‘He’s quoting an old proverb. It sounds better in Tamil,’ Dhara laughed.

‘Appa says everything sounds better in Tamil.’

‘He’s right. I’m deeply sorry you never learned Tamil, mahal. It is your … mother tongue. It’s important to … us.’ She stopped for a moment and began again, more lightly.

‘But as he knows, you are no crow, Smrithi, and your chicks are as golden as the sun itself.’ She swaddled the baby and put him in his basinet on the floor. Sitting down next to it, she held her arms out to Ahalya, who joined her.

‘Amma tells me you’re moving back to Sydney soon,’ she said.

‘Yes. Prashanth has agreed but he’s worried. We both are. He’s only ever been there for holidays. It’s been years since I lived there, and I guess I’ve changed too.’ Smrithi straightened the play mat in front of her, combing its tasselled trimming with her fingers.

‘Not as much as you think you have, mahal.’

‘Dhara mami, do you think you’ll stay in Sri Lanka forever?’ Smrithi asked.

‘I do. Is your Amma plotting another extradition attempt?’ she asked back.

‘She’s always plotting one for you,’ Smrithi replied. ‘Amma says … Amma says that if you’d moved to Australia with them, your life would have been different.’

‘I know Amma says that. She’s right I suppose.’ She looked down, unsure of how to explain her choices, but desperately wanting to try.

‘The Vedas say that man has four stages of life. First you are a student, then a grihasta, or householder with a family, then you are a … actually, I forget the other stages.’ She laughed nervously, swallowing the dryness in her throat. ‘But the stage of grihasta—which you are in now, with a husband and children and a home—I think that was never meant to be, for me.’

She had known that for a long time. The grihasta had been broken, left in a cold, dark room somewhere in the shadow of an old Dutch fort. She had been catapulted into a different stage of life whose name she could not remember; perhaps the Vedas had not envisaged such a stage and therefore not given it the validity of a name. Whatever it was, it was hers, and on most days, she had made her peace with it. On some days, like today, she wished it had been different.

‘Can I be a grihasta if I’m not actually married?’ Smrithi asked.

‘You’re a naughty girl. You should just have the Hindu ceremony,’ Dhara laughed at her, adding, ‘It would make your mother happy.’

‘Do you regret it? Not leaving, I mean …’ Smrithi asked.

Dhara looked at the baby in the basinet next to her. She suddenly remembered the name of the last stage of life before death—the sanyasi, or one who has given up all attachment to the world and is ready for liberation.