Dhara smiled as she read Priya’s latest letter. The missives were getting longer but more repetitive; a detailed marketing campaign in which she tried to sell the virtues of relocating to Sydney. She must tell her to stop; there was no need anymore.

She remembered her visit to London. Smrithi had asked her to begin her daughter Ahalya’s education. It was an honour given to family elders. Dhara had taken the little girl’s right hand and shown her how to write the letter ‘aahna’—the first letter of the Tamil alphabet—using a plate of uncooked rice as a canvas. Smrithi had wanted her daughter’s education to be started in the right way, by the right person. Dhara had been so happy that day; she could have more of those days. She wanted more of those days.

Many of her friends were leaving Colombo. They were afraid of the white vans that now brazenly roamed the streets. If families were lucky, the people who went missing were found days later, dead in a public park. After Lasantha Wickrematunge’s assassination, more journalists were leaving too. He was only one of many. The newspapers worked for the State, as did the judiciary, as did anyone who wanted to live. Wickrematunge and the President were childhood friends. It had meant nothing.

Sri Lanka belonged to the Rajapaksa family now, as it had belonged to other great Sinhalese families in the past. The streets were lined with giant billboards from which the god-like Mahinda and Gotabhaya watched victoriously over their kingdom. No one watched them. There was a buffet of ministerial positions, state assets, reconstruction contracts and foreign naval bases to be feasted on at this family gathering. The spoils of war. A carcass picked clean.

She looked at the letter and flattened its folds against the glass table. The air is cleaner in Sydney, Priya wrote randomly. The winters are cold but sunny; I’ll buy you a fleece and Ugg boots. They’re lined with real lambswool.

She took a small piece of paper from her handbag. It was the name and contact details of Suren’s brother. She would call him tonight. He would call his friends at the German embassy. She tried to calculate the hours from Colombo to Singapore to Frankfurt to London to Sydney. It was too long. A small thread had been pulled on the discipline and restraint and denial of a lifetime. She felt herself unravelling and she couldn’t wait any longer. The urgency rushed through her like adrenaline.