Our hero will be called Shiva, rousing in the minds of the more sophisticated amongst our readers (yourself, for instance) an image of burnished bronze poised between action and inaction, its myriad arms flung out in several directions, pointing, gesticulating, cajoling. Standing as he does for both Creation and Destruction, the one necessarily involving the other, he will not we trust seem irresponsible or undutiful as a hero in dying at the very beginning of the book. Being Tamil, he will go up in a blaze of glory (and in a helicopter too), thus shedding the brightest possible light upon the people and the processes we need to illuminate. Besides, he will have a sort of successor, symbolically enough called Paul, the executor of his will; though whether this is adequate consolation, whether the substitute will prove suitable, must be left for you to judge.
Then there will be a married couple, but a somewhat unusual couple in that it is generally believed, in this appropriately named Democratic and Socialist Republic of Ceylon where all things are canvassed publicly (albeit in whispers) and nothing private is held sacred (except enterprise), that their marriage was never consummated. That they had no children contributed to this assumption. That her name was Diana did not, so sadly has classical learning declined in this perverse generation. His name is Indra and he was an old friend and also a partner, in a variety of businesses, of Shiva who had accompanied the couple on their honeymoon.
Indra and Diana are Sinhalese, and Buddhists too, though only after a fashion. Ironically, Diana is the more devout, although she is racially hybrid. Her father was a Kandyan Sinhalese, an aristocrat from a little village named after his family (or conceivably vice versa) and nestling in the quiet hills overlooking the Dumbara valley. Her mother Phyllis, settled at the time our novel opens in the village (as she portentously termed it), and playing there the lady of the manor with an aplomb her in-laws had never achieved, was a half-caste, the child of a union between the son of a Ceylonese entrepreneur and the daughter of an English grocer. They had met at Oxford in the twenties and, with a disregard for convention their parents deplored but their generation demanded, had romantically married. Phyllis’ own marriage had been arranged by her father as soon as she approached a suitable age. Continue reading