The convoy of elephants proceeded, leaving the curious villagers behind. Entering the forest, they stopped in front of a mixed patch of small and big trees. Pointing to the largest tree, Bisa Gaam said, ‘There, that’s a phalap tree.’

Speechless, Robert stared.

It was a slender tree, about twenty feet tall. This was the tea of Robert’s dreams, and of the entire European tea-trading community.

*

‘My child!’

Hearing her mother’s voice, Lailin looked up from Arunabh’s book. It took her a long while to come back to present-day Hong Kong. Her mother had returned from her shopping with a bag in each hand. Lailin took the bags from her while her mother went to the dining table. Leaving the bags in the kitchen, Lailin came and sat down at the table. Her mind was a whirlpool of emotions. She turned to look at her mother and wondered whether she, too, mulled over her past, a past that had been buried deep in the abyss of sorrow. Her mother was aware that Arunabh was arriving tomorrow. Did she nurture any new hopes? It was difficult to understand her. Her genial smile remained etched on her tired face, as always; one could never read her impassive expressions. Catching her breath, she stood up and said, ‘Wait, let me get some tea.’

Lalin pulled her mother back.

‘After all this shopping, must you make tea for me?’

‘It doesn’t matter, I’m not tired,’ her mother insisted.

Lifting her mother’s slender hands, roughened by time and toil, Lailin held them in her own and said sadly, ‘I know you are tired, Maa. How much more will these hands of yours do? Let go, Maa, and rest.’

‘I don’t work that much these days.’

‘Who does all this work then? You have to do this all alone. We have told you so many times to come and live with us, but you don’t listen.’

‘I will. If I don’t stay with you, where else will I go? Let me get older.’

‘Even when you get older, I know you won’t come. Your friends are all you care about,’ Lailin sulked. ‘Can anyone take your place, my child?’ she asked, stroking Lailin’s head.

‘Yes, your friends can. Now go and rest. Please,’ said Lailin.

Glancing at the book in her hand, Lailin’s mother went into the bedroom. After a few quiet moments, Lailin stood up and went to the window. The wind was blowing hard. Down below, the sea was calm. The ships and the sailboats stood steady. A restful quiet had descended on the sea. Lailin looked down at the water. Was there a Chinese junk nestled among these ships? She didn’t know much about ships. She couldn’t tell the difference between a schooner and a junk. She had come to know about these names from the books she had read while researching her roots. The sailing ships – the clippers, schooners and the Chinese junks which were built in the first part of the nineteenth century to provide more speed to the sea trade – were tied up with her past. It was in one of those Chinese junks that Lailin’s ancestor had sailed out of southern China, some one hundred and seventy years ago. After a while she came away from the window and returned to Arunabh’s book.