My secretary had arranged the incoming mail in a neat pile. As I leafed through it, my glance fell on an envelope posted in Colombo. Was it a request for a reference from one of my recent Sri Lankan students? I was about to slice the cover open when Shamsiah’s call reminded me that my Banking Law class was to commence in five minutes. Reluctantly, I dropped the letter back on my desk, picked up my notes and hurried to my seminar room. ...
My knowledge of Ranjan’s youth is based on what he thought fit to tell me and on occasional remarks of his contemporaries. A model primary school pupil, a boy scouts leader and a fine cricket player were on the credit side. A tricky fellow, one ready to snitch when it suited him, and a mercenary to boot, were remarks made by those who disliked him. One of them told me that Ranjan would display enthusiasm when he was the key figure in some sporting event, but often lost interest when it was the turn of others. ...
Agnes turned out to be a vivacious English-educated Chinese, some five or six years older than Ranjan. A telephone call she received when I delivered Ranjan’s parcel convinced me that my friend was not the only man in her life. Out of curiosity, I accepted her invitation to a party in her flat but, in the event, left early as I found it difficult to fit with her guests. Still, before long I met colleagues, mainly from the English literature department, with whom I was able to mix. ...
A few weeks later, I had proof of the validity of their assessment. Notwithstanding my heavy teaching load and other commitments in Singapore, I had been working steadily on my doctoral thesis. Our library’s holding were adequate for my research of the English and Commonwealth law in point but, as was to be expected, had few materials from other jurisdictions. To get them, I had to spend some time in Oxford. ...
On the surface, my friendship with Ranjan remained intact. Inwardly, though, I had misgivings. Jilting a girl was one thing; holding onto money given by the girl in anticipation of a union, put a different connotation on the episode. I knew for certain that, in similar circumstances, I should have restored the money to her family. Keeping it was both inappropriate and improper. On this score, Ranjan showed no remorse. Risking both his own savings as well as Lillo’s bequest, he continued to dabble in the local stock exchange. Bank statements he showed me in confidence indicated that he was making steady gains. ...
During my years in Wellington, I often soliloquised about Ranjan’s life. Years later, when we had returned to Singapore, I felt the need to clear my mind. My occasional talks with Tay Fung-Shuo, which I had during my first period in Singapore, threw no light on the episodes respecting Ranjan. Tay had remained tight lipped and, as soon as decorum permitted, changed the subject, usually by leading the way to some newly discovered antique porcelain. ...
It is time to turn back to my years in Wellington. The geographic remoteness did not distance Ranjan and me from one another. We corresponded periodically but, of course, had less occasion for exchanges of views and of impressions than during our days in Oxford and in Singapore. Each was preoccupied with his own career. I tried hard to settle in the windy capital of New Zealand. My problems were related mainly to my family life and to the occasional hiccups of academia. Ranjan sought to rise in his home country. His new milieu and environment were alien to me. ...
Ranjan was rising in politics, continued to make a fortune at the Bar and laid the foundation for the great leap forward. He refrained from referring to his marriage but once mentioned in passing that there was no sign of a ‘family’. I drew my conclusions. My own life, too, continued uneventfully. Then, one day, Pat spotted an advertisement for a new Chair of Law at Monash University in Melbourne. She nagged me into applying and – with the help of Fortuna – I got the job. ...
At the end of my year of leave, we returned to Melbourne. I had to complete a few additional years of service so as to secure an adequate retirement benefit. I assured Pat that, in due course, we would move back to Singapore. During this second spell at Monash, Marcus kept me informed about Ranjan. Politically, Ranjan moved from strength to strength. Within a few years, he became the President’s right-hand man. He was now tipped ‘the successor’ and, in his own way, wielded power and influence. But – all in all – he had remained a subordinate. The reigns were still in his superior’s hands. Occasionally, Australian television showed him in the company of other members of the Sri Lankan cabinet, assembled around their leader and ready to run his errands. ...
Many years have passed since that fateful turn of events, covering Ranjan’s act of revenge and the atrocities committed in Jaffna. But even after Ranjan’s untimely death at the hand of a hired assassin, my mind kept mulling through the episode. One evening I slid to my antiques room in Singapore so as to discuss the matter with Tay Fung-Shuo – now replaced by his porcelain Doppelgänger, dubbed Alfie. “So you do old antiques dealer honour of unexpected visit,” Alfie chided me. ...