For the first and last time in his life, Rajan saw his father cry. He didn’t say anything: there was no need. He looked for his mother and saw her crumpled on the ground, her mouth open but the cries trapped in her chest. She was beating herself, trying to free her voice. His father raised her up and they began the slow journey back into the hospital. Behind them, Rajan heard screams. He turned around to see the young monk who had been meditating—naked and peaceful—still seated, still silent, but now glowing. People screamed as tall flames wrapped themselves around him like an orange robe.

•

Allevaddy village, Jaffna province in the north of Ceylon, 1932

Before he went to sleep, Rajan prepared wood for the kitchen fire and thosai batter for breakfast. Appa liked to start the day with fermented pancakes.

Lying in bed, he stared out of his window, unable to sleep. His mother used to sing him a lullaby. She called out to the moon, ‘Nila nila, run quickly. Don’t stop until you reach the mountain peak. There are jasmines, they are fallen from heaven. Bring them back, nila nila. They will help us sleep.’ He tried humming the lullaby quietly to himself.

In the morning, he woke up at the same time as his father. Appa drew water from the well in the courtyard they shared with their cousins. Appa stood in his sarong and poured cold water over the little boy’s head; two buckets every day. Then Appa bathed himself leaving Rajan to make breakfast.

Rajan’s thosais were not as crispy as Amma’s, but Appa said they were very tasty. Sometimes their neighbour, Aunty Savitri, brought over a bowl of potato curry to eat with the pancakes. She showed Rajan how to swirl the batter on the flat iron pan without burning himself. He tried to create the concentric layers of thosai, the way Appa liked it—a thick central moon orbited by thin, brittle rings.

‘Don’t worry, mahan, your Amma will be back soon,’ she said, kissing his head. After Lali’s funeral, Amma had stayed in Colombo with relatives.

Rajan served the steaming pancakes onto Appa’s plate and sat next to him. They ate in silence, the only noise coming from the street as the village cocks crowed, waking the rest of the neighbourhood.

He stood up, reaching over to take his father’s empty plate back to the kitchen. Appa stopped him, touching his arm tentatively. Rajan wanted his father to hold him.

‘Amma is coming back tonight, mahan. We must help her. We must help each other.’

‘Yes, Appa,’ he tried not to cry. He wanted to vomit out his pancake and the sick feeling he carried with him every day.

‘Go and get ready, mahan, you’ll be late for school. By the time you return home, Amma will be here. Everything will be better.’