5. Sudu Yaka - Lords of Serendipity

Lady at the gate! Lady at the gate! Come quickly! Lady at the gate!

A professional-looking woman was standing at the front gate of Devi’s house. This was a few weeks into the new school term. She was wearing a long dark skirt, collared white shirt, and glasses. And she was not carrying a purse but, instead, a briefcase, and holding a parasol in her other hand.

Achchi saw her first, while splashing water from a half-cut plastic milk jug to remove the road dust from the house steps before her son-in-law came home. She rushed into the house, calling out the news. Devi was in the back room, studying between chores, as usual. She came out and saw Ammi already dragging her brothers by the ears, toward the front door.

If that’s a government nurse saying you’ve done some business to a girl . . .

No, Ammi! No, Ammi! No girls!

Ammi, wait! said Devi. That’s not a government nurse. That’s my school principal.

Ammi released Devi’s brothers with an extra twist and snap, as future warning. She turned to Devi.

Why is the principal of your school at our house, Devi? We are not ready to receive. Look at how I’m dressed. And there’s no cake at home!

I don’t know, Ammi. Shall I tell her to go?

No, child. The school principal has come to our house. Either this means good news or bad news. Either way, news. I am not dressed to receive her. Go. Tell her to wait, please, kindly, just a moment.

Devi went outside.

Ammi went to her room and came back with a greasy fold of rupees. She told Devi’s brothers to go through the back door and down the lane, not to the Muslim hotel, where they usually bought food for entertaining, but instead to Perera and Sons, and come back straightaway with—here, listen to me, don’t make a mistake—mutton roll, beef bun, chocolate and strawberry Swiss roll, and also the change.

Repeat back.

They repeated back.

You forgot one thing. Do it again.

This time, Devi’s brothers said all of the items and also mentioned they were to return the change.

Ammi messaged Devi’s father. He had so many questions. She turned off her phone, stepped into the bath and took a quick wash, applied talcum powder and rose water, and changed into her own mothball-smelling long dark skirt and collared shirt and creased dress flats. She walked confidently through the hallway of their little house and down the front steps, and welcomed the principal to their home. She described the great honor of this visit while Devi stood to the side, at attention, her hands folded. Meanwhile, inside the house, Achchi picked up the front room like a scarecrow threshing machine.

Devi had never spoken to the school principal. She had never been spoken to by the school principal, either. Like most of the children at her school, she only saw the principal from a distance, sitting on the stage at morning assembly and handing out trophies and certificates at the year’s-end sporting-day and award-day ceremonies and welcoming chief honored guests for the opening and closing of session. Devi didn’t even think she was known to her. Had Devi’s teacher informed the principal about Devi’s applications to overseas universities? She must have. And was the principal here to congratulate Devi, or to punish her?

They sat in the front room. Ammi offered cool drink or tea or both. The principal said yes to cool drink, and Ammi excused herself and texted Devi’s brothers to bring a small bottle of cool lime, also. But they were almost home, they texted. Should they go back? No. Just come, she said.

Improvising, Ammi put a little of her husband’s soda water in the bottom of a good glass, part of the collection the family had made from items found in hotel bathrooms during cleaning shifts, and added the stringy remains of a papaya juice. She stirred it and hoped for the best and returned to the living room.

Lovely, thank you very much, said the principal. She sipped and smiled and nodded, and then put aside the glass and flattened her skirt. Is your husband also at home, madam?

No, Principal Lady, but he is just coming now.

Okay. I don’t have much time so would you mind if we began to speak without him present?

Of course!

Devi, can you join us here, please?

Devi had been standing on the threshold of the front room, pressing her fingers together to stop from biting them or worrying her plaits. If she did, Ammi would clench her teeth at her and the principal would see and would never think such a family could have a child going to the top overseas universities.

Come, sit, said Ammi.

Devi sat beside Ammi, across from the principal. Achchi was in the kitchen, preparing a platter from the food the brothers had brought back. Formally, briskly, nearly military-like, the brothers walked through the hallway and out the front door to the gate to look for Thathi.

The reason I have come today is because I have been informed by Devi’s teacher of her plans to apply to university.

Yes.

Congratulations.

Has she actually been given a place at the Ochpys? Actually?

Sorry? What is—

Madam Principal, please excuse, said Devi. Ammi means—and even though she knew better, after all, she hadn’t even submitted her applications yet, part of her secretly shook with the possibility that the principal somehow knew something already because principals always somehow knew something about you; maybe Johannes had contacted her, for free, and together they had done it?—are you here with news about my applications?

Ah. No, Devi. I have no such news. Actually, your teacher informed me that you have plans to submit applications to a number of overseas universities. Is that the case? Have you done so yet?

No.

But you will be doing so.

Yes.

Name them, please?

Devi cleared her throat, arched her back, and, with her hands clasped over her knees, said, Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Stanford.

The principal nodded.

Devi, you are aware that these are the very top universities in the entire world?

Yes, Madam Principal.

You are going to make application to our Sri Lankan universities, correct?

She will, said Ammi.

Devi smiled, tightly.

For the arts course?

Yes, Madam Principal.

Based on the results of your A-level exams, National University of Sri Lanka at Kurunegala is a possibility, I think. And actually an exciting time to apply there.

Why is that? asked Ammi.

The Chinese have become involved.

Meaning?

I don’t know the details; only, as we all know, China is very generous to our island, I am sure they will be generous to the university. Already they are changing the name.

To what?

Serendipity University.

Because that was Sri Lanka’s first name. Correct, Madam Principal? Serendib?

Very good, Devi. You should apply.

The principal looked around the house.

Devi, do you require any assistance with the fee?

She does not, said Ammi.

The principal smiled and nodded.

Then we’ll wait and see when the government gives the spots. Now, Devi, Madam Principal continued, with regards to the overseas schools, have you looked into whether your academic record meets their requirements? Devi, you are one of our better students and you could certainly achieve postsecondary educational attainment at the right place, like the new Serendipity University I have mentioned. But in terms of the academic excellence of the top schools, you have never participated in either Science Olympiad or Math Olympiad—

She was first runner-up in the All-Schools Spelling Competition, said Ammi. Devi was amazed Ammi remembered this, the start of her great plans.

Yes, said Madam Principal. Well, these overseas schools are very difficult.

My tutor told me I met the requirements, Madam Principal.

Your tutor?

Yes.

May I learn more about your tutor?

His name is Johannes. He attends a prestigious university, overseas.

Which one?

He’s not allowed to tell me.

Why?

In case this has an effect on my applications, Madam Principal.

The principal sighed and looked at Ammi, who looked down. She could tell what the principal was trying to say. She was probably correct. Devi was a poor fool and the overseas tutor a crook. But to come to her home and say this about her daughter? To her daughter? Ruin her hopes like that? No. A child should never have such things done to her, except by the mother. And if anyone else tried, no matter how correct, the mother would defend her child.

Ammi stood up.

Achchi took this as a cue to approach the front room with the platter of short eats. She’d split everything in two to create a show of plenty.

Ammi waved her off.

Madam Principal, we are so very grateful you have honored us with your visit today. And as you say, these are very high-standard schools, so Devi should return to her studies.

Ammi! Devi said.

The principal nodded, looking resigned. But then composed herself again, for a final try.

Madam, I am grateful for the gracious welcome to your home and I agree Devi should return to her studies. Before I depart, may I mention one other item?

Okay.

The principal waited. Finally, with Devi nearly dead from embarrassment, Ammi sat down again.

Madam, I want to congratulate Devi on her academic interests. I will inform you that she was not right away on our list of students to consider for higher studies, but that’s no matter. I have reviewed her records and understand from this visit that she clearly wants to pursue uni, don’t you, Devi?

Devi nodded.

If she does gain admission to one of those universities, this will be a historic occasion for our school and really for our whole island, I am sure. But I also wonder if Devi would like to look at some other options for overseas uni?

The principal opened her briefcase and took out a folder and placed it on the little table between them.

Here are brochures for highly prestigious universities from all over the world that I think Devi should also consider. Schools in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, UK, Russia. Very good visa programs, too, for the whole family. Some of our top girls and boys have done these programs. They all have agents in Colombo offices and every weekend there are information sessions held in the top hotels. Our school works exclusively with one agent, and I would be pleased to make the introduction to his services.

What do you get? asked Ammi.

Pardon me?

If she goes to your UK Russia agents in Colombo.

Madam! I came here to offer some help to your daughter before she makes a terrible mistake, and you accuse me of corruption. But I won’t blame the child for the parenting. I will leave these brochures here for you, Devi, and I suggest you look into them. Best of luck, Devi, and good day to you both.

Devi’s father arrived a little while after the principal had left, panting to know what had happened. Ammi ordered him to take a wash and wait. He obeyed. The family feasted on the untouched platter of short eats while Achchi re-created the scene in the front room—Ammi standing up and ordering the principal to leave after the principal insulted the family—to round after round of applause and toasts from Thathi, who had poured himself a good drink. Devi was worried the principal would ruin her, but then she texted Johannes about what had happened, and he agreed that she was probably corrupt, as were those universities with offices in Colombo, and that Devi should stay away from them and stick with him and the plan. And so the next morning, with Ammi watching, and looking pleased, Devi burned all of the brochures in the predawn cooking fire.

A week later, Thathi found the whole family some extra work. A guest had died in the hotel where he and Devi’s brothers cleaned toilets. The guest was an old man who had been born in Sri Lanka and returned after decades of living abroad, a triumphant widower with a dollar bank account. The rest of the family, also overseas, was coming for the funeral and, with no living relatives in Lanka itself (that they were still talking to), had asked the funeral home to hire mourners to make a good show of the tragic occasion. Through a hotel connection, Thathi won spots for all of them, and early on a Saturday morning, with the brothers flanking Devi’s seat to keep the squeezers and ticklers away, the family took a bus to Colombo. They presented themselves at the funeral home in their solemn best. Their clothing was immediately deemed unacceptable by the director’s wife. They were each given proper mourning clothes, and they were given lessons in grief. They were told, each of them, to imagine the worst thing that had happened in their lives, and to imagine it was going to happen again unless they screamed and cried enough to prevent this.

With the family of the dead man seated behind them in the funeral hall, Devi and her mother and grandmother threw themselves repeatedly at the casket, pulling at their hair and embracing each other, while her father and brothers swore at the heavens, beat their chests, and looked away dramatically. Devi’s family needed nothing from their past to make them carry on the way they did. They just looked ahead, to what could go wrong. Her brothers imagined never owning Hi-Lux trucks; Achchi imagined her snake starving to death after she died. And Devi and Ammi and Thathi imagined the worst possible thing ahead, for each of them: Devi not getting into any of her universities, because then what, with the rest of their life?

The family impressed the funeral director, who invited them back the following Saturday, and most Saturdays after that. Eventually, they were signed on as regulars and permitted to take the mourning clothes home, provided they had them perfectly cleaned and pressed before the next funeral, a requirement that became Achchi’s side hustle inside the family.

Following one funeral a few weeks later, Thathi decided to take everyone to Galle Face Green for a stroll and icy choc. Devi’s brothers got roasted corn instead. After jumping down the side of the seawall, they took off their shoes and socks and pulled up their trousers well past their knees. They waded into the green-black water, gnawing the blistered cobs while Achchi called down that the waves would catch and kill them if they weren’t careful and that she would catch and kill them if they ruined their funeral slacks. Devi noticed that boys and girls her age were pairing off and walking to opposite corners of the abandoned market stalls that had been built into the old Dutch canal system. Not for her, that kind of low romance, even without studies as the reason. Maybe someone like Johannes, someday.

The family eventually reached the end of Galle Face Green, where a group of young men and women in bright white shirts and smart trousers were handing out flyers. Devi took one, as did everyone else.

The flyer showed a group of sporting young white people holding obsidian tablets and steel water bottles. They were standing in a stone courtyard, with a grand-looking, ivy-covered building behind them. They were all looking toward a smiling young brown girl, beckoning her to join them. At the bottom of the flyer, it read, Today Only! Top Overseas Universities Representatives in Colombo. UK AUS NZ CAN US. Free Information Session. Exclusive. Free Refreshments. Hibiscus Grand Hotel, 10 a.m.–4 p.m.

Let’s go and see, said Thathi.

Don’t talk nonsense, man, said Ammi.

No, let’s go and see. Let’s find out what these buggers think top universities are, compared to our Devi’s Oxford Cambridge and all. Those are the real VIP tags! And we’ll get a good lunch for it, too. And look, we’re already dressed in our best, no?

Devi? said Ammi.

It was that, or climb back onto a crowded, hot, music-blaring bus for the ride home and the rest of the day, which would be just like any other day: studies, chores, studies, chores.

Why not? said Devi.

What if Madam Principal is there? asked one of Devi’s brothers.

Then Ammi will give her a first-class slap, right? said Thathi.

Now Devi didn’t want to go so much but the rest of the family was already walking to the hotel, her brothers taking last bites and tossing their corncobs onto the green. Devi followed.

When they arrived, security guards and hotel workers stopped them repeatedly, but each time they showed the flyers, they were allowed to continue. The people already inside the hotel, guests and workers both, regarded the dressed-up village family as simians in costume: sources of amusement, possible sources of danger.

They didn’t know how to move around the ballroom and were shy to approach the buns and tea, so they just stood together and studied the banquet tables, where representatives from dozens of universities sat. Most were thin brown men and older, thicker brown women. Each had an Exclusive Agent placard in front of them. They were flanked by banners from their respective universities, and on the walls behind them were signs: Business, Innovation, IT, AI, Informatics, Hospitality Studies. You could see all of this because of how few people were approaching these exclusive agents, who looked as glum as clerks in a State tourist store. But you couldn’t see the banners and signs for the universities that had white people as representatives. They were overrun and mobbed by Sri Lankan parents and children.

Oh my god, said Devi.

What? Principal is here? Don’t be a coward, child! said Ammi.

No, Ammi, I see girls from my school.

And?

Not nice girls, Ammi.

Where?

Devi pointed to three girls with loose hair hanging past their waists, wearing tight jeans and untucked blouses. They were taking turns posing for selfies in front of a Corinthian pillar garlanded in fake red roses.

I want to leave this place, Ammi.

What’s so bad about those girls, Devi?

They’re boy crazy. Fashion crazy. Phone crazy. They never study but their fathers are going to pay for them to go to Australian unis. And look, even here, they are not even going to the information sessions!

Australia? said Thathi. He sniffed. I’m sending my daughter to university in the lands of kings and presidents, not convicts and Tamils.

Hello, are you ready for your session? asked a large, oily-faced bald man in a box-shaped suit who approached them from an unseen corner.

Thank you, no, said Ammi.

What do you want to study, young lady? he asked Devi directly.

Devi looked to her parents, who nodded. If nothing else, answering a large white man who spoke to her without permission from her parents was a preparation for her future in the West.

Arts, sir.

Belarus Engineering School has an excellent program that I am sure is perfect for you. I am official accredited representative, he said.

He took out a beaten wallet and flashed an identification card at each of them, including Achchi. Only Devi’s brothers were ignored, which was fine by them. They were taking pictures of Devi’s pretty classmates.

The Belarusian returned the wallet to an inner pocket, nodded with patrician ease at the family, and continued. I am pleased to say I can offer you early admission if you just come with me.

Which table is yours? asked Ammi.

He made a dismissive wave with his fat, gold-ringed fingers at the other university people in the ballroom.

Madam, please. I’m not part of this corrupt Western business of stealing brilliant young people from their countries and taking all of their money. That is not the Belarus way.

Then?

You can complete your degree here, in Sri Lanka, at our state-of-the-art facility.

Which is located where?

Just come with me, and you’ll know everything you need to know, I promise.

Sudu yaka, said Achchi, not even bothering to whisper.

The rest of the family agreed they had just met a white devil, and they left the hotel and took a bus home in sleepy, gloomy silence—the kind of silence a family shares because it’s better than the alternative: trying to figure out what, deep in there somewhere, they had just figured out, about a seeming good thing. The following Saturday, they went back to the city to work at another funeral.