The temple was covered in flowers, lights and incense; there were dancers and singers and firewalkers. Her sister’s face was lit up by all the lights as she held onto Nisha’s hand. Kiyoma was only a couple of years younger, but because of her heart condition she was small for her age and if someone didn’t know they would think she was much younger. She had been named Kiyoma, which means good mother, because her own mother, Lakshitha, wished that Kiyoma would grow up to be a wife and a mother herself. It was the greatest wish that Lakshitha had for her daughter. But Nisha imagined her sister’s heart like a tiny bird fluttering in her chest: she knew one day, before long, that it would break free of its cage and fly away. She knew because she could hear the changed rhythm of her breathing. It was so subtle, anyone else would have missed it, but Nisha could hear it because they shared a bed.
Kiyoma always wore a panchauda – a gold pendant embellished with five weapons: a bow and arrow, a sword, a disc, a trident and a conch, to ward off the evil eye. Lakshitha made sure Kiyoma never took it off and Nisha saw it glimmering in the light of the lanterns and the fires while they were on the little island visiting the temple. But when they got off the gondola on their return, the necklace had disappeared. It was Nisha who noticed. ‘Where is your pendant?’ she’d said to her sister with fearful eyes. Kiyoma had shrugged.
Later, their mother was beside herself. ‘What could this mean? Nisha, did you see her drop it? Kiyoma, did you not feel it fall? Did either of you not hear it fall?’
Lakshitha had become obsessed with Kiyoma’s heart condition. Some days she would be calmer and accept that her beautiful daughter might have less breaths to take in this life and in this world, which is really an almost impossible thing for any mother to come to terms with; other times, and most of the time, she would consult astrologers, or watch out for good or bad omens, such as who Kiyoma might have met at certain times of day, what somebody had said to her, or what they might have been carrying while they spoke to her. She bombarded poor Kiyoma with questions. Other times still, she used lotions, potions and oils on the scar that ran vertically down her youngest daughter’s chest to her navel.
Kiyoma was a perceptive girl for her age. One day, while they were walking back home from the paddy fields where their parents worked, she confided to Nisha that she had thrown the pendant into the lagoon while they were on the gondola on the night of Vesak Poya.
‘Why, why, why would you do such a thing?’ Nisha scolded.
‘Because,’ her little sister had said with candid eyes, ‘the pendant felt like a chain around my neck.’
Exactly a year later, on the morning of Vesak Poya, just before light filled the sky, Kiyoma drew her last breath and her heart flew away out of the window. Nisha was fast asleep, but she dreamt of a bird with golden feathers as soft as waves that hovered over her for a while, and then flew out of the open window.
She woke up immediately and turned in the half-darkness to face her sister. She noticed that her chest was not rising gently, that her eyes were not moving inside her dreams. She leaned over her, placing her ear close to her mouth and nose. And that’s when she heard and felt something that was, up to that point in time, completely unknown to her. The stillness and soundlessness of death.
Kiyoma’s body was kept at the house for a few days in an open casket. Monks came to chant prayers and eulogise about the impermanence of life. Her body was placed facing west, and their mother stayed in the room with her day and night, to prevent evil spirits from taking up residence in the house. Pictures had been turned around on the walls, or placed facing down on tabletops; family and friends came to the house with offerings of white and yellow flowers.
Lakshitha did everything she could to ensure that Kiyoma’s transition to the next life was assured. She offered the monks white cloth to be stitched into monastic robes. Then relatives and friends poured water from a vessel into an overflowing cup while reciting prayers.
Nisha listened to the prayers and watched the water overflowing – how it momentarily caught the light like crystals and seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world. And she understood for the first time that everything – everything – must come to an end.
17
Petra
T
HAT SUNDAY I GOT READY to go to Limassol. I had arranged to meet Mr Tony at the Blue Tiger at 3 p.m. and I had about an hour’s drive ahead of me. After lunch, I took Aliki over to Mrs Hadjikyriacou, who was sitting outside with the cats. It was a rather last-minute plan, but when I had asked her the previous afternoon, she seemed excited at the prospect of spending more time with Aliki. ‘She’s a funny little girl. Watch her!’ she said, beaming from ear to ear, so that her paper-like skin had creased a thousand times.