The house was perfect. Even her children were perfect: the girls in their new matching navy and white dresses that made them look like they were heading off on a sea voyage; Nandan, so handsome in his printed shirt and polished shoes. The children had been allowed to join the party for an hour, on the condition that they behaved and retreated to their bedrooms as soon as Ayah came for them. There was to be no resistance or there would be no further parties.

The guest list was more Sinhalese than it was Tamil, which was why not all of her cousins had been invited. They didn’t understand. Rajan and Nala had Sinhalese friends—many of them had helped Rajan throughout his career. She wasn’t going to ignore or offend them because of what was happening in the country.

Amma had been annoyed with her, saying that she should invite all or none of her cousins. Kamini agreed, saying that the ones who hadn’t been invited would call her a snob, too big for her chappals.

She wasn’t a snob. She got along with everyone, but she knew her cousins didn’t. They were right to be angry with the government and perhaps they were right to be angry with some of the Sinhalese. She had her own anger, which she carried more quietly. She had tried to bury it; kneading it with bare hands into the lifeless soil of her grandmother’s neglected garden. But it followed her silently, like smoke.

She shook her head. Hesitantly, she opened the door to her mother-in-law’s room. Devaki had been given the largest spare bedroom with an attached bathroom. It was sparsely furnished, at Devaki’s request, with a low double bed, a writing desk and a rocking chair. Rajan had asked the carpenter to build wooden railings near each piece of furniture so that when she needed to get up, she could hold on to it and pull herself up. She was a stout, short woman whose body was failing her. Childbearing, illness and age had added layers of flesh to her small frame, and it could no longer bear her weight comfortably.

On entering the room, Nala paused: it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the muted lighting. Ayah was waiting for her, and her mother-in-law was sitting on the edge of the bed, her nightdress stained and smelling. Nala tried not to wrinkle her nose.

‘Amma, what happened?’ she asked. It was a stupid question but Nala didn’t know what else to say.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ Devaki replied, looking down. ‘Just a little accident. I will clean myself.’

‘Let Ayah help you, Amma. She can wash you and change the sheets.’

‘No, no. I’ll do it, mahal,’ Devaki replied, looking suspiciously at Ayah.

‘Please, Amma, you can’t do it. Ayah knows what to do.’