The Seasons of Trouble (45 page)

One such story was that of King Trishanku, who loved the idea of heaven so much that he desired to go there while still alive. He begged powerful sages for help, but they all said this would breach the laws of the universe. Disgusted at his attachment to physical existence, some of these wise men cursed him to suffer from disease and an early old age. Finally, only the powerful sage Vishwamitra promised to attempt the impossible. He performed powerful rituals and prayers, but the gods were enraged. They told Vishwamitra that a human, however devoted or good, could not be allowed into heaven. The arrogant Vishwamitra defied the gods and started to meditate so strongly that Trishanku began to ascend to the heavens. When he had almost reached heaven’s gate, the gods retaliated. ‘Fall back to earth!’ they said, and Trishanku began to fall, his body upside down. Vishwamitra regretted challenging the gods, but to keep his promise, he stopped the king’s descent midair. And there Trishanku would hang upside down for eternity, between the earth he left and the heaven he craved.

During similarly languid days in Bolivia, suspended between his destination and the country he had fled, Sarva thought of Trishanku and his regret. Jehaan and Madhavi had warned Sarva about the perils of trusting a smuggler, but he had not listened. How could he have known there would be no end to his bad luck? That his life was doomed to suffer setback after setback? Amma had paid another million rupees to Siva’s associate in Colombo. That was in July 2012. It was August now, and Sarva was still in Santa Cruz, not New York or even Mexico or Arizona. ‘Things are not as easy as you think,’ Siva said. Circumstances had changed, the US government was stricter about immigration, he needed another million from Sarva. Meanwhile he brought other men to the apartment,
fresh off the flight from Colombo, their hope still unbroken. Sarva despised their optimism. When they spoke with him, he could not help telling them about his long journey, Siva’s frequent demands for money and the starvation penalty for speaking up. He described the night with Siva’s creditors, exaggerating the size of the guns involved. The next time Siva came to the apartment, the new men surrounded him, refusing to pay upfront for anything until he showed them a clear plan of action. Sarva saw them panic and lose their cool. He felt like a wolf among pigeons.

A life in the shadows had taken its toll on Bharati, too. Whereas once he’d stood on the threshold of a new life with a boldness that impressed Sarva, the long months of waiting had whittled away at this young man’s resolve. He hardly ate or slept and missed his parents with the intensity of a toddler. The burden of their having sold their house, pinning all their hopes on him, hung heavy over his head. It prevented him from changing his plans when all he wanted was to go home. He told Sarva that if he had understood what leaving Sri Lanka really meant when he boarded the plane, he would have taken in more of his native country, committed his house and street to memory, inhaled the smell of the sea more deeply. He craved the flavour of tamarind fish; it was unbelievable that he would miss that taste forever. He had not gone to his favourite Rio ice-cream parlour in Jaffna before leaving, not hung out enough in the union room at university, not said goodbye to all his relatives and friends. He had lived in Jaffna all his life, and was he never to see it again? How could that be?

As Bharati teetered on the edge of making the dangerous decision to fly back to Sri Lanka, his concerned parents sent money through the agent, asking their son to live more comfortably, to eat better, to work fewer hours at the deli. Siva delivered only half, around $400. And Bharati used all the money to purchase a smartphone and a SIM card. He began to speak to his aged mother every day. She read the paper out to him, telling him about suicides among Tamil youth in Sri Lanka and about the absolute military control over his university, whose dean was now a government appointee. She spoke about how his aunt in the Vanni lost her tobacco farm because the government did not recognise the
deeds to her property. She said his father had been smart to have sold his land early, before it was seized by the government for the ‘northern revival’ development projects. Long-displaced Muslims were coming back to Jaffna, and Sinhalese to the other northern districts, his father said, but almost half of Bharati’s classmates had left or were in the process of leaving. There were no jobs, a former military general was the governor of the north, and disappearances were at an alarming high. Bharati was soon cured of his desire to return to Sri Lanka.

Thanks to the new phone, Sarva, too, was now able to call home more regularly. He spoke to Amma at least once a week and to Malar every day. She was already becoming a distant memory, the ghost of everything good that was slipping out of his grasp. They always discussed the same things: the moment they would meet again, their simple wedding, how they would live, how many children they would have, how they would love a daughter more than a son. She told him about the pressures at home: she was twenty-nine, nearly five years past the average age of marriage for a Tamil girl. Her father had shared her photo and astrological chart with marriage brokers for prospective grooms, and she was afraid one of them would be a match. Sarva would ask her to trust the strength of their love; it would prevail over everything, he said.

To Bharati, however, he admitted he was numb with the prospect of losing Malar. ‘What do I have to offer? A broken body and this apartment with Siva?’ Sarva had to act before more eligible men came along for Malar. He needed to make a good life and bring her over. As soon as possible, he had to leave Bolivia, and get somewhere close to where he had set out to be.

Bharati had a suggestion. ‘Why are we stuck on America?’ he asked one day. When Sarva said that was the agreement with Siva, Bharati clapped his hands. ‘That!’ he shouted. ‘That is what is going to change now.’

Bharati’s parents had met the family of one of his friends from university who was on the army blacklist. The young man had fled the country with an agent around the same time as Bharati did, but his agent had sent him to England. In six months, he had been granted asylum. Since Bharati’s reasons for leaving Sri
Lanka—political instability, fear of persecution and attempted kidnapping—were exactly the same as this friend’s, he thought he, too, might stand a good chance of finding asylum in England. He suggested Sarva join him.

‘And who’s going to take us there?’ Sarva asked.

Bharati’s mother had already spoken to his friend’s agent, Kannan. For 1.2 million rupees, Kannan was ready to take Bharati and Sarva to London.

Sarva was not sure how they could leave Siva. But Bharati said Kannan knew Siva and such transfers happened all the time. Kannan would ‘buy’ Bharati and Sarva from Siva. ‘Like slaves,’ Sarva added. Amma encouraged him to go ahead. Deva had not said a word or paid a rupee; he had not acknowledged any responsibility for his friend Siva and his brother’s year of torment.

‘It’s just the two of us now,’ Amma said. ‘We should go ahead with whatever seems best to you.’

Once the move was decided, it was simply procedural. Siva did not care about losing them, as long as he got his money. Over the next month, Amma sold all of her gold jewellery, which made enough money to pay both agents. Siva got the half-million rupees paid by Amma to his associate in Colombo. Another 600,000 was handed to Kannan’s man, the rest being payable after they reached London. ‘This Kannan seems to be more honourable than Siva,’ Amma said.

The dream shifted continents. Bharati and Sarva were taken to a house near the airport. Kannan’s people brought food every day. Sarva tried not to think that another year might be lost to anticipation.

AS SARVA CHANGED
his plans, Malar found the courage to tell her family about their relationship. She built him up to be the whole package, selling him on the basis of his good family and British dream, but not mentioning the torture, the Tiger years or the jail time. Her parents were concerned about her age and Sarva’s unpredictable future. Yet, a love marriage held some appeal: if the groom loved the bride enough, there might not be a dowry.

‘You will make sure your mother doesn’t ask for much, no?’ Malar asked Sarva.

Sarva was not sure if he could; a dowry was unavoidable. But he suggested that Malar meet his mother. ‘You both live in Nuwara Eliya,’ he said. ‘She was impressed when you last met. If she likes you enough, maybe she will not ask for much.’

‘Does she know about us?’

‘No. But it will be fine.’

The next Sunday, Malar spent the afternoon at Amma’s house. That evening, she told Sarva on the phone that his mother had been sweet to her; they discussed Sarva’s situation and had tea and pakoda; they parted with smiling hugs.

When Sarva called his mother after a few days, he knew immediately that Malar had been a victim of his mother’s misleading civility.

‘So, she came, that girl. On Sunday,’ Amma began frostily. ‘To have tea with me.’

‘Yes. Malar. Good. What did she say?’ He kept his voice upbeat.

‘She must have already reported it to you, no? You talk
every day
apparently. She seems to know more about you than I do anyway.’

‘
Aiyo
, Amma.’

‘I did not expect this from you, Sarva. After everything I have done, you just want to torture me again.’

‘Why? How am I torturing you? She will be perfect for me, for our family.’

‘Your brother’s wife also thinks she is too good for me. I should at least have one daughter-in-law I can be close to.’

‘You can be close to Malar, Amma. She is caring, she is a family girl.’

‘I have protected you from all sorts of things. After everything, don’t think I will let you get swept away by some love affair.’

‘What are you saying, Amma? What does this have to do with all that?’

‘They will not be able to give us anything! After everything I have spent on you, can a mother not expect at least a girl from a good family?’

‘I don’t want a penny from Malar’s family.’

‘You don’t get to decide that,’ Amma shouted. ‘Sarva, they’re from the sweeper caste! They’re so much lower than us!’

Sarva was losing patience. He made exasperated noises.

Amma started to cry. ‘I raise you, protect you, everything. And then some girl just swoops in?’ She went on, wondering why Sarva needed her for everything and then made this life decision on his own.

‘You are the one who encouraged me to meet her.’

‘I curse the day. Couldn’t you wait for me to find you a girl from our community?’

‘It will not be easy, Amma. Malar knows everything about me. She accepts me.’

‘She’s not doing us a favour! You are a catch for anyone.’

‘Yes, good luck trying to find a princess for this broken item.’ His voice choked.

Amma changed tack. ‘Don’t worry, my child—in a few years, when you are in England, everything will be fine. Then your mother will find you a nice girl from a decent family. Just end this, okay? I know you must be lonely, so she is a good friend. Okay? A good friend, that’s all. I know my son will not hurt me.’

He switched the subject to his father’s struggle to get retirement benefits.

Sarva felt like a fool for thinking Amma would accept Malar and ignore the caste difference. He should have known; she would find hierarchy even in a box of apples. She was trying to compensate every single day for her own marriage to a lower-caste man.

In addition, there was the dowry. In his community, there was rarely a way around it. It was compulsory, a convention that had become more entrenched with mounting expenses among young men’s families during the years of the conflict. Particularly among Indra’s Vellalar caste, brides were expected to bring a house. Malar would not be able to afford this, and Sarva didn’t want to demand it of her. Yet he knew that his convoluted journey had left his mother with a heavy debt—close to five million rupees. He knew she had counted on his marriage to ease that burden. It was why she felt so betrayed—abandoned in her effort to fix their family. At that
moment, he hated his mother for the hold she had on him, and for the sacrifices that hung over his neck like a sword.