‘I thought you were going to die,’ he said simply. ‘I saw them hold you down. I saw the fire and I couldn’t help you. I thought you were going to die.’ He wept, covering his face with his hands.

‘There was fire everywhere; around you; the fire Nala, the fire.’ Heaving forward, he dropped his head next to her bandaged body. He clenched a fist and pounded the side of the bed. She stroked his hair gently until eventually, exhausted, he stopped.

‘It was the same colour, the day Lali died. It was the same fire, Nala,’ he whispered.

•

Dhara shook her head at Nala. ‘You know you should be wearing a hospital gown, mami. They’re sterile,’ she said as she pulled Nala’s batik kaftan up over her head.

‘Yes, but they’re not very stylish are they?’ Nala winced as she spoke.

Dhara unravelled the bandages slowly, taking care not to tear the thin layer of skin that had started to form. It looked like tissue paper that had been pulled taut; light pink and mottled white with the slow return of pigment and strength. She washed Nala every day, the way Rajan had shown her. Nala sat quietly, allowing Dhara to undress her, soak her wounds in saline, pat her dry with a sterile muslin and re-dress her wounds and her body. The nurses at Colombo General were trained to do all of this, but Dhara insisted.

‘We are leaving, mahal. We have to go,’ Nala said.

‘I know,’ she didn’t stop her work. She wrapped the clean bandage along the length of Nala’s right arm.

‘Please come with us. Come to Australia. Rajan mama said you’ve refused, but I beg you—’

‘Don’t, mami, please don’t beg me. I can’t leave …’ She couldn’t look at her aunt. There was an emptiness in the base of her chest. It would be so easy, so tempting to fill that space. Fullness was within her reach. It had always been there, if only she would take it.

She continued wrapping, her hands moving with a practised rhythm. Rajan said consistent motion was essential for bandaging. He said people always thought bandaging was easy, but those people had never seen burns and the other devastations of war. Dhara had prepared for this and more.

‘Is it because of your mother? I’ve spoken to her, Dhara, and she wants you to leave. Look at me, mahal. Amma wants you to leave. Priya wants you there, in Sydney; we all do. Nandan and his children are coming too. You should be with your … family,’ Nala sobbed. ‘There’s no shame in leaving all of this.’