She heard the key turn and the heavy door open. Moonlight entered the foyer and wrapped itself around the Goddess, spilling over onto her upturned face.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ Rajan asked, bending down and helping her out.

‘No, Appa,’ she replied, reaching forward. He held her fingertips in his palm and looked at the torn stubs of her nails. She waited for the admonishment.

‘Come, it’s time for you to sleep. You mustn’t worry. I’m fine, mahal. I’m fine,’ he said, taking her hand gently in his.

•

This time, the riots spread across the whole country. Dr Karunatilake, the director of Colombo General, called all the Tamil doctors when the troubles started, warning them not to leave their homes. Some, like Rajan, travelled to work in marked, government vehicles and ambulances. Nala begged him to stay but he wouldn’t leave his patients. Nor would he tell her what he saw on the streets or in the wards.

The violence was short-lived, lasting only a week in May, but people were still afraid. Prime Minister Bandaranaike was noticeably incapable or uninterested in using the police to stop the mobs as hundreds of Tamils were killed and their homes destroyed.

Many of Nala’s cousins stayed with them during the riots. Mohan’s widow, Vani, joined them too, and Dhara was thrilled to be living in the same home as her mother again. Nala gave Vani her guest bedroom so that Dhara could sleep with her.

Cinnamon Gardens was a pleasant neighbourhood of diplomats and doctors, and its pedigree seemed to protect it from trouble each time. They had other family and friends in Colombo who had fled north, to the safety of Jaffna. They would return when the capital quietened down. Rajan had laughed bitterly to her when he heard that expression. He said ‘quietened down’ described the nature of violence in Colombo perfectly. It would just quieten down for a little while until it rose up again—fuelled by bhikkus and politicians who goaded people into becoming rampaging mobs. Once more Colombo would be filled with the cries of dying Tamils. The cycle of violence in Ceylon was turning ever faster now: the years were different but the problems were the same.

Nala didn’t share his bitterness. She had even managed to enjoy herself a little this time, almost forgetting why her cousins and their children had come to stay with her. Almost.

They had played cards and told old family stories. Some were about Mohan, and Nala was finally able to say his name out loud. For the last two years she had let any mention of him drift away like smoke.

A few times, she even felt he was still there, teasing her for her dismal poker face when she was both winning and losing at cards. She would laugh and look up from her hand, expecting him to laugh back, finding nothing but a deceitful, painful emptiness.