Golden Oriole | by Suvimalee Karunaratne

When Miss Vitharane walked into the classroom that morning, like the other mornings  during that month, it was apparent to all that something strange and wonderful has happened  in her life. It was in the way she carried herself - as if she had been elevated suddenly to a unique position of dignity. She seemed afire too, like a small sun bestowing a scintillating  radiance around and about her. 

“I want you to know” she told the girls in a low authoritative voice so different from the  shrill tone she normally used “… that love is a very special magical sort of thing. I wish each  and every one of you may experience it one day.” having made this enigmatic statement she  beamed on them like one who had been favored by a particularly bountiful goddess and was  magnanimously invoking the same good fortune on them. She was more that content to see  the young upturned faces register surprise and when a few giggled and exchanged covert  remarks behind handkerchiefs, she became still more. Miss Vitharane obviously was above  such petty inconsequentials that day. She turned and busied herself with writing complex and  compound sentences on the black board for analysis.  

That the girls showed surprise at Miss Vitharane‟s remark was not a wonder for it was not  the type of remark one would expect her to make. Everyone knew Miss Vitharane to be  studious and timorous, motivated to a great extent by religious impulses. It was well known  that she spent her free times poring over Buddhist sculptures, participating to temple rituals  and going on pilgrimages with her mother. She had even taken part on one of two Buddhist  symposiums on radio and these had been major occasions in her life.  

The class began to copy the sentences in their exercise books and to silently work them out.  Having finished writing, Miss Virtharane went up to the window and for a short space of  time lost herself freely and sensuously in the verdant greenery of flapping banana leaves,  coconut palms and the Hibiscus hedge. A bird swooped down from a shady tamarind tree,  spreading out brilliant yellow wings. It flew low over the grass and then up and away into the  sky. Miss Virtharane watched fascinated. It was not every day one saw a golden oriole – which the Sinhalese called a “Yellow robe – thief”. With such splendidly had wings it must  certainly be a bird of good omen, she thought, for yellow was an auspicious color. It was the  color of gold, of ripe grain, of sunshine. It was also the color of the robes worn by Buddhist  monks; but that was rather odd, she pondered. Why had such a stoically celibate clergy  chosen yellow for their robes? Yellow had so many connections of fertility, or ripeness, of material fulfillment. Perhaps that was why the hermit monks who shunned society and  meditate in the solitude of forests, preferred robes of browner russet hue….  

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“Miss Vitharane”, a gentle voice surged the rushing stream of her thoughts but she did not  hear it. “Miss Vitharane”, the voice called louder, cutting through her conscious, startling  her. 

“Yes, what is it, Ranjini?” she recognized the young typist from the school office standing by  her. 

“There‟s a telephone call for you” 

“Thank you” 

Miss Vitharane glided blithely out of the room not unlike the golden oriole that had taken  wings in to the sky a little while ago. She felt her spirits soar exhilaratingly. No doubt that  would be aunt- Beatrice calling her again. She must really put a stop to these constant  summons on the phone. Not that Miss Vitharane was irritated by them, but Aunt Beatrice  must not be made to feel that she was at her beck and call any time of the day. Especially  during her lessons. True, Aunt Beatrice had made a match for her, but she must not, on the 

strength of that, take advantage of her. Yes, she must put a stop to these phone calls once and  for all.  

About a month ago Aunt Beatrice had actually brought Miss Virtharane a proposal of  marriage. It had caused a pleasant excitement in her, but her mother had viewed it with  singular disinterest and even suspicion. The worst anyone could say of her was that she was a  confirmed busybody. That was one thing Aunt Beatrice believed in staunchly being a  busybody in the interest of other people‟s welfare. Especially in making matches for her  innumerable nieces and nephews. The field offered her ample scope for her enigmatic talents.  

Her mother‟s suspicions were based on her experience in masculine temperament.  

“Does he know Rupa‟s age?” her mother had inquired of her aunt Beatrice, bluntly, Miss  Vitharane had flinched. Delicacy was not one of her mother‟s strong points. 

Aunt Beatrice looked a little baffled, “What for telling Rupas‟s age?” I tell you, child, all that  is not so important. He is not looking for somebody very pretty or young or anything like  that. It seems his wife died about a year ago. Who will look after him and do everything  nicely in the home.  

“Does he know that there is no dowry?” 

“Don‟t worry about all that child. After all, Rupas has got a B.A degree no? That is quite  enough for him. He is a very simple good man” 

“And children?” 

“He has got several alredy, so he won‟t be wanting any more” 

Her mother frowned. “Rupa has been quite content to live as she has been living” she said  shortly. “She is always busy with her school work and her religious activities” 

“But surely, are you trying to tell me that all these things are better than getting married?” 

“The point is Rupa is quite happy as she is. Everything depends on one‟s attitude and Rupa  seems to find happiness and fulfillment in the things she does.” 

Miss Vitharane had been surprised at her mother‟s words and her absolute disinterest in the  proposal. She darted a quick and gantry resentment at her. Why did her mother take it upon  herself to decide matters- especially a matter that affected her life do profoundly? Surely she  was assuming the role of fate in her life.  

“You don‟t mind, no? If I ask Rupa herself ? ” aunt Beatrice asked almost as if she were able  to read Miss Vitharane‟s thoughts. 

For a moment she experienced a mixed sensation of confusion and embarrassment. How  could she openly exhibit a liking for the proposal? It would not become her mature years. So  she cleared her throat nervously and said plainly, “I am quite happy as I am as mother just  told you. The question of marriage has never bothered me all these years” 

“Then you don‟t want me to pursue this matter further?”  

There was a pause during which time Miss Vitharane‟s heart sank a little.  

“There is no point in pursuing things that are not destined to take place”. Her mother said  after a short pause. “One should accept one‟s karma – fate as it comes.” 

Miss Vitharane was again irritated by her mohter‟s decisive tone of voice. How was she so  surre that she was not destined to marry? True, she was not a young girl any more, but then  neither was the man who was been proposed a budding youth himself.  

Perhaps aunt Beatrice had felt instinctively how she felt. That was probably why she had  telephoned her at school on the following day. Miss Vitharane did not have a telephone in  their dingy little row house in the outskirts of the city, and her gratitude knew no bounds  when aunt Beatrice telephoned.  

“Rupa, now without getting angry, tell me child, do you like this thing or no?” aunt Beatrice  asked. “He says he would very much like to meet you. Shall I bring him to your place?” 

These words has caused an excited flurry in the region of her heart, but she had only said, “I  really don‟t know what mother will say” 

“Never mind what she will say,” aunt Beatrice said impatiently. “The trouble with your  mother is that she is too proud” 

So that evening itself aunt Beatrice had brought him to their home. Miss Vitharane had  expected to see an older looking man, but all the same he looked kind. Throughout the visit  he kept casting glances at her direction which made her ears burn. After some time she felt  herself welcoming these glances which had the effect of diffusing her whole being with a  warm tingling sensation which he looked at her. She boldly lifted her eye lids and even  fluttered their lashes a little. But this she regretted immediately, sensing this mild  astonishment is caused his eyes rested on her face inquiringly and it became difficult for her  to hide her distress.  

Her mother was far from please by the visit, but Miss Vitharane was too full of pulsating  hopes and dizzy exhilaration to feel her displeasure. The next day aunt Beatrice – how truly  kind and considerate she was – phoned and gave the good news. He was keen, it seemed, and  had expressed a wish to visit her again. Naturally she agreed happily and so it was that he  began to visit her every evening like a prayer. Each day Miss Vitharane became gayer and  holders.(gayer and holder – happier and active) Her hair which had been accustomed to tie  in a sever knot at the back of her head gave away to a loose informal plait and sometimes  even remained unbound, brazening luxuriant tresses to his admiring gaze. Her body felt  charged with a new motivation. She could almost feel the surge or sap.  

“See how one‟s karma works,” her mother remarked one day. “Just think how long you had  to wait to meet the correct man.” It was her mother‟s first words of encouragement – her  unofficial blessings. Miss Vitharane who was combing out her hair in front of the mirror  thought to herself that she might well have blessed her chance on account of her mother but  at that moment her eyes too in her reflection and it fairly knocked the breath and also the  resentment out of her. She could but marved at her own transformation – her eyes looking  luminously bright and her skin which had been rather dry and showing signs of coarse  maturity and now giving an appearance of delicate softness. It was as if the ongoing  happiness within her, like a water lily opening out in the morning sunshine, was reflecting  itself in her face. “What a brittle thing our personality is” she contemplated in a brief moment  of self-knowledge dependent on so many external and internal factors, we change from  moment to moment. They say matter remain static only for seventeen thought moments. But  strangely enough this fleeting insight didn‟t bring with it any equanimity. Rather, she felt  holier for having thought it. Soon she was sallying forth to school like a boat with sails  unfurled and billowing ecstatically.  

At school they had begun to notice the curious change in her too. In the staff room they were  quick to catch the meanings hinted at by her oblique remarks. 

“One has to experience love to know what it is,” she announced stretching herself out lazily  on a chair with a half- smile on her lips. 

“Ahah!” they laughed, “so our friend found herself someone at last.” 

“Who is the lucky man?” another cried 

“What lucky man?” she wanted to know, pretending to frown. 

“Congratulations, you dark horse when is the wedding?” 

“I really don‟t know what you all are talking about,” she said showing a becoming  embarrassment and escaping from the barrage of questions she herself had brought down  about her ears. But amidst all this teasing hilarity she was aware of a few resentful glances.  Well they would be even more resentful when they see the ring. The day before he had  asking her what kind of a ring she would like to wear. If they only knew from what a well-to 

do-family he was and what a responsible government post he held-how jealous they would  be. It was difficult for her to hold in all this elation. All she could do was to make oblique  remarks and look as enigmatic as she could.  

So now as he hurried out of class and walked across the bit of garden space towards the office block, she was conscious of all eyes following her.  

She wondered what aunt Beatrice had to say. Most probably something not very important.  she had been threatening to invite them all to her house for a party in their honour. May be  she wanted to fix on the date. well anyway she must put a stop to these interruptions, once  and for all.  

Miss Vitharane ran up the few steps to the office, scattered her radient smile among the  office girls and took up the receiver with aplomb.  

“Hellow, yes?” 

“Rupa, aunt Beatrice speaking here…” 

“Yes, aunt Beatrice, do say what you have to say quickly. I was right in the middle of a class.  The principal doesn‟t like our work interrupted every now and again, you know” 

A short pause followed this somewhat crisply delivered speech. The silence almost crackled.  “I‟m very sorry, child. I really don‟t know how to tell you what I have to tell you….” 

Miss Vitharane experiences a sharp sensation of alarm. Aunt Beatrice‟s tone conveys  something drastically wrong.  

“He… he says… it seems he can‟t make up his mind… just yet. You see… hello Rupa? Are  you there?” 

Miss Vitharane drew in her breath heavily and managed to make a stiffed noise in her throat.  The whole world seemed to have stopped dead. A roar of rushing blood seemed to crash and  pout about her ears.  

“You know… the thing is he can„t get over his wife‟s death it seems. Poor man, I feel sorr  for him also. Some people are very temperamental you know” 

The silence yawned between them across the wire. She felt it attempting to probe her mind. 

“I‟m very sorry about it,” Aunt Beatrice ventured, “but Rupa you mustn‟t go and let this  upset you now.”

“It‟s alright” Miss Vitharane said mechanically, resisting the urgent to slam down the  receiver. 

“What‟s to be done child, these things happen. As your mother said – what a wise person she  is – one cannot force karma to make things happen that are not destined to happen. You must  take these ups and downs as they come. I am truly sorry it turned out this way. Wish you all  the luck in the world” 

Miss Vitharane forced out a polite “thank you” and dropped the receiver. She began to walk  back slowly, her legs dragging. Somehow to control her facial muscles and resolved to  remain poised and calm however difficult the feat. Two veins swelled on either side of her  neck with the effort. She re-entered the class room and resumed her stance in front of the  window. The trees and bushes were a green blur among which her eyes darted hither and  thither like angry gnats. She could not feel herself a part of it. The world around her could  draw no sympathetic response from her. 

The stark blue sky was empty now into which the golden oriole had disappeared but a  movement nearer her obtruded on her line of vision. Two brown Mynahs with yellow beaks  and yellow legs were busily pecking at the ground. Miss Vitharane watched them going  through the motions of their companionable endeavors to ferret out food. Suddenly tears  warping into her eyes. The pulsing, quivering, pregnant life outside impinging on her senses  was too much for her and she began to cry.