Sandali H.'s Blog

In 2002, I saw Roja for the first time. It was the evening of my twelfth birthday. My uncle’s family came from Siriya to celebrate with us. It was the first time there had been any real celebration for one of my birthdays. Everyone from around our village came by for some food and fun. It was a small gathering, but more than I could have ever asked for. There was food, music and games. I only wished Rao could’ve been there.

I heard it when people were starting to leave. It was around five in the evening. We had danced all day and were slowly craving some quality relaxation. What I heard was music. A violin. I didn’t know where it was coming from, but it was beautiful. I had never heard anything like that before. Perfect, smooth notes were caressing my ears one after the other.

I ran with the rest of the curious folk to the fence in front of our house. What I saw before me was a peculiar sight. A bicycle was approaching us with a man on it. In the front basket, there was a big black box with wires sticking out in all directions. It looked like a giant speaker. I didn’t see the girl until the bike rode past us. She was seated behind the man with her back to him and she was carrying a violin. A thick metal frame attached to the man’s shoulders extended out and hovered over the instrument. It carried a microphone. She played the beautiful melody and the microphone amplified the sound. We all watched in complete awe and applauded as they went past us. It was magic. And she was beautiful. I stared at the girl; her black hair pulled back in a braid, her pale yellow dress and her brown skin glistening in the setting sun, a pottu on her forehead, her large eyes lowered as her fingers moved with expert precision. Her expression was one of complete concentration as she played her violin.

She was perfection.

She was Roja.

*

Her father’s peculiar bicycle would ride past our small house every day and bring with it the most precious music I had ever heard and the most beautiful girl in the entire world. I would run to the fence and wait there each day without fail. She never saw me watching. Her eyes were always on her violin. At first, I didn’t notice it but my mother would also run outside when she heard the violin in the distance. We would, both of us, silently enjoy its beauty, knowing it’s a rare thing.

“You should talk to her, Siva.” One evening, my mother was suddenly standing behind me.

“What? Who?” I was embarrassed that my admiration for the girl had been so obvious.

“Siva, don’t be coy! I know her mother. She’s a nice girl. You should make more friends from the area.”

I looked up and saw that my mother had aged. Wrinkles had appeared on her once smooth face and her teeth were yellowed and frayed. In that instant, I remembered my father, standing in the fluorescent light and wondered how different her life would have been if he had stayed with us. I embraced the comfort I felt knowing he was out there. Knowing he loved me and he would be with us if he could. I smiled at my mother because I loved her; her strength and her resilience which had kept me safe and loved. She pinched my cheek and wrinkled her nose. “Go” she said.

As I ran behind the bicycle, I turned around just in time to catch Amma give me two-thumbs-up. I chuckled and returned to my mission. Roja’s bicycle didn’t stop until it reached Jaffna Town. It came to a halt in front of a small tea shop. Her father entered the store while she stood leaning against the bike with her violin. My heart began to pound and the sweat that had gathered in beads while I jogged behind them now fell in waterfalls down my face. I changed my mind. Talking to her in this state was not an option. As I was turning to leave, I saw her gaze fall on me and suddenly I couldn’t move.

“Why are you following me?” Her voice was not sweet like her violin but deep and sure.

Against my better judgment, my feet took me to where she was standing. She seemed both uncomfortable and slightly amused by my guarded approach. “I’m not following you. You must be mad.” My words came out between wheezing breaths as I attempted to calm my frantic lungs. She straightened up, stood in front of me and looked directly into my eyes. “Yes. You. Are. You ran behind the bike all the way from your house!”

“But how did you know I was following you? You never look up from your violin!”

“I don’t have to look directly at something in order to see it.” Her reply took me by surprise. I had heard a girl speak with such confidence before. She reminded me of Sita speaking to Kumar. I was impressed. The corners of her mouth began to twitch as if she wished to smile but didn’t want me to see it.

“You’re right! I did follow you. I wanted to know what song you were playing when you passed my house.”

“That was no song. It was a Raga. Long ago in India, it was played during the draught… to bring the rain.”

“I see. Do you want it to rain?”

“Don’t you?” she said.

And then she smiled.

My first novella is now available for the Kindle on Amazon.

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