‘Yes, Bandaranaike is dead,’ he replied. ‘And his widow is already making public appearances and rallying his party. Sirimavo Bandaranaike won’t be joining a Buddhist monastery for a life of spiritual contemplation. She’s even better at Sinhala chauvinism than he was. It’s only a matter of time before she “reluctantly” accepts her husband’s mantle,’ he added bitterly. ‘The leader of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party might have been assassinated, but the party is very much alive.’

‘Where would we go? Have you thought of that?’ she could see that anxiety was distracting him away from her, pulling him inward. ‘Where would we go?’ she repeated, desperately hoping he didn’t have an answer.

‘London or Toronto perhaps. Your brothers want to go there. Kamini too—she said Gajan’s engineering qualifications would be recognised in Canada. But you know how Gajan hates the cold.’

‘You’ve spoken to all of them?’ she asked, incredulously. ‘Without speaking to me first?’

‘Yes—I just asked them, Nala. You make it sound so conspiratorial. I … I thought we should work out all of our options. Pat Ohlmas is moving to Canberra in Australia. But Australia won’t take us, we’re too brown.’

‘Too brown?’

‘Too brown,’ he replied.

‘Pat is Ceylonese too!’ Nala was very fair, everyone knew that.

‘Pat is a Burgher—she can show Dutch heritage and she doesn’t look brown. She looks European. Australia will only take Europeans.’

‘Well, we were colonised by the British, which should count for something,’ she retorted. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to move. This is our home; we built this house and your practice. We were here first,’ she finished petulantly.

‘That argument didn’t work with the Portuguese, Dutch or the British.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean that we have lived in Colombo for much of our lives. This is our home and we shouldn’t have to leave.’

‘Nor should we have to raise our children in fear,’ he raised his voice a little.

‘Rajan, you are the only one who’s afraid.’

‘You should be afraid, Nala. Look around you and see what I am seeing.’

She was offended: first she was considered too brown and now she was being called blind.

He looked down at his mango. ‘Things will be safer somewhere else. Every generation should have the chance to be better and freer than the one before it.’

‘Who said that, your mother?’ she scoffed.

‘No, I said that,’ he replied harshly, pushing the plate away.

She blinked back tears of frustration. She could never explain herself to him properly. ‘Rajan, this is our home. We were born here; we buried our dead here, we—’

‘And we must protect our living, Nala,’ he interrupted her.

‘What about Amma and Archi?’ she asked. He was quiet. There was also Dhara’s mother to think about. They helped her too, and Dhara would never agree to leave without her.