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the Malays, the Muslims.’ This is in some of their leaders’ speeches. Yes, there are some issues involving the Indians that have not been totally resolved, but to say that we oppress, commit apart-heid or genocide, and that the police allowed murder in Kampung Medan and Kampung Rawa ? We don’t want them to think that because this is a group speaking for a certain race or religion that we took action…”
    She felt a touch on her shoulder, then a light hug from behind. Rohani settled herself on the edge of the table, as if for a bit of gossip. They both looked mutely out at the scene below.
    When Abhik called again, it was almost seven in the evening. Broken flowerpots, shoes, and glass bottles littered empty streets from which traffic remained barred. Shops were closed; only the five-star hotels had kept their doors open for camera-happy tourists.
    His voice was exhausted. “Agni? Are you okay?”
    “Abhik!! I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon! Are you all right?”
    She heard him sigh. “I’m okay. The Hindsight leader managed to escape to London. He plans to sue the British Government for four trillion US dollars for the state of Malaysian Indians today. He won’t get any money, it’s only a publicity stunt, but maybe the world will pay some attention.”
    “I was shit scared, Abhik! Watching all those people in the streets…”
    “It’s over, Agni. No one’s been killed, even though so many came out for this. Some Hindsight leaders are locked-up under the Internal Security Act, but the bar council is issuing a statement now. I’m going home. Coming?”
    “I’ll see you soon.”

Wednesday

Nine
    Jay sat in the cool room, reading through Agni’s email again. Despite the warnings about the street protests, he insisted that the hotel concierge call a taxi immediately and now here he was, at Shanti’s old home.
    On the long flight from Boston to Kuala Lumpur yesterday, he had read and reread the email many times, trying to figure out how much Agni already knew. Dramatic Daughter , he concluded. Fantastic Fable .
    Agni had sent a follow-up message, apologising for the melo drama in her first response. She wanted him to delete the message immediately. His response had been to thank her for her honesty.
    Now he turned the page to read the ending again:
    As my father held my mother’s head down in the depths of the sea, I sat at the shore of a beach in Port Dickson. I saw her bobbing up and down, her sari bursting into marigold balloons.
    I’ve replayed that scene so many times in my mind. I can freeze any frame at will, taste the bitterness of the sand and the slime of the mud, and become my mother gasping for life, and letting go. For she did. She let herself sink to the bottom of the ocean, answering its call, and didn’t look back at me. That is what I remember. Staring at her bobbing figure, I willed her to look at me, but she didn’t even raise an arm in farewell. There was just a sinking, floating sari, and then my father returned, alone.
    “It wasn’t about you,” my grandmother says.
    But I know it was. I know I made it happen, for I was a decision; I was born of a fairy-child, both magical and cursed. So I knew.
    We remake our memories in our retelling. I remember all this even though it happened long ago.
    When my mother sank, this country stood still long enough to hear its own heartbeat. I could hear the waves crashing into my own booming race for life, while my mother’s slowed to the last sigh.
    He looked at the woman seated before him. Agni was still speaking into her mobile phone.
    Jay felt chilled. This was Shanti’s daughter, he reminded himself; she wasn’t Shanti. In fact, there was absolutely no resemblance. His glance took in the gleaming toenails and hair, skimmed over the hint of lace in the bared cleavage. He consciously straightened his stooping shoulders. More than four decades of his failure with women, and his shoulders were the first to surrender.
    She hung up