer crash.
Lakshmi slipped the slate and chalk under the bed. She ran down the corridor to the back door.
‘Take a sack to cover your head, Lakshmi,’ Periamma called after her.
‘No Periamma, I am used to the rain.’ Lakshmi shut the back door and ran down the path leading to the line rooms. She would love to stay forever at the Tea-maker’s house. But her mother wanted her at home to help in the night. And she had to go out in the morning with the coolie women plucking tea leaves. It was a hard job. She was tired by afternoon when they carried the leaves to the weighing shed. Worse still, she didn’t get to keep the money she was paid. Her father took almost all of it. He bought ganja and arak with it. She owed it to him for tolerating her, he said. He threatened to beat her and worse if she refused.
Lakshmi did whatever her father and mother told her to do. That way they didn’t stop her from going to the Tea-maker’s house.
Lakshmi slowed down as she came close to the line rooms. Meena was in the front veranda of the adjoining line room, sweeping with a broom made of dried coconut fronds. ‘Oh, you are wearing a nice frock,’ she called out. ‘Ribbons on your hair also. Soon you will be wearing socks and shoes, no?’ Meena grinned, her betel stained red lips parting to expose chipped teeth.
Lakshmi looked down at her dress. In her hurry to get home, she had forgotten to change back into her own clothes! She wouldn’t dare tell Meena that Periamma had already given her a pair of socks and shoes.
Her mother came out of the line room. ‘My, my, you look like a bride today. So now they are buying you clothes also? What do they expect in return? Are you sleeping with Tea-maker Aiya? Or maybe he is hiring you out to the Periadorai?’ She guffawed in laughter. Meena joined in.
The insult stopped Lakshmi in her tracks. ‘Amma, Tea-maker Aiya and Periamma are good people. They are kind to me because I am Shiro Chinnamma’s friend. They would never harm me.’
Her mother swung on her with a scowl. ‘A friend? You think you are a friend to Tea-maker Aiya’s daughter?’ She laughed, then hawked and spat at Lakshmi’s feet. ‘You’re more stupid than I thought if you believe that. People always want something from us coolies, you fool. If it’s not your body, it will be your sweat and work. Don’t think you are any different. Just because –’
Lakshmi stared at her mother ‘Just because what, amma?’
Her mother spat in the dirt, then turned and shuffled back into the line room. ‘Go and get the food ready before Appa gets home.’
Lakshmi slipped into a corner of the line room. She removed and folded her dress and wrapped herself in her threadbare skirt and blouse. Sighing, she went out to the back veranda and started the fire for the rice and lentil meal. She cooked the food and set it aside. She picked up Shiro’s old blanket and the cloth that served as her sheet. Wrapping them around her, she found a dry spot in the corner of the room, curled up and fell into a fitful sleep.
Lakshmi heard the clatter of the tin plate as her father gobbled the food she had made. He hawked and spat before coming back into the room. Lakshmi smelt the arak on his breath as he leant over her. His hand crept under the blanket. He ran his hand down her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he would think she was asleep.
A little later she heard her father and mother arguing. Her father growled at her mother: ‘Nandri illatha kaluthai.’ She heard the sound of a heavy slap and a gasp of pain from her mother. Lakshmi screwed her eyes tight. She heard a scuffle and groans and grunts from her father. Lakshmi turned to the wall and tried to shut out the moaning sounds coming from her mother.
Dear God, she didn’t want to end up like this.