Kelly and Jen had heard many tales of Sri Lanka's natural beauty, so when a ceasefire was called in the civil war in early 1995, they booked a trip over. Their beachfront hotel was beautiful, clean, and comfortable.
They were walking on the beach when they saw a security guard brandishing his nightstick at a teenage boy.
"Stop!" Kelly called out. "Don't hurt him!"
"He is not a guest at this hotel," the guard said harshly. He barked a question in a language the girls did not understand. Neither did the boy, judging by his blank look. Kelly remembered Sri Lanka has two languages.
"Beach?" the boy asked. His eyes darted to the two girls. "Bikini?"
"We have constant problems with these boys," the guard grumbled. "They come to see the free show."
"What free show?" Jen asked.
"The clothing you foreigners wear. I would never permit my daughters to wear such things." said the guard primly.
"Oh, really?" snapped Jen, tossing her brown hair. "Well, I say he
is
a guest!"
She held out her hand to the boy.
* * *
It had been just a few days since Vishal learned what a bikini was. He'd only read a description, not seen a photo. His mind had been blown. In his village, girls never showed their arms or legs, let alone their torso. They went swimming in street clothes. He had never heard of pornography, which was illegal.
Vishal decided he had to see this bikini for himself. Had to. All he knew was that foreign tourists wore them on the beach - ocean beaches, not the river beaches near his home.
He told his mother he was going to visit his uncle - since neither had a phone, she wouldn't be able to check. He got up at five in the morning to sneak on the bus to Colombo.
* * *
Jen was dismayed to see the line of dirt along the boy's left. "Were you
sleeping
on the ground?" she asked, horrified.
No answer.
"I don't think he speaks English," said Kelly. She led him to their bathroom and pointed at the shower. He made no move, even when she pulled off his shirt.
* * *
Did she want him to take a bath? Vishal saw no water, nor a bucket to bring it from the well.
What he did see was each girl's bikini - everything he had dreamed it would be. Both had luscious mangoes on their chest, their garments pointing out round circles. Their waists curved in so invitingly, tantalizing him. And their legs were so smooth, flowing like a river.
The yellow-haired girl pulled the metal knob and suddenly water came out - hot water. He hurriedly pulled off his trousers. He felt his
pulu
rising.
* * *
Jen gazed at the boy's body. His muscles were not those of someone who did a fixed workout at the gym, slept it off, and partied the next day. These muscles were grown from raw, hard labour, the backbreaking work of bending over and plucking tea leaves, of pulling massive loads through resistant soil. This was the darkened skin of a man of the earth, who toiled all day in the hot sun.
Kelly was touched by the innocence in the boy's face. He had the same expression they had noticed on pilgrims praying before statues of Lord Buddha. A look of reverence, of veneration, of deep, spiritual joy.
