Dan's Story Part Two

Finding oneself locked in a hotel or other building was common in the Third World, but terrifying to the modern fire-code minded American. Our home in Kandy had bars on the windows to keep people out, but I always had a claustrophobic sense that they also kept me in. I could feel Dan’s terror and disgust at being trapped inside.
“Being locked in like that, it must have been terrifying,” I commented as the food arrived, Aloo Ghobi for me, Chicken Tikka Masala for Dan.
“It was pretty bad,” Dan admitted, sampling his chicken. “Mmm, that’s good though,” he said, nodding in approval. “Tasty meat sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to try some? Maybe just the sauce?” Dan teased, attempting to tempt me off of the meat-wagon.
“Uh, no, that’s alright, I’m happy over here with my little cauliflower and potatoes,” I replied with faux-righteous indignation.
“Suit yourself, more meat for me,” Dan joked back. “Alright, so when we got to the base I told the Major that I was going to take Binari up on her offer,” he continued.
“What was the Major’s name again, Chakravarti?” I interrupted. “Isn’t that a name with some significance?” I furthered.
“Yes,” Dan replied. “When the future Buddha, Siddharta, was born the Brahmin astrologers told his father that if the young prince stayed in the world he’d become a Chakravarti, a wheel-turning king. If he left the world he would become a Buddha. A Chakravarti is a universal monarch who rules by virtue of his moral purity and all of his subjects flourish. It’s a not-unheard-of last name in India, but I’ve never heard it in Sri Lanka before. You really couldn’t ask for a better name of an Army officer in charge of a prominent Buddhist temple.”
“True, that’s a pretty cool name,” I replied, a bit disappointed in my Aloo Ghobi and considering a dip in the Chicken Tikka Masala sauce.
“So, we were out of options. I called Binari and arranged for us to stay the night. The road to her house was beautiful. It had been newly widened a few years back and was luxurious in comparison to most Lankan roads. Binari’s house and yard were extremely well maintained. The entire house was tiled and the living room was neat and spartan. As we went in the door I noticed a metal plate over the door in Arabic. I asked Binari if they were Muslim and didn’t really get an answer. Looking around the living room I saw some Buddhist paraphernalia so I just forgot about it. When Binari was showing us around the main house we caught a glimpse of a thin girl in the back rushing away. We thought that she was a servant, but it turns out that she was Binari’s older sister.”
“That’s a weird welcome,” I commented, I imagined that she wanted to fix herself up before meeting Dan and Thilak.
“That was just the start of weird,” Dan warned me. “The place that we were to stay was actually located in the house next door. This house had been built as a dowry for two daughters who are still unmarried, both quickly approaching 40.”
“Ouch,” I remarked at their ages. “You know, I could just write the marriage ad for the Sunday Times myself. ‘Buddhist Govi mother seeks son for fair daughter, 37, looks much younger, excellent character, for early marriage, dowry house in Colombo suburbs, daughter to inherit substantial assets, Caste immaterial, divorcees, widowers considered, apply with the horoscope.’ That’s about how it would go. That proposal is probably in the Sunday Times we have at home,” I finished, sneaking a bit of naan into the Chicken Tikka sauce while Dan was laughing.
“You’re probably right,” Dan replied, pretending that he didn’t see me sneak the meat sauce. “But here’s where it started to get surreal: the front yard of the dowry house was full of halves of axels, engines and car halves. Apparently the excessive luxury tax on vehicles here doesn’t apply to halves of cars. So some ‘friends’ of Binari were chopping cars in half in the Middle East and importing them into Sri Lanka. They then sell the halves and some local guy fuses everything back together. As we were going to look at the dowry house, a Member of Parliament pulled up to look at a chopped up SUV with his gang of thugs, and Binari hustled us back into the main house.”
“That is surreal,” I agreed. “I mean, how many cars are we talking about here?” I asked.
“Sixteen halves, so, about eight cars, some of them were stacked on top of each other. Some were covered in those green tarps. It was really weird,” Dan replied, expertly using his spoon to pry the chicken meat off the bone while he held the meat stationary with his fork. There were no dinner knives in Asia. If I were to attempt such a maneuver the entire contents of the plate would end up in my lap. I was partially a vegetarian because I did not know how to prepare meat at home and vegetables were safer for me to eat in public. “While we were waiting for Binari to finish her business with the Member of Parliament,” Dan continued, “Thilak went to the bathroom. Since there was no lock on the door he asked me to stand guard. While I’m standing in front of the bathroom door looking around a cow enters the gate and comes to the front stoop and stares at me. It was so strange. Then Binari’s mother shows up. I pointed to the car and joked in Sinhala that I was afraid that they were chopping up and selling cows as well as cars. She answered me in excellent English, telling me that they don’t chop up the cows, there was no need. I’m telling you, this was one very sad and lonely old woman. When Thilak comes out of the bathroom and she starts telling us all about how she is a divorcee. This is really rare. Sri Lanka has very low divorce rates.”
“But didn’t you tell me that Sri Lanka has the highest rates of female suicide in the world?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, I think that Sri Lanka has the overall highest rate of suicide in the world, like 50 or 55 out of every 10,000 people, one of my advisors works on suicide and mental health here,” he explained.
“No joke,” I replied, impressed. “I knew China was number one for female suicides all along, I was just kidding,” I finished a bit shocked.
“Yup, it’s true,” Dan replied. “So we’re talking to Binari’s mom and she’s telling us how she lives here with her two unmarried daughters, Binari ‘the fat one’ and Dani, ‘the thin girl,’ he continued. “She starts to tell us a story about how horrible it was to live with her sister-in-laws when Binari came back. “Everyone needs a partner,” she sighed as we followed Binari away. I had a really strong feeling that her husband had been a child molester.”
“Really, why?” I asked, intrigued. “I know it must be something major for her to get a divorce,” I admitted.
“I really can’t explain it, it’s just a feeling I got from the mother and the sisters,” he replied. “Well, we finally get over to the dowry house; the inside of the house was quite nice. The living room is done in white tile with stylish well-maintained old-fashioned furniture. You know how much I like tile compared with those red-wax floors like we have at home.”
“Yes, our floor at home is high-maitenance, you called that one,” I admitted.
“There was a large doll of a little girl sitting on the couch,” Dan went on. “The girl had blond hair and was wearing a pink dress with a yellow vest. It was all flopped out across couch. It was super creepy. The bedroom looked like it was being occupied by someone. There were pictures of couples everywhere. Hindu images, Muslim images, and Christian images. They had all their bases covered.”
“Ok, so add ‘differences immaterial ’and‘successful international business’ to the marriage add,” I interjected.
“I think you could have a real future here as a marriage broker,” Dan laughed. We had both eaten all we could and Dan signaled for the waiter to package up our leftovers. “When Binari finally left us alone,” he continuted, “Thilak started rooting around on this crazy shrine in the bedroom. I told him that he should just let it alone, but he starts finding these vāsi mantra, Mantra meant to charm and ensnare men.”
“Really?” I asked with great interest. “Could you teach me some?” I asked coyly.
“You don’t need any vāsi mantra,” Dan assured me before going on, “We were pretty freaked out. I went around locking all of the windows and the door. There is no fan, no netting. It was like a freakin’ mosquito attack when we get into the bed. Then we hear three knocks on the door. We both ignored it. Then another set of three knocks. We looked at each other, unable to deny what we heard. After the third set of three knocks I got up and opened the door. Nobody there. I locked everything again and get back into bed.”
“Nothing?” I ask incredulously, feeling a chill.
“Nothing,” Dan affirmed, nodding his head as he reviewed the bill. “It was hot, but I had to have the sheet on me or the mosquitoes would eat me alive,” he continued. “Somehow I fell asleep. So it was back to Bon Bon for the next night. Binari called me like every day for months, but I never answered. Once she called from another number and I hung up. About a week after staying there I developed my Filaria.” Dan paused, with a haunted look in his eye before finishing, “After another night at Bon Bon I made arrangements to stay with my friend Mahinda. His place was farther, but not as far as Kandy. It was pretty dirty and everything, but it wasn’t a brothel or a bunch of creepy women.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that you developed your Filaria symptoms right after Binari’s, that is really creepy,” I agreed, taking Dan’s hand in mine supportively as we got up to leave. One of the waiters politely handed me the bag of leftovers we were about to forget. “I mean, what do you think was going on there?” I asked. “Do you think that they were trying to put a spell on you and get you to marry one of the sisters or something? Or maybe Thilak?”
“Thilak is married already,” Dan mused. “Me, I don’t know. It was a pretty desperate situation out there. There’s a real stigma surrounding divorce here, and as you know from obsessively reading all of those marriage ads, when a marriage is considered the family background is really important. But I don’t really know,” Dan shrugged as we left the restaurant.