At the hospital, Rajan had politely but firmly requested a private room. It had two windows and a small bathroom. It was the room reserved for the MPs and estate owners of Kandy. Amma slept on a small cot bed by her side. Appa visited during the day, staying with her for hours and, on Rajan’s instructions, bringing all her meals from her home. Rajan visited regularly, asking her terse questions. Did she have a headache, did she feel dizzy or nauseous, and how was her vision? He wouldn’t stay to talk or eat with her. He lingered just long enough to examine her, read her chart, inspect the cleanliness of the room and bathroom and get an update from the staff. Although Nala had an obstetrician at Kandy Hospital, Rajan had instructed him that he would deliver his own child. The doctor had acquiesced immediately, neither of them referring to the hospital policy against this.

As Amma fanned her, Appa scoffed into his newspaper.

‘What is it, Appa—more bad news?’ Nala asked, breathing deeply between contractions; they were slow but consistent. Appa had been scoffing all week while he kept her company.

‘No, just more of the same,’ Appa replied. ‘People are saying GG Ponnambalam will align the Tamil Congress with the UNP. It seems he will support the Citizenship Act.’ Appa shook his head. ‘That man is a fool, a damn fool.’

She rarely heard Appa swear, but she understood her father’s anger. Prime Minister Senanayake and his ruling United National Party were about to enact legislation. The act would strip the Indian Tamils of their citizenship and right to vote in Ceylon.

‘My friends at my painting class are talking of little else,’ she said.

‘I’m sure they are, Nala. There are almost one million Indian Tamils in Ceylon and most of them work on your friends’ plantations. If the Indian Tamils can’t vote, then the Ceylon Tamils will never hold enough seats in parliament. There aren’t enough of us without the Indian Tamils. We will always be at the mercy of the UNP or whatever Sinhala party comes to power. The Ceylon Tamils—the Tamil Congress—must block this, not support it!’

Appa threw the newspaper on the floor. Amma clicked her tongue at him and he bent down to retrieve it.

‘Appa, please don’t get upset, you’ll make yourself sick,’ Nala said to her father. He had his own health problems. His stomach was paining him and he had blood in his toilet. Rajan had taken him to see a British specialist in Colombo. Appa wouldn’t talk about what the old gentleman had said, dismissing it as a waste of time.

‘I’m all right, mahal. You concentrate on yourself and the baby.’ He smiled at her as he refolded the paper.

‘What does Rajan say about all of this madness in Colombo?’ he asked.