“No, I Will Not Let You Steal My Necklace!”

Several decades ago, when I was barely eighteen years old, I spent a year in upstate New York as a cultural exchange student. With me, at the time, together with many others from many different countries, was a young lady from a certain Latin American country. She was a ravishing beauty, who had happened to be the beauty queen of her country the previous year. She lived in a neighbouring town and we met often and became good friends. 

We soon fell in love and started going out together. It was a beautiful relationship: We were both young and carefree with our whole lives before us. We danced together, laughed together, swam together, camped under the stars together. We kissed, we hugged, held hands, snuggled against each other, but she always drew the line at any suggestion of  any kind of sexual relationship. “Nobody is going to touch me until I am married!” she would exclaim passionately. I soon learned to respect her for it and now, in hindsight, I would say that our relationship was even more beautiful and enjoyable because of it (although I held a very different view at the time!).

At the end of a blissful year together, inevitably, we parted and returned to our respective countries. We kept in touch sporadically, but this soon petered out. Then, one day, a few years later, out of the blue, I got a call from her. She was coming to Singapore for a photo-shoot and could possibly take a weekend off and fly over to Sri Lanka if I would like to catch up and had the time.

I met her at the airport and we drove straight down to a beach resort on the south coast of Sri Lanka where I had booked a weekend getaway. That evening, over a candlelit dinner, with the sea breeze wafting over us as we dined in the lee of the mangroves, she looked more beautiful than ever. I noted that she still wore her diamond-studded gold necklace from many years ago. That necklace had been a gift to her from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. I learned that her mother had passed away since, a couple of years ago.

After dinner, we went for a walk along the beach in the moonlight. The roar-hiss of the waves, as they broke incessantly on the beach, and the blowing sea breeze, insulated us in a warm cocoon of sound and we walked arm in arm, oblivious to all else but each other and the beauty of the scene around us.

Suddenly, two men appeared out of the darkness and grabbed us. I was being held in a choke-hold from behind and as I struggled to free myself, I felt the sharp point of a knife thrust against my throat. I ceased to struggle and saw to my horror that my lady-friend was struggling with the other man, who also had his hands at her throat. He was trying to grab her necklace and she was resisting him fiercely, telling him determinedly “No, I will NOT let you steal my necklace!” Conscious of the knife at my throat, I advised her to “Let him take it, they have knives!” I was anxious to cut our losses and get away from them as quickly as possibly, fearful of what else they might decide to do to her. But she continued to resist vigorously. Finally she called out to me, “Ask him to let go of me and I will give it to him, but I will not let him grab it from me!” I called out to her attacker, translating what she said into Sinhalese – “Let go of her, she will give you the necklace!” I told him. Somewhat bemused, he stopped grappling with her and took a step away, but still held on to her arm. I was still in the firm grip of my assailant, with the knife held firmly against my throat. Panting to catch her breath, she called out to me, “Harin, please translate for me. I want to tell this man something.”

She then proceeded to look her assailant squarely in the eye and told him earnestly, “I will give you my necklace, but I will not let you steal it from me. Do you understand? I will give it to you as a gift, rather than turn you into a thief by letting you steal it from me. You are not a thief! You were not born to become a thief, your mother didn’t raise you to become a thief and whatever your religion may happen to be, my God won’t let me allow you to become a thief!” I translated what she had said, while she calmly unclasped her necklace and offered it to him, gently, almost tenderly, “Here, take it! It is my gift to you, for you are a good man – too good to become a thief!”

I watched with amazement as the ruffian slowly backed away - as if he were mesmerized by her gaze, which continued to hold steadily on him - as she continued to offer him her necklace, stretching out her hand toward him. “Here, take it! I’m offering it as a gift. See, how beautiful it is!  But not as beautiful as the person you were born to be – the one that your mother raised you to be. It’s very precious! These are real diamonds and it is real gold! But not as precious as you are – God would never forgive me if I allowed you to become a thief!” I translated as best as I could, fumbling awkwardly for appropriate Sinhalese phrases to convey the essence of what she was saying.

The ruffian looked at her in stunned disbelief and finally told her in broken English “Nona, I ……very …sorry….you….please… keep….I sorry you touch” and with that he called out to his accomplice “Vareng, yamu, thava kaala kanni venna kaling!” (Lets get out of here before we become even more miserable) and they disappeared into the night.

We walked back to our hotel in silence. Later that night, as I lay next to her in the dark, I asked her “Would you have really parted with the necklace that your mother gave you?” She replied without hesitation “Harin, that necklace is very valuable, several thousand dollars maybe, but it is the least precious thing that my mother gave me. She gave me love, she gave me values. One of those values is the conviction that human beings and human lives – no matter how miserable and wretched they may be – are far more valuable than gold and diamonds. I would gladly give up the necklace any day rather than give up my values, for they are by far the greater gift that my mother has given me.” With that, she turned over and fell fast asleep.

I lay awake until dawn, listening to the swish-boom of the ocean waves on the rocks outside the window, pondering, while she slept the sleep of a pure conscience. She left the next day and I haven’t heard from her since. Every now and then, when I hear of someone being mugged or having their bag snatched, I hear the distant echo of a sensual Latin accent wafting over a warm ocean breeze, determinedly exclaiming, “No, I will not let you steal my necklace!, No, I will not let you become a thief!”

Harin Corea

11^th February,2012

Melbourne, Australia.