‘You smile just like your Appa,’ Nala said softly, straightening the frame.

Dhara heard her but she didn’t stop reading. She rarely talked about Mohan. Nala knew the child was still tied to terrifying memories of his death. She said a silent prayer for the baby inside her.

When Nala had made her announcement about the pregnancy, Rajan had been very upset with her. There were other pregnancies before Nandan—but those had ended without a baby.

‘You are thirty-four years old. You can’t be pregnant,’ he declared.

‘Well I am pregnant, Rajan. It’s little late to think about my age now, isn’t it?’ she had replied defiantly.

Rajan blushed. ‘It’s risky for you and the baby,’ he said before disappearing into his surgery next door.

Although it was too early to begin her confinement, Nala had become reclusive recently, weighed down by the fatigue of pregnancy, and even more so, the fear that came with it.

Dhara insisted on checking on her every day, as soon as she came back from school. Sometimes she stopped at Nala’s favourite sweet store on the way home. It was run by a Bohra family who served as many Indian sweets as Ceylonese ones. Dhara bought the jalebi she was partial to, even though Rajan had warned her the fried pastry would give her gestational diabetes.

‘Are you tired, mami?’ Dhara asked her, bringing her back to the newspaper. ‘If you’re tired, I can stop?’

‘No, mahal, keep going. I like to hear your voice.’

Dhara blushed. ‘It says here that Bandaranaike’s assassin converted to Christianity shortly before his hanging, so that he could save his executioners the Buddhist sin of killing another Buddhist. And Bandaranaike was born a Christian but he converted to Buddhism so he could join politics. That’s ironic isn’t it?’

‘Ironic?’ Nala smiled. ‘You sound like Rajan mama.’ She shifted her belly uncomfortably in the chair and tried to re-plait her hair; it was a mess.

Dhara went to the kitchen and returned a few moments later with warm sesame oil. She made Nala sit back and carefully rubbed a little oil into her curls, unravelling and massaging gently.

‘Mami … when the baby comes, will I still be able to stay here … with you?’

Nala opened her eyes and turned around, wincing from the movement. ‘Dhara, you can stay here with me forever. We—’

She stopped mid-sentence, a rush of warmth and wetness on her feet. She pushed herself up from her chair, knocking it over as she did so.

‘Mami, what’s wrong? Are you all right?’ Dhara asked.

‘It’s too early, it’s too early. Please God, not yet. Not again …’

Dhara helped her to the ground and called out to Ayah.

‘Call Rajan,’ Nala whispered.

Dhara made the phone call to Rajan who was seeing patients at Colombo General. He could get home in ten minutes.