Rajan understood. He had sent his child north instead of sending her out, and she had been irreparably damaged. He had allowed the only thing we live and die for to be taken away from her. He had left her behind and allowed her to live in the echoing emptiness of their once vital home.

He must try one last time to get her out too.

‘They’re sending the eldest grandson. He’s smart and he’s strong. His father taught him to swim. He will survive the journey. The boat is better than staying.’

Kallathoni, Rajan thought to himself. It was the Tamil word for boat people, used by the Sinhalese to denigrate them. The Tamils had come to Ceylon by boat thousands of years ago, and so had the Sinhalese. Did it matter which race had arrived first?

‘I will give you the money, not lend it,’ Rajan said.

‘I will pay you back.’

‘No. Consider it a Christmas present.’

‘We don’t celebrate Christmas, you and I,’ Bala said, as he smiled at his old friend. ‘I will pay you back.’

‘I know you will, but I don’t want you to,’ replied Rajan.

‘Thank you—and Merry Christmas,’ said Bala. They both laughed sadly.

•

Priya was surprised when her father called.

‘Appa, wouldn’t you prefer to have this conversation with Nandan?’ she asked.

‘No, I want it to be you,’ he insisted.

Rajan and Priya sat at the dining table together, reviewing papers. Nala hovered in the kitchen trying to listen in and cook dinner.

‘This is the deed to the house in Colombo; it’s for you, Nandan and Dhara. I’d like Nandan’s in-laws to live there for as long as they want.’ He passed her another worn piece of paper. ‘This is the deed to a small piece of land in Tellippalai. There was a house there, once. The village was razed so I don’t think it’s worth much. It was part of your Amma’s dowry. Your grandfather gave it to me, to us. He worked hard for it and I don’t want the army to take it. I’m sorry I have to burden you, Priya.’

‘It’s okay, Appa, it’s no problem,’ she lied.

It would be hard to reclaim the small property on the Jaffna Peninsula, and probably not worth the effort or even the cost of the airfare and bribes she would have to make. But she understood what her father was saying. People were returning to claim their homes, presenting faded title deeds that were older and more tattered than their owners. The land in the north and east had been destroyed, littered with the debris of war, but people still wanted what was theirs.

‘Here are copies of all my accounts: three in Colombo and two in Sydney. Amma will still be entitled to my Ceylon State pension.