Bodies in Motion Read online

  Thani himself had done well under British rule. He was widely read, cultured, prosperous, strong. The patriarch of a growing clan. Thani could easily live into his nineties, as his grandfather had. Or so he had once thought. Lately, his doctor had been saying some worrying things. His heartbeat was a little fast, sometimes irregular, and though Thani felt fine, healthy and strong, the doctor was concerned. Thani hadn’t told Bala anything; with no proof of a problem, there was no need to worry his wife. Still, it made a man wonder. Made him think differently about the future, take a wider view. It would be good to have a place in the history books, a place earned not simply by being born in the right place, to the right family. He had always hoped that his son would mark Thani’s place in the world, but Rajan seemed content to live a small life with his wife, his first child. Perhaps Thani should be looking to his daughter instead.

  Thani paused in the road, lost in contemplation, and was jolted from his thoughts by a bullock cart rumbling past, inches from his nose. The street was lined with vendors shouting, hawking fresh curry buns, steaming hot samosas; it was almost suppertime. His wife would be worrying. Thani hurried toward home.

  “YOU’RE A MESS—THERE’S SAND ALL OVER YOUR PANTS. WHAT HAVE you been up to?” Bala’s voice was annoyed, but she was smiling. She was sitting at the grand piano, elegant in a green silk sari. Despite thirteen children, his wife was almost as slim as a girl. Thani felt the full weight of the extra kilos that had settled around his belly in the last few years. The doctor hadn’t been pleased about those either. He leaned against the piano, watching her fingers running quiet scales, up and down the keys. She liked to practice for an hour or so before supper, just to keep her hand in, she said. Bala had been quite the pianist as a girl; one of the many accomplishments which had made her so very suitable for one of Cinnamon Gardens’ most eligible sons. “Just out walking, kunju,” Thani said. “Had some thinking to do.”

  “You and your thinking,” she said dismissively yet fondly. “Go and get washed up; we’re dressing for dinner tonight. Rajan is joining us; his wife has thrown him out of the house for the evening, and the boy with him. Says they talk so much that she can’t hear herself think.” Bala played a few loud notes, then quieted again. “What she has to think about, I don’t know. Isn’t thinking about her husband and son good enough for her?”

  Thani smiled. “Ah well—not all wives can be as perfectly patient as you, my rasathi.” His princess, he called her, a fair description of the girl she had once been. She was more of a ruling maharani now; they had servants, of course, but it was Bala who arranged everything, who made sure that the servants knew each family member’s preferences and desires. She saw to their comfort, their happiness. Bala had worked so hard to find good matches for the children, and Thani knew that she already had her eye on a few suitable boys for Shanthi. Good families, good prospects, good hearts.

  Bala blushed at his compliment. “Enough of your foolishness. Go say hello; they’re in the library. No need to hurry—Shanthi isn’t home from the club yet.” Bala was frowning now. “You should never have given her that bicycle; it’s become impossible to keep track of her. I’m not going to have an easy time finding a husband willing to put up with her wild ways.”

  Thani reached down, touched her hand, stilling it on the keys. “She’s not really wild, just restless.” He hated to hear anything negative about Shanthi, about any of his children. They were gems to him, pearls of great price. He had been blessed.

  His wife shrugged helplessly. “I know, I know. She’s a good girl. But look at what happened to that poor girl of Ranjee’s—caught fooling around with the Sinhalese chauffeur, and now no one will have her. Wild before marriage, wild after—that’s what everyone says, and what man wants a wife who will run around? So no husband for her, no children; that girl will die in her parents’ house, miserable and alone.” Her tone was bitter, grieving. Ranjee’s child had brought it on herself, but their Chella faced the same grim future, utterly unwarranted.

  Thani’s chest felt tight, thick with old sorrow. “I know.” He squeezed his wife’s hand, released it, took a deep breath. There was nothing they could do now but look to the future of their other children, try not to make the same mistakes again. “But our Shanthi is a good girl. All our children are good—even that lazy boy of ours. I’ll go see him now.”

  Whether she went to Oxford or not, they would find a good husband for Shanthi, someone to take care of her, cherish her like the treasure that she was. That was what every parent wanted for their children, to give them every chance at a good life—if possible, a better life than their parents had had.

  Thani’s own parents had done an excellent job finding a match for him. They hadn’t tried to find a girl who was his intellectual equal; Bala wasn’t interested in his books, his dabblings into mathematics, physics, philosophy, and literature. It would have been pleasant to have a wife more engaged with the life of the mind—a woman more like Sister Catherine. That’s what Thani would have chosen for himself, if his parents had been foolish enough to let him choose. But his parents had known that there were more important properties in a wife than the ability to carry on an interesting conversation. Bala was beautiful, still, and she worked tirelessly to ensure his comfort. He was one of Ceylon’s luckiest men.

  THANI’S STEP QUICKENED AS HE WALKED DOWN THE CARPETED hall—he could clearly hear his grandson’s voice, its brightness seeming to light the hall, to lighten the dark wood. It was a beautiful house, but so empty these days, with most of his children grown and gone. Thani wondered what it would be like to live in a small house on the beach, some place constructed of mud walls, a clay-tiled roof, a dirt floor—and a door always open to the churning sea. He had inherited this vast space from his parents when they retreated to a tea plantation in the high hill country, at Nuwara Eliya, where it was always pleasant and cool. Perhaps it was time to gather the children and visit his parents. It had been too long; it would be good to have all the family in one place again. And then perhaps a trip to Jaffna, visit their ancestral home. Remind them all where they’d come from.

  “Father!” Rajan sprang up as Thani entered the library, the small boy rising as well. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you as well, son—come, Velu, embrace your old grandfather.” The boy came forward shyly for a quick embrace, then pulled back again. He was growing so quickly, only three, but taller than Thani’s knees already—he wouldn’t be a boy for long. “What have you been showing him?” A book lay open on the floor, thick with text. Not a children’s book.

  “He wanted a story about kings, so I was trying to tell him about Ceylon’s history; I wasn’t sure of a few of the details, so I had to look them up.” Rajan smiled sheepishly. “Reminded me how much I don’t know, actually. Did you know about these irrigation channels? Apparently once they were the most advanced system in the world. Fascinating stuff, quite impressive, considering how backward those people were.”

  Thani raised an eyebrow. Those people, was it? And his son’s voice, those intonations—had he never noticed how British his son sounded? “Glad to see you’re taking an interest,” he said dryly.

  “It’s Velu, really.” The boy was standing quietly by his father; Rajan ruffled his son’s hair. “He’s completely caught up in this stuff. Can’t seem to get enough of our ancient history. It’s all kings and elephants right now. I keep telling him that he should be paying attention to English literature, Shakespeare and Dickens and all that. He’s a little young for that now, of course, but it’s never too early to start. And in a few years, perhaps we’ll introduce him to the great philosophers.”

  “Aristotle and Plato?”

  “That’s right. That’s what will help him get ahead, you know.” Rajan frowned in concern. “I say—are you quite all right, Father? You look a bit odd.”

  Thani forced a reassuring smile, though his head was suddenly pounding. “Just faint with hunger, I suppose, and, oh no”—he pointed out t
he tall library windows—“there’s Shanthi, riding her bicycle across the lawn again. Your mother will be annoyed. I must go wash up and dress. I’ll see you in the dining room.” Thani patted Velu’s head and turned to head out the door.

  “Look, Shanthi’s taken a bit of a fall on her bicycle.” Thani turned quickly, following his son’s gaze out the library windows to where his daughter sprawled on the grass in a tumble of limbs. The girl appeared all right—and though he couldn’t hear her, she certainly looked as if she were cursing her bicycle. Kicking it too, despite her prone position. Rajan continued cheerfully, “Think her sari’s gotten caught on the chain again; that’ll take her a bit to put right. So you have plenty of time to wash up.”

  AFTER DINNER, WHILE THEY LINGERED OVER CARAMEL PUDDING AND coffee, it was Bala who brought up the subject of Shanthi’s future. “So, mahal, I’ve had word of a few exciting prospects.” Thani glanced at Chellamani, but his eldest daughter seemed calm, unbothered by this reminder of her own unfortunate state. She was serving a little extra pudding to Velu, her slender hands steady on the porcelain dish, its accompanying silver spoon. Chella would have been a good mother, Thani was sure of that. It was too late to think of such things now.

  “Oh-ho, is it time for little Sammie to be married off?” Rajan asked cheerfully.

  “No one’s being married off here,” Bala said, frowning. “You make it sound like we’re putting her up on an auction block. We’re not barbarians. We’ve just found a few nice, handsome boys for Shanthi to meet, in appropriate circumstances. She might like them. What do you think, Shanthi? Are you ready?”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, with Shanthi quiet and blushing, her eyes cast down. It was impossible to tell what the girl was thinking. Into that pause, Thani found himself speaking.

  “Actually, Sister Catherine had a suggestion for Shanthi.”

  “Oh?” Bala said, a bit sharply. “I wouldn’t think she would have had much…opportunity, to meet suitable young men.”

  “Not that kind of suggestion.” Thani wasn’t sure why he was bringing this up now; he had meant to discuss this quietly with his wife, in private. Something was pushing him to say the words now, out loud, for everyone to hear. “She thinks Shanthi should go to Pembroke, then university—and then, if they’ll take her, to Oxford.”

  The table erupted into a storm of voices, arguments, protests. Velu was asking his father if he could go to Oxford; Rajan was congratulating Shanthi heartily, with just the slightest tone of smothered envy. Chellamani was asking questions, wanting more details, while Bala was simply refusing, flat out, saying that it was an impossible idea, what was that ridiculous woman thinking? Thani ignored them all, his eyes locked on his youngest daughter. When Shanthi looked up, her face was shining with a mix of fear and excitement. Thani hadn’t known before he said the words, hadn’t known what the girl would want. Now he knew.

  It shouldn’t have made any difference, but it did.

  “SHE’D BE ALONE,” BALA SAID, AS HE CLOSED THE BEDROOM DOOR behind him, shutting them into their own private world. Nothing had been resolved over dinner; the arguing had continued while the food grew cold, until Thani had shouted for silence, told them all to be quiet and eat. They had obeyed him, eventually.

  “There’s no guarantee they’d take her,” Thani said. He would be sending his daughter, his little flower, to a cold country, to a land where people would look on her as an exotic stranger at best, a half-civilized barbarian at worst. They wouldn’t want to believe that she could be as smart, or smarter, than their sons. That she could do the work. They would want to send her back.

  “Of course they’ll take her,” his wife said sharply. “Don’t be foolish.”

  Thani knew, of course, had always known that while all his children were clever enough, like himself, Shanthi was special. She learned everything fast, too fast, remembered everything that was told her, could repeat it back flawlessly. Thani had taught her a little math when she was just a child, and he remembered how quickly she’d learned it. It had been a game between them, he posing simple problems, and her solving them. He’d come to tell her bedtime stories from the Ramayana, and she’d want to do math problems instead. A pretty girl, a sweet girl—but above all, a smart girl. Brilliant. Shining, like the sea, sparkling in the sunlight. Could he dim that brightness, draw down the clouds? Had he the right? However anxious he felt at the idea of putting his child into British hands—could Thani deny her every opportunity to shine?

  And if he himself wanted to bask in her reflected glory—wasn’t that a father’s privilege?

  He reached for his wife, pulled Bala close, into the circle of his arms. After all these years, he still took comfort from the shape of her body pressed against his. More now, perhaps, than ever. “It’s years away. She may not want to go by then. She may want to marry instead.”

  “She’ll want to go.” Bala added softly, “I would, if I were her.”

  Thani was startled to hear that; he couldn’t imagine Bala on the grounds of Oxford, striding across the quadrangle in a black scholar’s robe. His daughter, yes, perhaps, but his wife? It was a ridiculous idea—so why did it disturb him so? He put it aside and came back to the real issues.

  “What worries me,” Thani said, “is the idea of her among all those white boys. What if one of them tries to take advantage of her? What if she is seduced by one of them?”

  Bala shook her head, dismissing that concern. “Not worth worrying about. She would just as soon fall in love with Vidu.”

  Thani chuckled at the idea—his daughter and the cook? Impossible.

  His wife continued, “Shanthi understands that like is only happy with like. The whites can never think of us as equals; they’ve ruled us for too long. A brown-white match would never work.” Bala pulled back then, looking steadily up at him. She said softly, “Only a fool would even entertain the possibility.”

  Thani realized then that his wife knew—knew the thoughts he’d had about Sister Catherine, the years of idle fantasies.

  He had been so sure that he had been utterly discreet—after all, nothing had ever happened. He had done nothing. But the way his wife gazed at him told him she knew, that she had always known. He felt a sudden sharp fear that Bala would say it out loud, would be angry, feel betrayed—might she even leave him? The thought was terrifying; Thani had grown entirely dependent on her care. If she left him, he would be like a tree in a monsoon storm, torn up by the roots.

  He could see the possibility in her eyes—Bala could walk away from him. He had never known that about his wife.

  She leaned back against him then, her cheek pressed against his thumping heart. The moment of danger passed.

  When his pulse had calmed, he said, “Maybe you’re right.” Bala’s head nodded against his chest.

  Thani was no longer a tree alone; they were two trees, twined together. Together, they would withstand such storms—that was what a marriage was, after all. Protection against life’s storms. The kind of marriage his parents had given him, sheltering, safe. The kind of marriage he would like to give his youngest daughter. If that were only what she needed, what she wanted. If he knew what was the right thing to do.

  “I need to talk to her,” he said. He expected his wife to protest, to say that it wasn’t Shanthi’s decision to make. They were her parents, it was their responsibility to decide what was best for their child. But Bala only nodded, said, “Go.”

  HIS DAUGHTER’S DOOR STOOD OPEN; SHE WAS SITTING CROSS-LEGGED on her bed, as if waiting for him. Had she known he would come? He hadn’t even known. Shanthi looked worried.

  “What are you thinking, mahal?” he asked her. Thani expected her to answer something about the distance, the foreignness, the fear of being surrounded by whites, by young men—the difficulty of being a stranger in a strange land.

  “What if I’m not good enough?” Shanthi asked quietly.

  He sat down beside his daughter on the bed, drew her head to rest on his sturdy
shoulder. Thani stroked her hair, trying to think what to say. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was brilliant, would be able to accomplish whatever she wanted.

  Instead he said, “You may not be. You may go, and try, and fail.” He felt the girl shiver against him, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to pull her close, keep her here, near him, protected, safe. Wasn’t that a father’s job? Instead, he forced himself to ask, “The question is, do you want to try anyway?”

  Shanthi nodded, quick, like a bird. Said, “Oh, yes.” No hesitation. He had known she would, hadn’t he? Thani hadn’t needed to come here to know her response. But perhaps he had needed to hear it, to be able to stifle his own fears.

  He stroked her hair one last time, feeling it so soft, so young, beneath his thick fingers. Then he stood to leave, saying as he did, “I’ll talk to your mother.” Shanthi nodded and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her head against them. Trusting her father to take care of everything, already lost in thought again.

  WHEN THEY WERE BOTH IN BED, THE LIGHTS OUT, THE COVERS PULLED UP tight, enclosing them, Bala turned to her husband. “It’s so far,” Bala said softly.