Written in the Stars

By Nalini de Sielvie

Anusha's life changes dramatically when she is orphaned at eight years and spends the next few years as a servant. Abducted from her village in Sri Lanka one day, she is forced into child labour but escapes soon after only to be captured by people smugglers. Anusha ends up at a Detention Centre on Christmas Island along with a few surviving refugees when the smugglers are ship-wrecked in Australian waters and she is sent to Western Australia where she grows up to be a beautiful young girl.
Anusha's unusual beauty though attracts the attention of a much-married, older mining-magnate who is determined to marry her. But her life is in danger as the millionaire's family resent his beautiful young wife and plot to get rid of her.
Anusha's story of survival, courage and ultimate triumph holds a message of hope and empowerment to all those who face life's challenges.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665586061

Nalini de Sielvie

Nalini was born in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka. On leaving school she worked at an advertising agency in Colombo, and qualified as a journalist at the Ceylon College of Journalism in 1970. Nalini married Conrad de Sielvie that same year, and they immigrated to Australia in February 1972. Their first son was born in Melbourne in August 1972 and their second son in August 1973. During the next few years Nalini wrote continuously, and also qualified as a commercial artist in 1982. She entered several literary competitions held by local newspapers, magazines and Writers World in Queensland, and won many literary awards. Her winning stories and poems were published in newspapers and anthologies by Writer’s World Queensland. Nalini was included in the 1995 edition of ‘Who’s Who of Australian Writers.’ She worked for the Commonwealth Government from 1986 to 2005, and is currently a member of the Society of Women Writers Victoria, Australian Writers Guild, Writers Victoria, and Peninsula Arts Society. Nalini is past President of Authors Australia Inc, and also holds a diploma in screen writing from the Australian College of Journalism. Nalini teaches piano at a primary school, and her many hobbies include oil and pastel painting, handicrafts, music, classic movies, quiz shows, reading, especially historical novels and biographies. Website:www.nalinidesielvie.com

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WRITTEN IN THE

STARS

NALINI de SIELVIE

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

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© 2021 Nalini de Sielvie. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/15/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8607-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8608-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8606-1 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

About the Author

Part One

Survival

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part Two

New Beginnings

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N alini de Sielvie has published nine books to date (autobiography, fiction, short stories and poems).

Nalini came to Australia with her husband in 1972 and has two sons. She holds diplomas in journalism, scriptwriting, commercial art and pianoforte, and worked for the Commonwealth Government from 1986 to 2005 before changing direction. Besides writing and painting, Nalini teaches piano at a local school.

Writers World Queensland and other publications have published Nalini’s award-winning short stories and poems in several anthologies. She also contributes articles, poems and stories to various magazines and local papers. Her stories and poems appeared in a recently published anthology, Wild Poppies and in the Society of Women Writers Victoria anthology, Climb the Mountain.

Nalini was also included in Who’s Who of Australian Writers in 1995, and is a current member of the Society of Women Writers Victoria, Australian Writers Guild, Writers Victoria, Peninsula Arts Society and was President of Authors Australia Inc. (Independent Publishers).

website: www.nalinidesielvie.com

It is in the stars; the stars above us govern our conditions.

Shakespeare King Lear

PART ONE

Survival

CHAPTER 1

M onsoon rains had continued relentlessly until the drenched foliage looked like sodden rags. Last night’s deluge was worse than it had been over previous weeks and the rain showed no sign of abating. Loku Banda Disawa pondered as he sat in the verandah of his small whitewashed house. Just before dawn, a gust of wind swept away banks of clouds and he glimpsed the sickle moon and morning star, Bringer of Light shining brightly next to it. He thought it was a promising sign and hoped the rain would cease for a day at least.

Dawn awakened slowly in this hilly village in the heartland of Sri Lanka, and thick mist hung around like ghosts floating in tattered robes. It was six o’clock in the morning, and soon the daily buzz of life would begin. He sat in deep meditation as Sudu Menika, his second wife, was in labour inside. It was her fourth child, and he did not worry unduly. Loku Banda was in his mid-fifties and had been widowed ten years ago when his first wife, Soma, died, leaving him two sons, the youngest only a few years old at the time.

Loku Banda had been too busy building his house, working on the farm, cultivating tobacco fields, and bringing up two boys to look around for a suitable wife again. Then one day, Sudu Menika appeared in his village. He met her through her father’s brother. Her uncle was a portly man in his early sixties who owned a farm next to Loku Banda; he lived with his wife and five sons in a large comfortable house he had built many years ago. Numerous fruit trees and shrubs flanked the property, and Sudu Menika was tending the vegetable garden when Loku Banda called on her uncle one day. He had liked her almost immediately, and her comely benign face and youthful figure impressed him. She was twenty-eight years old then, almost twenty-five years younger than he. But two years later, after much thought and deliberation, he spoke to her uncle, as was the proper thing to do when a single unmarried woman lived in the house of relatives. Her uncle was relieved, as he did not know what would become of his niece when he died as she had no relatives besides him. Loku Banda’s proposal was quite acceptable, and Sudu Menika, for want of a better match, had no other choice but to accept the gaunt, silent, hard-working farmer.

Sudu Menika bore children every year until they had three sons. The oldest boy was ten, the second nine, and the youngest nearly eight. She had a few years respite before she conceived again in her mid-forties. Loku Banda was greatly surprised, as he had assumed his family was complete and his wife had gone through menopause. But he was wrong, he mused, as he sat patiently awaiting the birth of his fourth child.

The silence was deafening as he listened for the slightest sound within to announce the birth. Kusuma, the old midwife, who attended every birth in the village, moved around like a wraith draped in a white cotton sari. A tall, thin woman with hawklike features, she was very capable but with a tendency to bully everyone, especially husbands. She sniffed disdainfully and made them feel like criminals as they waited for their wives to bring forth sons and daughters. Kusuma was a spinster, and the villagers found it hard to believe that someone who knew so much about babies and childbirth had never entered the matrimonial state herself. The midwife knew her job well, Loku Banda thought with satisfaction as he sat outside in the cold grey dawn; his wife could not be in better hands.

Then his mind drifted to the strange events of Sudu Menika’s life before she married him. When he had asked her about her past, she had related her history haltingly: I worked as a servant from the age of seven in Mr and Mrs Amarasinghes house in Colombo. They told my parents I was going to be a companion to their baby daughter. But in the end it was a life of drudgery and hard work for me. I lost touch with my parents, as the Amarasinghes didn’t tell my parents when they moved from Colombo. So I never saw my parents or home again for over twenty years. Loku Banda had nodded sympathetically and asked, But did you ever ask those people about your parents? Didn’t they even try to contact them? Sudu Menika replied sadly, They didn’t care about my misery or aching heart and told me they didn’t know where my parents were. But one night, I dreamed about my home and the exact location of the village where I was born. I begged their daughter to write a letter on my behalf and post it to that address, as I didn’t know how to read or write. And one day, as if in answer to my prayers and my dream, a young man and an old woman claiming to be my brother and mother visited me. My joy was great, and I returned home to my village. But my joy was short-lived because my father suffered from dementia and did not recognize me, and my siblings were very unkind. A few months later, my parents died and left me alone. My brother and his wife treated me like their servant, and in desperation I returned to the Amarasinghes’ home once more.

Life was difficult there too, as Mrs Amarasinghe did not take it kindly that Sudu Menika had deserted her and told her so often. Hers was a sad lot indeed, until one day her uncle, who had lived in the Middle East for a long time, returned to the village and heard about his niece’s plight. He travelled to the city and brought her home and treated her kindly and with affection. Then she had met Loku Banda, who married her and life became bearable after many years of sorrow and hardship. Her story had moved Loku Banda deeply as he was a kind and honourable man, so he had taken good care of her.

Majestic mountains and rugged terrain surrounded the small village where Loku Banda and Sudu Menika lived in the hilly regions of central Sri Lanka. Travellers who first came upon it in the deep valley were pleasantly surprised, as thick mist blanketed the hidden village most of the year. And during monsoon season it was difficult to see one’s own hand in front, as thick fog and mist engulfed the whole valley. The narrow, winding road descended to the village down mountainsides with sheer precipices plunging to dangerous abysses and gorges below. Two vehicles could not pass each other - one had to reverse to a broader part of the road to allow the other to pass through. Erratic bus service made access very difficult too, and most villagers preferred to walk ten miles to the nearest town rather than take a chance waiting for a bus that was hours late or never arrived. On some days, when it did arrive tardily, it groaned up the mountain with crowds of passengers hanging outside, and the uneven weight made the bus tilt dangerously to one side. So most people maintained it was safer to walk after they watched the overloaded bus crawling along.

The small town, if it can even be called a town, boasted a bank, a general and variety store, and a medical clinic. But the nearest hospital was five miles away in the major town. The village itself had only a modest general store where locals bought bread, cigarettes, sweets, newspapers, sugar, and tea. The locals had plenty of rice and vegetables, as they cultivated their own paddy fields and grew vegetables and fruits, and the fertile black earth yielded abundant harvests. Several varieties of fruit grew in the village too: plantains, mangoes, avocadoes, pears, guavas, pomegranates, custard apples, red jumbu (a sweet juicy fruit), and peaches. It was like the garden of Eden where fruits of every kind grew in profusion. The general store was also a place for news and gossip, as the mudalali (shopkeeper) knew everything worth knowing about anything or anybody. A jolly, rotund man of sixty, whose deep, rumbling voice and throaty laughter endeared him to all, he had owned this store since he was seventeen. It had been handed down from his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, who had built the original store, which had been extended and renovated several times over the last fifty years or so. Jinasena Mudalali was an icon in the village; nothing important or serious could be discussed without the valued opinion of Jine and the panel of village elders who sat around on the well-worn porch smoking cigars and bidis (cigarillos) or chewing betel leaf.

Loku Banda kept looking at the pale skies and listening intently. It was of utmost importance to note the exact time of birth, as it would enable the astrologer to draw up an accurate horoscope for the child. He heard a moan and shuffling noises within, then a piercing scream and silence, followed by an infant’s wail. All was well. Loku Banda sighed with deep relief now that the baby was born. Sudu Menika must not bear any more children, he thought grimly; he had six children now, more than enough for any man, and all fine sons, unless this was a girl. He got up and stretched his stiff arms and legs. The garden looked fresh and green in the early morning light, as if laid out in newly laundered cloth, but the steady rain continued. The clock on the wall had struck the hour ten minutes ago: it was now ten minutes past seven o’clock, and he noted the time carefully.

The compact bedroom was just enough for a double bed and a small table. No other furniture decorated the spartan room. the mud floors were swept clean and the bed linen was spotless as well. Sudu Menika was a very good housewife and she kept the house tidy. The busy midwife attended to the baby, and Loku Banda watched her as she cut the umbilical cord deftly. His wife lay motionless, perspiration gleaming on her forehead; her usually placid, pleasant face, now haggard and twisted with pain and weariness. Kusuma said, It’s a girl this time, Loku Banda. About time, as you have enough sons, I must say. He glanced at Kusuma and then at his wife with deep concern. She did look very pale and weak with closed eyes. How is she? Is she all right Kusuma? he asked anxiously, as he directed eyes and gestures towards the woman lying in bed. Oh, she’ll be all right - a day in bed, and then nothing to worry about. It’s been some time since she had her last child though. She glared at him accusingly. He nodded slowly. So his only daughter was born on Monday 10 August at the first light of dawn; he would consult the astrologer about a suitable name.

The small mud brick house with a verandah and half wall around it stood in the centre of a large garden. It was sparsely furnished throughout, and a flight of steps led to the kitchen below where a wood fire burned constantly; a steady stream of people had visited the house until the birth was over. Three small bedrooms and a dining area were hardly enough for standing room, so visitors sat in the verandah that had six cane chairs and an old square table.

Banda was a common name in the village and everywhere else. Any man named Banda usually had a descriptive prefix added such as Loku, meaning older, elder or big; Podi, meant small, Kalu - black, and Sudu - white. The same applied to women named Menika, who had similar prefixes. Loku Banda was a tall, gaunt man, with sparse hair, deep sunken black eyes, and a man of few words but plenty of action. He was always working as he was a hard-working honest man, a caring father and husband, also a good friend to anyone in need. Twenty-three year old Podi Banda and twenty-one year old Ranasinghe, his sons with his first wife were newly married to local farm women and lived close by. Podi Banda’s wife, Kumudu, had given birth to a son a few months ago, and Ranasinghe’s wife, Padma, was two months pregnant for the third time. She had miscarried the first two and fervently hoped she would have this child safely. They all worked in tobacco fields, and were a fairly close-knit family. His three sons by Sudu Menika, Herath, Jayaweera, and Dharmasena, attended the local village school. It was a struggle to buy them clothes, books and shoes, and more often than not, they went to school barefoot. He would have preferred if they helped him in the fields and not wasted time being bookish and trying to acquire an education. To his simple way of thinking it was a waste of time for a farmer’s son to become educated. It was unnatural he said and often demanded irritably, What’s wrong with being a goviya (farmer)? That occupation is good enough for me, and was for my ancestors. And what good will it do for my sons to get high and mighty notions that an education makes them any better than their forefathers? So he argued when he became frustrated at times, especially when the boys needed books, shoes, and clothes. Most children went barefoot to school anyway, come rain, hail, thunder or blazing sun. Their feet became hard as old leather as they trudged through rocky muddy terrain or scrubby grass land without any seeming discomfort. It was Sudu Menika who persuaded him to send their sons to school. She had a healthy respect for book learning, as she could not read or write. Sudu Menika never forgot that she had worked as a servant girl from the age of seven. Although the family had taken care of her, she had cried and pined for her family every single day of her lonely life until she was finally reunited with her parents before they died.

So she retorted with the same argument whenever she defended her determination to educate her sons, I know that if only I had been given a choice as a child, I would have been educated, and wouldn’t have been hired out as a servant. Can’t you understand it’s only natural that I want my children to have a better life than I had before I married you? She always assured him she was grateful that since her marriage she had led a comfortable life. He listened to her defend the education of their sons, and he merely grunted at times, but he was pleased he had married a sensible woman who looked after his family well. She ran the household efficiently and firmly but with love. Her stepsons were fond of her in a lukewarm manner although she mothered them and looked after them until they got married. She had also cared for her stepdaughter-in-law during and after her confinement. Now Loku Banda heard his daughter-in-law, Kumudu, moving about in the kitchen. She was in her mid-twenties; short, plump and dark, and a shrewd, hard-working woman. Her round face was set with narrow darting eyes that did not miss much, a long nose and a lipless pinched mouth. Nothing warm or generous emanated from Kumudu, and Sudu Menika often wondered why her stepson had married her. She was certain that Kumudu was the driving force behind her husband.

Loku Banda descended into the kitchen and Kumudu looked up inquiringly. He nodded. A girl this time, was all he said and she only nodded, as she was busy cooking coconut milk rice, fish curry, and sambal. Soon many well-wishers would stream in ready to partake of the traditional milk rice, chilli sambal, fish curry, and plantains, followed by several cups of tea. He left the kitchen and breakfast preparations in Kumudu’s capable hands.

Back in the darkened bedroom, his wife moaned softly. He did not speak, but touched her face lightly. She opened her eyes and he smiled slowly. At last, a daughter this time. I will consult the astrologer about her name and horoscope after I have some breakfast. she whispered drowsily, I am glad too. She will be a blessing to us I know. Before he could reply, she drifted off into a deep sleep and he left her to rest.

The well-wishers were noisy and well fed by the time Loku Banda joined them. They shouted out merrily it was about time there was a daughter in the house, as sons cared only about their wives once they got married and moved out. All the sons cried out in disagreement at such an aspersion, and hastily assured parents they would remain devoted in spite of wives and families. So the easy banter continued for some time until Loku Banda said, The rain has eased enough for me to visit the astrologer, so you must excuse me now my good friends, but please stay and make sure you eat everything that Kumudu has prepared. So saying, he opened a faded black umbrella and waded through puddles of muddy water.

Gunasena, the astrologer, was in his late sixties and played an important role in the life of villagers. No marriage or any momentous event in their lives could occur unless he calculated auspicious times and places for such events. Before Loku Banda entered the astrologer’s dwelling place he shut his dripping umbrella and leant it against the whitewashed wall at the front. It was so dark and damp inside that he could hardly make out where he was going. A strong smell of kerosene wafted from a low-hanging lantern near the doorway and assailed his nose as he looked around with narrowed eyes and called out, Where are you Gunasena? I have some urgent business with you today, if you can spare some time. A curtain rustled close by as a short middle-aged man appeared. Ah, Loku Banda, has your wife given birth then? Is that why you are here? The stout, swarthy man with thick features and white moustache rumbled cheerfully. Loku Banda greeted him respectfully and replied, A daughter this time, and we want you to help us with her naming. Gunasena nodded. That is good, and I suppose you wrote down the exact minute she was born so that her horoscope will be accurate as possible? Yes, yes, I wrote down the exact time. He handed him a piece of paper and sat down with a grunt.

Gunasena wore a white sarong and a long loose white shirt, which did not entirely cover his bulging stomach. He turned up the lamp wick and the sudden shaft of light it produced threw dancing shadows on the walls. The room was sparsely furnished with only a few chairs and a long table in the centre. He lived on his own, which was evidenced in the total lack of any feminine decor within. The low table was covered with dusty books, charts, and scrolls that were essential to his study of stars, planets, and horoscopes. The two men sat silently at the table, and Loku Banda waited patiently for the astrologer to speak first. It seemed a long time until he finally looked up from his charts and exclaimed impressively, "Her name must begin with an A as that is the most auspicious letter according to the time she was born. It’s all written in the stars and they foretell a fortunate life, in spite of some dark shadows and signs that bode troubled times before the tides turn. Still, her horoscope looks promising, so congratulations once again."

Loku Banda sighed with relief as it would have been a misfortune if the astrologer did not predict a bright future for his only daughter. Now he could face his wife with a light heart when he told her the good news. He handed Gunasena a few carefully folded notes and went home.

The house was silent now as well-wishers and revellers had returned to their work and homes. He walked into the bedroom and found his wife nursing the baby. She looked up. Was Gunasena at home? Did he tell you what name she should have? he nodded. "It must begin with A and I have been thinking on my way home that my great-grandmother’s name was Anusha. So that is what we’ll name her, because it means beautiful morning star and also means the first ray of sun that brings health and wealth, now isn’t that a good name as she was born early in the morning? Sudu Menika looked thoughtful, but after a while she replied, That is good, as I don’t know the names of my grandmothers or their mothers. It will be a lucky name I hope, if your great-grandmother was a worthy woman. He looked slightly peeved and retorted, I think that she and all my female ancestors were worthy people and so were the menfolk for that matter." Sudu Menika heaved a sigh. She was not in a mood to debate the point, and to her way of thinking one name was just as good as another whether it belonged to an ancestor or not. He accepted her silence as agreement and went out of the room. His word was law and as long as his wife and family knew that he was content.

CHAPTER 2

A nusha delighted her parents and her brothers from the start, but especially her father. And even her stepbrothers and their wives could not help admiring the beautiful baby. Although her parents were olive-skinned, Anusha’s golden complexion glowed like sunlight through amber honey; and her oval-shaped face was set with large, dark pansy-soft eyes fringed with long, thick lashes, and cupid’s bow lips. The villagers wondered and speculated about the toddler’s unusual beauty. And as years passed Anusha had no rival to equal her grace and loveliness.

She grew up to be strong and wilful though as she was universally admired and indulged. Her parents could not bear to be parted from her even for a few hours, so she trailed behind them to the tobacco fields where the family worked from early morning till late evening. Loku Banda bought her new sandals, clothes, and sweets on her birthday every year, then he smiled fondly as he dandled her on his knee and said, You are my very special Ratharun Duwa (golden daughter). Remember how special you are, and what great happiness you brought us in our old age. You were born early in the morning before sunrise, and 10 August is a date you must always remember because the stars predicted a fortunate life as they shone on you. You will never be alone, as I will be there to protect you always, now don’t forget that will you?

Anusha did not understand what her father said or meant until she was about seven years old, but she knew she could get away with anything as long as she had her father to shield her. She only had to ask him whatever she wanted and he indulged her without fail. But Sudu Menika clicked her tongue disapprovingly and said, You mustn’t spoil her so, as she’s getting to be very stubborn now thinking she can get away with anything! She let the chickens out this morning and the dog chased them all over the garden and nearly killed two of them! When I spanked her, she yelled, ‘I’ll tell Thatha you hit me!’ There’s no way I can control her wildness at times. It’s all because she knows you will never punish her, like you did with your sons. Loku Banda looked at his irritable wife gravely and nodded. I know she can be naughty at times, but it’s only childish mischief. Let her be. Why, have you forgotten all the trouble we had with our sons? I was younger then and could discipline them with a stick, but not my beloved daughter. I shall never beat her. Now don’t worry too much, I’ll talk to her and warn her to heed you and behave better. She is a loving child and will not do anything to hurt or upset us. Sudu Menika was not mollified as she knew her husband adored the child as if he was under a spell. Anusha was enchantingly beautiful even at such a young age and seemed to know it well as she carelessly tossed her dark brown braids and laughed cheekily if anyone tried to suppress her high spirits. She was safe from any harm or punishment, as long as her doting father protected her.

But her old father was not as strong as he used to be, and soon after Anusha turned eight, her sunny secure world disappeared completely when her father became seriously ill one day. He went out to the fields on a rainy day and was soaked to the skin. That night he burned with fever and a few days later he died of pneumonia. Sudu Menika continued working in the fields because she had no other means of income, but a few month’s later, worn-out and ailing with advanced lung cancer she followed her husband to the grave. Anusha’s brothers were still in their teens, but they found jobs locally and moved out to live with strangers. But Anusha was a problem, because her stepbrothers and their wives did not want her. She would be a liability and a financial burden as she could not earn her keep, so they deliberated among themselves.

Podi Banda and his wife, Kumudu, had a seven-year old son, and she said he was enough trouble without Anusha adding to their problems. But Ranasinghe, Anusha’s other stepbrother, who was quite fond of the little girl told his wife, Padma, I think my father would have wanted me to take care of my stepsister, seeing that no one else is willing to have her. And after fifteen years of marriage it’s obvious you’re not going to bear any children. You have had several miscarriages unfortunately and now it’s too late for us to start a family. The embittered middle-aged woman envied the beautiful child who was born just before she had miscarried her last baby eight years ago. She grudgingly decided to take her in and replied, I hope you won’t live to regret this decision. Anyway, she can be useful around the house. Let me think about it for a while as it’s a serious matter. But in her secret thoughts she meant to make the child pay for her keep and reduce her to a mere drudge; perhaps that would rid the girl of all conceit in her good looks, she smirked and thought maliciously. Ranasinghe was pleased when his wife finally told him he could bring his stepsister home. He looked at her gratefully little realizing what her intentions were; he was a placid peace-loving man eager to please his wife always. Ranasinghe was in his late twenties and tall like his father, but sturdy and had pleasant features, straight black hair, a pencil-thin moustache, and kind dark eyes that shone with gratitude now.

Padma’s housekeeping was untidy and haphazard, so that on some nights when her husband returned from the fields exhausted and famished, she had nothing to serve him but a dish of undercooked rice and lentils. Ranasinghe ate in silence as he never upbraided his wife due to her violent fits of temper. She was round and robust, swarthy-complexioned and with small black eyes that glittered with malice; her thin-lipped mouth curved downwards and she wore a constant ill-tempered look that her husband dreaded.

The small two-bedroom house had an open area that served as a dining room and parlour should any visitors call, and adjoining the main dwelling was the kitchen, no more than a tiny hut. Here Padma spent most of her time apparently cooking up a storm, but it was ‘all smoke and no roast’ as her long-suffering husband observed, because there was nothing worthwhile to show for the hours she spent supposedly preparing meals. This was a mystery to her husband and to any one who happened to visit.

A few days after their discussion, Anusha tottered in hesitantly to this grim abode and was given a mat but no pillow or blanket. Padma growled like an unfriendly wild cat, Go to that corner in the kitchen and sleep there as we have no bedroom for you here. Ranasinghe looked at his stepsister kindly and murmured, It will be warm there Anusha, and try to settle down here as your aunt and I are very glad to have you with us. The little girl sniffed and looked up at him with huge dark eyes full of grief and fear as her world had shattered when her mother too had died soon after her indulgent father had gone from her life. "What are you snivelling for? Be grateful you have kind relatives like us to care for you. You’re used to running around like a wild animal in the fields, but now you will learn to be useful and help me around the house, do you hear me? Padma barked out angrily, envious that her husband had showed the little girl some affection. Anusha trembled and replied softly, Thank you, Aunty Padma, I will do what you ask."

So began a life of squalor and drudgery that the little girl was totally at a loss to understand. She had known only love and warmth before her parents died, and this grim dark world was very frightening. With aching bones and shivering with cold she cried bitterly each night as she tried to sleep on her frayed mat on the cold hard mud floor. Her day began at first light of dawn and while Padma slept Anusha prepared breakfast, drew water from the well, swept floors, fed chickens and then waited sleepily on Padma and her stepbrother. Then she cleared dishes, washed pans and immediately set about getting lunch ready. She did not have a moment’s rest as Padma found plenty of chores to fill her day while she dozed or stretched out on a chair barking orders at her.

Anusha grew painfully thin and wan as Padma was none too generous with food, while Padma, now totally inactive, ballooned to double her size. Her husband noticed the change and about a month later he hesitantly asked, Is the child eating at all? She is skin and bone and doesn’t look too healthy. We don’t want her falling sick and people saying we starved her. Make sure she has a good meal at least once a day. Padma scowled at him. I can’t help it if she’s stubborn and spoilt rotten. She’s picky and will not eat what I give her, so it’s not my fault if she starves herself. Padma did not mention that