23. The Verdict

The next morning, as Fasi and I made our way up the hill to the audience rooms, it was raining quite heavily, the water running in little rivers down the ruts in the road and filling our sandals with squelchy wetness. We were there earlier than on the previous day so that it was not so crowded and we made our way directly to the Frangipani room where we found Bahla and Iliva standing outside. The door was closed and when we looked inside it was empty; benches neatly arranged but with no sign of Lomu or the rest of the court.

“You had better wait here, Iliva, in case they decide to start the session.” Bahla said. “We don’t want to give them any excuses. I’ll go and see whether I can find anyone who knows what is happening.”
We went into the room and took our seats on the empty benches. Nothing happened for perhaps three quarters of an hour and then Bahla returned to report that he had not been able to find anyone who could tell us what was going on. Eventually, about mid morning, a green robed Gardener came in and began to set the room up with jugs of drinks and plates of snacks on the tables where the judge and other officials would sit.

“Will the case of Manla Kulu versus Iliva begin soon?” Bahla asked him.
“Oh no.” He replied. “The booking for that case has been cancelled for today. This will be the trial of a pig thief.”
“Cancelled?” Bahla was incredulous. “Without warning?”
“I’m sure that word will have been sent to everyone concerned.” The gardener replied. “I know that they cancelled it last night because I heard that there was an emergency meeting between the judge and Manla Kulu.”
“Oh No!” Fasi groaned. “I told you it would come to this.”
“Do you know when the judgement will be given?” Bahla asked.
“No idea.” The Gardener replied. “The new date should have been sent to your home address.

As we walked back down the hill, we must all have been thinking of the implications of a private interview between Lomu and Manla Kulu but no one said anything. We decided to accompany Iliva to her home where we found Manla Kulu standing on the veranda.
“Where have you been, woman?” he asked Iliva.
“I went up to the court.” She replied.
“Why did you do that? There was no hearing today.” Manla Kulu did not look directly at her.
“Nobody told me that.”
“Well they made the decision last night. Everybody knew that.”
“You knew that and yet you let me walk all the way up to the court?” Iliva’s voice shook slightly but she kept herself under strict control.

“You know that you will not listen to me.” He retorted. “You see now that sometimes I am right about things. Now you had better go inside. The children need to be fed.”
“But I asked Malia from next door to look after them.”
“Well I sent her home. There is no need to have someone come in and look after them when there is no trial.”
“Do you know when the hearing will resume?” Bahla asked him.
“Next Tuesday morning.” Manla Kulu said sulkily. “Although there will be no need for you to attend.”
“Oh, I shall be there.” Bahla answered.

Despite our protests, Iliva went in to the house and we returned to Langanipa’s, more worried than ever about the outcome.

When Tuesday morning came, the courtroom was much less crowded as Manla Kulu’s various witnesses were not present. Once the lesser officials were in position, Lomu entered and took his place on the judgement seat.
“In the name of Our Granny and of the gardeners of the Morakeewa, I am here to deliver judgment in the case of Manla Kulu and Manla Iliva of the village.” He allowed the words to resonate through the room.

“As far as the facts of the case are concerned, we find that Manla Kulu is of good character and that he has instructed his wife, Iliva with regard to the activities that she may and may not perform. We find that she has questioned his interpretation of the will of Our Granny and that this question has been brought to the court for judgement.

We have, in private session, explained to Manla Kulu that there is a distinction between her doubt of his interpretation and disrespect for Our Granny’s will. We do not find that she has committed the crime of Disrespect. Of this accusation, we find Iliva innocent.”

Beside me I heard Fasi breathe a sigh of relief.
“An important question has been raised in this case by Iliva. She asks how a person who has neither seen nor spoken to Our Granny can be certain of Her will. In this case, I believe, that we see an honest disagreement regarding the will of Our Granny and the resolution of this issue has occupied us from the first hearing of this case until the present time.

Our deliberations have led us to the following conclusions. That misinterpretation of the will of Our Granny is a grave risk for any individual. That even those closest to its expression could mistake the import of what they are told and that Her will can only be understood in the full context of all that she has said and done since the arrival of the Americans, and perhaps even before that time.

It is for this reason, therefore, that She has instituted the College of Gardeners who, since her retirement from public visibility, are appointed to interpret Her will for the island. The individual Gardener, knowing only a part of her intention, may err in interpreting her will. The College as a whole, however, combine to provide complete knowledge and understanding.
When a Gardener speaks purely of his own knowledge – and I look here specifically at Manla Kulu – then they may make an error. Speaking, however, in their official capacity, representing the combined understanding of the College, Gardeners are not fallible. The College as a whole, the creation of Our Granny, is the final authority on Her will and its interpretation.

Now, Manla Kulu, will you please confirm before the court, that you understand and accept the distinction between a private and personal opinion of Our Granny’s will and the public honour due to the collective understanding of the College of Gardeners?”
“I accept the distinction, Your Honour.” Manla Kulu answered solemnly.
“And do you undertake, for the future, to speak of Our Granny’s will only as part of this collective understanding?”
“I do so undertake, Your Honour.”

“Then I am pleased to deliver the judgement of Our Granny’s court.” Lomu smiled. “The judgement is that Iliva should now return home with her husband, Manla Kulu, and that since, in all things, he will be subservient to the authentic interpretation of Our Granny’s will by the Gardener’s College, she should subject herself to his regulation and, by so doing, to the will of Our Granny. Let it be so recorded.”

Lomu rose to his feet. The court stood and he was gone. Manla Kulu came over and seized Iliva by the arm.
“You heard that!” he grated. “You have made me look like an idiot! Well you are ordered to accompany me.” And he propelled her from the room, surrounded by the various ranks of Gardeners in attendance.
“What are we going to do?” Fasi said.
“There is nothing very much that we can do.” Bahla replied as we set off dejectedly down the hill.

Over the next few weeks we heard very little of Iliva. She did not appear outside her home and when Fasi saw the children they said that their mother was at home and spent her time cooking and caring for the house. She had no contact with the Reading Room and the only other indication of what had happened to her was that Manla Kulu staged a number of Gardeners’ feasts on the most lavish scale, inviting all of the senior Gardeners to one or other of them. From what one could gather, however, they did little to salvage his name in spite of the quality of the food.

Then one evening, Manla Kulu himself came down to Langapila’s house and confronted Fasi.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “I know that she is here and I demand that you turn her over to me!”
“What do you mean?” Fasi asked him in bewilderment. “Are you looking for Iliva?”
“You know that I am.” he said. “Now tell me where she is so that she can come home.”
It emerged that Manla Kulu had returned home in the evening to find the house dark and Iliva gone. The children knew nothing of their mother's disappearance. Since he would not believe Fasi that she knew nothing about this, he insisted on searching the house and, when it became clear that she was telling the truth, he demanded her help in finding Iliva.

He had already contacted all her known friends, checked at the Reading Room and alerted the Guardians but no trace of her could be found. In the end, he concluded that she could not still be in the village and set out to see whether he could track her down in the plantations that were being cleared in the jungle.

This may sound a simple task but one has to remember that, at that time, the task of taming the jungle, clearing trees and planting coconut and banana palms was proceeding as fast as could be managed with hutted camps for the men, women and even children engaged in the work, spread across the area being planted. Workers were moving from one camp to another as the work progressed and there was no way of tracking an individual.

Manla Kulu spent a great deal of effort trying to find his wife. He paid men to go from camp to camp asking whether she had been seen and Fasi believed that he had spies watching their house in case she made contact.

As, by absconding, Iliva was technically in breach of an order of the Gardeners’ Courts, an official reward was offered to anyone who reported her. Posters announcing the reward were placed strategically with a picture of Iliva (very good likenesses) drawn by an artist who could create a portrait from a description by someone who knew what she looked like.

All these efforts, however, came to nothing. She seemed to have disappeared completely and the only speculation was that either she was living out in the forest or that someone was deliberately hiding her.