Nala was thrilled to return to the family home and to Mohan. She wasted no time, immediately exploring the old house and garden with him. The place looked different, her eleven-year-old eyes noticing for the first time the red dust that settled on everything, from the furniture to the plants. Appa said he missed the redness of Jaffna. She had only missed Mohan.

The monsoon was coming and everyone watched the skies, like guests at a wedding, waiting for the groom to make his triumphant entry. The garden was parched but still overgrown. Archi’s magical fingers could coax okra, onions and gourds from the small vegetable patch. Mohan had cut channels into the soil. ‘It will capture the rainwater without letting it wash away Archi’s seedlings,’ he told Nala proudly, stroking the funny faint hair on his upper lip, and taking her on a tour of her former home as if he were now its maharajah.

Amma said she was too old to play hide-and-seek, but she rarely listened to her mother. Mohan teased her. ‘Three years in Colombo have turned you into a little princess,’ he said, flicking her collared frock and the bows in her hair that matched the bows on her socks. She replied, ‘I was born a princess.’ He ran off to hide before she could finish her mocking but pretty curtsy.

Nala opened every cupboard and checked under every bed in the house. Despite having grown taller, Mohan was still an excellent hider. She was still a terrible loser.

‘Mohan, Mohan come out now, I’m tired of looking!’ she shouted at him. She sat on the steps of the front verandah and examined her legs. They were pocked with mosquito bites; red, angry welts rising up from her fair skin like small volcanoes.

‘Don’t scratch!’ Archi said. Her grandmother sat in the usual place on her rocking chair, her legs covered with a light blanket. In the late morning, after she had finished all of her cooking for the day, she would sit and watch over her garden, her street and her grandchildren.

‘Don’t scratch!’ Archi repeated, more imperiously. ‘You’ll scar yourself. It will be malaria season soon, you should be more careful.’

Nala was afraid of malaria. One of her younger cousins had died of it in the last monsoon. The rains left fetid pools of water in the streets and gardens, creating the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. Amma was so worried she left the twins and Kamini back in Colombo. The boys were only two years old and had never been to Jaffna. Appa said Amma fussed over them too much, but Nala was quite happy to be free of her siblings and have Mohan to herself.

She was inspecting her skin when Archi let out a long kusu. The old lady gave a wicked giggle as her chair and blanket began to move with a life of their own.