Cinnamon Gardens (15 page)

“Hello,” Balendran had replied shyly.

“Care for a tea or coffee?”

Balendran had nodded.

Balendran wondered, even to this day, how Richard had simply glanced at him and seen his desire. He, who was so very careful not to be detected watching men. He thought of the shock of blond hair that fell over Richard’s forehead in those days, the charming way he had of tossing his head to get it off his face, pulling it back tightly when contemplating a dilemma, blowing it away from his eyes when he was tired or exasperated. He wondered if Richard had got used to not having that shock of hair, if he still tossed his head or ran his hand up his forehead forgetfully.

The meeting with Balendran had left Richard in a state of agitation and, as he always did, he sought exercise as a solace.

The swimming bath at the Galle Face Hotel was deserted, since the sun had long set, and he had the pleasure of having it to himself. Alli, who disdained the very idea of exercise, sat in the shadow of the garden keeping him company.

As he swam from one end to the other, Richard pondered over the fact that Balendran had met Sonia while studying in England. Reason told him that, since Sonia was Balendran’s cousin (she had told Alli this), he must have called on her often during his years in England. Yet Balendran had never spoken of her. The very fact that he had not made Richard feel strongly that, even while they had been together, Balendran had already started to move away. This truly disturbed Richard. Their relationship, before it had been so brutally severed, had been the only one that had met his criterion of fidelity. They had refused, unlike other couples, to seek gratification outside their alliance. Now, to think that, all the while, Balendran had been unfaithful, and with a
woman
at that.

Richard glanced at Alli and felt, as always, a sense of failure at Alli’s constant need to seek gratification outside their relationship. Alli sought young, rough, well-built working men. All that Richard was not. Richard preferred what Alli and their set called “tootsie trade.” Men like himself and Alli, not overly masculine. Unfortunately, those men most often sought their opposite. “Bala and I were compatible in that respect,” he thought. Then he remembered Sonia. Not compatible enough, obviously.

Richard paused at one end of the pool. Had he, as Alli said, unconsciously chosen Ceylon because of some unsettled feelings for Balendran? He shook his head. He did not believe in the unconscious and Freudian slips and all that fashionable nonsense. He knew precisely why he had come. The Donoughmore Commission. Besides, there was Alli. Things were not perfect, but, still, after these seven years here they were together.

T
he colonial administrators of Ceylon often said that the common man – the farmer in his fields, the labourer, the fisherfolk – had no aspirations for freedom from colonial patronage. The British government agents in the provinces of Ceylon understood the problems of the common man and what solutions needed to be implemented. The Ceylonese élite who sought self-government had scanty knowledge of how the common man lived, had very little real contact with him. They could thus hardly assert the right to represent him.

These claims were made with disregard for the crippling poverty and illiteracy, the terrible health and sanitary conditions that colonial rule had brought to the “common man.” There was, however, an element of truth to it. For the common man knew that self-government would not shatter any of the shackles that held him in his position of feudal subservience. He would simply exchange one set of masters for another.

Annalukshmi, in a curious way, shared the views of the
“common man.” The bid for self-rule did not promise to provide her with any greater freedom, any amelioration of her position as a woman, that had not already been achieved under colonial rule.

The conversation Annalukshmi had overheard about the Women’s Franchise Union had, however, sparked her interest for the first time in the Donoughmore Commission and the possibility it presented for the female vote. Her Aunt Sonia held good to her promise and invited her to attend the union’s first meeting, which took place a few days after the Donoughmore Commission arrived in Ceylon.

When it came time to tell her mother about Sonia’s invitation to take her to the Women’s Franchise Union meeting, Annalukshmi was concerned what her mother’s reaction would be. Still, it was her Aunt Sonia who had invited her, and she knew this would be an advantage in securing her mother’s consent. When she was a little girl and they had visited Ceylon from Malaya, she had been very enamoured of her aunt and spent as much time as she could with her, listening to her stories of life in England.

Though Louisa had some reservations, she was indeed delighted that Annalukshmi would be spending an evening with Sonia.

The meeting was held at the Girls’ Friendly Society building on Green Path, which had, at one time, been the home of the society’s benefactress. The living and dining rooms and the bedrooms on either side had been amalgamated into one large hall, and it was here that the meeting took place. At one end of the
hall was a narrow wooden stage, on which there was a table with chairs. The rest of the room was taken up with rows of wooden chairs with cane seats. The space was relatively small, and by the time Annalukshmi and Sonia arrived they were only able to find seats at the back. The hall was noisy with the whirring of the fans, chatter, the rustle of saris. After a few moments, a group of women who had been sitting in the front row got up and solemnly filed onto the stage. A lot of them were well-known Cinnamon Gardens ladies. As they took their seats, a hush descended. The first speaker now rose to address the audience. She was a diminutive woman, a Canadian doctor named Mary Rutnam who had married a Tamil man and now lived in Colombo. Though she was well respected for her charitable work in the slums of Colombo, she, as a proponent of contraception, was a slightly controversial figure. Her speech, however, was not unorthodox in the least. She merely explained what the Women’s Franchise Union was going to ask the commission. It was going to recommend limited franchise, whereby only women of property and education would be eligible for the vote.

As Annalukshmi listened to this, she understood that, by virtue of her teacher’s certificate, she would qualify. Despite her aunt’s frown of reservation, Annalukshmi could not help feeling pleased.

The next speaker was more exciting. She was Mrs. George E. De Silva, a woman who, though from a good family, had married a man from a low caste. Her husband was a lawyer and a prominent member of the Labour Union, and Mrs. George E. De Silva, in the tradition of Labour, did not mince her words as she castigated the narrow-mindedness and selfishness of the men who opposed giving women the vote.

Following the speeches, there was an election of the office bearers for the union and then the meeting was called to a close. A small reception followed, after which Sonia and Annalukshmi left.

When Annalukshmi got back to Lotus Cottage, Manohari and Kumudini were seated on the verandah. She saw them and hurried up the front path ahead of Sonia.

“It was magnificent,” she cried as she came up the steps. “You should have come.” She struck a pose and, extemporizing on the speeches she had heard, said in a loud, declamatory voice, “Women of Ceylon, of all nationalities, have now organized and united for the purpose of gaining franchise. Men regard us as their household goods and chattels. But we are not so ignorant of the political life of this country as people think. We could teach men a thing or two. We could –”

“Annalukshmi!”

She turned to find Louisa standing in the doorway.

“Are you mad or something? Shouting and screaming like that.”

“It’s your fault, cousin,” a voice said from inside. “Who attends political meetings but hooligans.”

Philomena Barnett appeared in the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand, a thick slice of cake in the other. She bit into the cake with gusto, then continued, “Only manly women get involved in men’s affairs. Normal women think of their husbands and of their homes and nothing else.”

“It’s precisely because women think of their homes that they are getting involved,” Sonia said as she joined them on the verandah. “Many laws relate to women and children, and it is only right that they should have some say in those laws.”

“I, for one, am quite happy to depend on the chivalry of men,” Philomena retorted. “Once women start getting involved in politics, then their children are sure to be neglected. Instead, if women spend more time being better mothers, all the ills of society will be cured.”

“Ah, but how can women be better mothers when they don’t have the education to be able to provide the best care. To know what’s best for their children,” Sonia said gently.

“Then ask men to provide that. I am all for educating girls up to a
certain
point.” Here Philomena glanced at Annalukshmi.

“And that is precisely why women are demanding the vote,” Sonia said with a smile. “So they can use the vote to ask – to get – men to provide better education, better health for them and their children.”

“Yes,” Annalukshmi cried. “With the vote we can make a big difference.”

Philomena had been argued into a corner. So she sought support in the words of others. “Sir Ponnambalam Ramanathan, who is after all a knight and a politician for
many
years – a shining example to all us Tamils – is completely opposed to it. He feels it is against our great Tamil tradition. The purity, the nobility, the modesty of women would be ruined if they are given the vote. Besides, we women are far too ignorant about matters like that. He is quite right when he says it would be like throwing pearls before swine.”

“Mrs. George E. De Silva, who was one of the speakers, said that men like Sir Ponnambalam are narrow-minded and selfish,” Annalukshmi said, drawing strength from Sonia. “She said that such men were swine and that women were the pearls and that good pearls cannot be crushed that easily. Even by men.”

Philomena put her hand to her cheek and stared at her niece to convey her shock at such rudeness. Then she shook her head to say she wasn’t a bit surprised. “Agnes Nell is this Mrs. George E. De Silva,” she said to Louisa. “You know,
the
Nells. A good Burgher family. And that girl went and married a low-caste Sinhalese.” She lowered her voice as if she were telling a dirty secret. “A Labour Union man.

“See how low she has fallen,” Philomena continued. “Talking just like a real Mattakkuliya fishwife.”

Philomena nodded her head sagaciously at the girls to show them the depths to which they, too, could sink if they were not careful.

Once Sonia had gone and they were all seated down to tea again, Annalukshmi found out that, unbeknownst to her, her mother had passed on a photograph of herself to Philomena, who had sent it to the Macintoshes. Annalukshmi was furious. “How could you do that without asking me?” she cried.

“But, kunju, you agreed to see the boy,” Louisa said placatingly.

“I did not agree that a photograph be sent. What am I … a piece of furniture? It is outrageous that a complete stranger should be looking at my photograph, passing it around to his friends and relatives as if I were some souvenir. I don’t even know the name of this Macintosh boy.”

“Chandran,” Philomena said.

“What?” Annalukshmi was momentarily distracted from her tirade.

“His name is Chandran Macintosh.”

Annalukshmi had a sudden image of her Uncle Balendran’s study. “Chandran Macintosh?” she repeated. The name was familiar. Had she met this Macintosh boy before at her uncle’s? She repeated the name over to herself to see if a face would arise in her mind, but none did. Yet Annalukshmi knew how bad her memory was. She could have very well met him, might have actually spoken with him.

“In any case,” Annalukshmi concluded, “do not go to any extra bother on my behalf. I have pretty much concluded I will not marry this Macintosh boy … or anyone else for that matter.”