Amaya

I look at my sister, eyes wide open in shock.

 "She killed my husband, Inspector. Take her away!"

The policeman handcuffs me and leads me to the rickety old green monster that sits there, waiting. Greedily waiting to carry me off to my destiny.

*          *          *

Destiny- it was always Amaya who believed in an Almighty, omnipresent Force that controlled our lives; I believed I controlled my own.

My life- something alien, something foreign, something I have no say in. I laugh out loud at the ludicrous turn of events. The others stare at me silently, some in open hostility, some with a mixture of amusement and suspicion in their eyes. In a few I see pity...that distant, detached, strangely familiar emotion I first saw in my sister's eyes the day she betrayed my trust.

*          *          *

Mr. Samarasinghe is upset. He says I frustrate him. Fight, he says. Think positive. Picture the glass half-full, not half-empty. Funny expression to use when there is not a drop of water left inside the glass. I tell him as much. He looks at me for a moment, throws his hands up in the air and leaves the room.

*          *          *

...trial next week...

...most sensational scoop I've come across in a long time ...!!!

...you know, seems the Judge is getting death threats......not to worry, our police will not let go that easily...

*          *          *

The trial is tomorrow. It is ridiculous, this rigmarole over nothing. Especially when the verdict is so obvious.

*          *          *

Mr. Samarasinghe's hands are trembling so badly I can see it from the other end of the courtroom. Funny how men go to pieces when the game is up. I remember Jason...

Mr. Samarasinghe runs after the papers that are flying in all directions across the courtroom. Like Mary Poppins. Why Mary Poppins, I wonder...I picture Mr. Samarasinghe in one of her pinafores...beer-belly rolling beneath the layers, bald head hidden by a lace bonnet, twirling his parasol and skipping into the courtroom. I picture Mary Poppins in the courtroom. Your Honour, she says, I have evidence that a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. And I have eyewitnesses to prove it.

*          *          *

Amaya looks very pretty for a mourning widow. Though it is the first time in ten years I am seeing her without make-up. She performs her role to perfection- The Virtuous Wife. The Heartbroken Widow. Driven To Fury In Passionate Quest To Avenge Husband's Killer.

She reminds me of one of those Bollywood actresses...which one was it? Kareena Kapoor? Aishwarya Rai? I can't remember...

That was all so long ago...I can't remember anything anymore...

Looks like this entire scene has been cut and pasted from some low-budget Hindi movie. No originality whatsoever. Slain hero, tearful heroine, obnoxious prosecuting attorney. Hell, even the judge, sitting beneath that pathetic little blindfolded demon holding the Scales of Justice, is sympathetic.

Only the villain seems to be missing. Or maybe –

*          *          *

Those who had nodded off during the fingerprint analyst's tedious lecture wake up with a jolt at the prosecuting attorney's punch line. Naturally, technicalities bore them. As far as they are concerned, the fingerprints found on the kitchen knife exactly match my own. Like spectators at a medieval Roman amphitheatre, they lean forward, thirsting for blood.

My blood.

But the forensic scientist is no better. He describes each wound in minute detail –

 ...only a raving lunatic who can stab someone again and again...watching the victim as he dies gradually...

As he dies drop by drop ...

The pleasure of the kill increasing in proportion to the pain inflicted...

*          *          *

I am so tired, Mama...I want to sleep...

After all that hullabaloo over capital punishment, I wouldn't have thought they would settle for life. It is, after all, a case of premeditated murder. I smile. I am impressed by His Honour's insight, by his ability to know what has been going on in my mind the days preceding the murder.

Strange that his psychic powers are unable to unravel the mystery that is Amaya...

Yet another knight in shining armour- no, rather policeman in well-worn khaki uniform- won over by a damsel in distress. Obviously, or he wouldn't have allowed her to speak to me in private. The risk that I may try to escape is too great...

I have nowhere to go, Mama...

She looks at me, tears filling her eyes. I cannot understand. Shouldn't I be the one to cry? But then again since I am not maybe she could do me the honour...

She is saying something. To me. I can see her lips move, but find it difficult to catch the words. Something-

...betrayed...

I nod vigorously, although I cannot understand. A useful tactic I learnt back in school. I nod harder. I hope I am getting it right.

...right, sis? So now you know how I felt...

I feel faint. Must be the hours I spent standing in the witness box. The policeman comes up to me and I walk away with him, ignoring the sobbing, ignoring the curses.

...how betrayed I felt when I saw you and Jason together in my room...

Ignoring the words that are gnawing at my heart.