SLAVES
By Martin Wickramasinghe 

Martin Wickramasinghe (1890-1976) is considered as one of the pioneers of Sinhala writing in Sri Lanka. He pioneered the art of short story and the novel. He has written 14 novels. He is also widely accepted as one of the earliest literary critics of the country. Wickramasinghe introduced realism into fiction and also introduced the short story as a medium of artistic expression. His first short story collection was published in 1924 and since that initial venture he has published 108 short stories. The short story in this volume is from his collection Vahallu (Slaves).

Handaya licked Upalis’ feet. Upalis opened his sleepy eyes Land looked with annoyance at the snout with its sagging jowls, as the cart-bull licked his feet again and looked at him with the moist eyes of an old man.

“Come, come closer,” he called out, his irritation giving way to feelings of compassion for the aging animal.

Handaya raised one foreleg onto the verandah where Upalis lay in his bed. With laboured effort the other leg followed. Exhausted as if he had climbed a steep hill, the aging animal dragged his hind legs and rear quarters onto the verandah.

Upalis stroked the face of the animal, who responded by licking his hands. Upalis’ long black hair was drawn tight against his head and knotted at the back. It had the gloss and neatness  of recent combing and oiling.

“That will do.”

Handaya licked the back of Upalis’ hand once more, and then looked at the front door as Upalis’ wife opened it and stepped out into the verandah.

“Go away, go back to the garden.” She put her hands on Handaya’s head and pushed him. Like an obedient child, Handaya turned back and stepped down into the garden. He stood still a while, looking up at the immobile Upalis, and ambled away. With a backward jerk of his head he swished his tail across his back, whence a cloud of tiny flies rose like wind-swept dust.

“Handaya is always disturbing your sleep,” complained Upalis’ wife.

“It can’t be all that early.”

“I can still hear the crows. It cannot yet be past six in the morning.”

Upalis’ wife listened to the echoing ‘kwoo’ of an emerald dove. The songs of birds were a medley heralding the dawn.

“Handaya comes here to lick your feet and disturbs your sleep every day. Why don’t we get rid of him by selling him to someone?”

“No, no! I will never sell him!” exclaimed Upalis.

To Upalis, his life was inseparable from that of Handaya. He was a carter, and Handaya was the second cart-bull he had bought. Over the years, it was with Handaya’s help that Upalis had managed to support himself, his wife, and their two children. Each day, early in the morning, Upalis would yoke the cart-bull to his hackery. The hackery could carry four passengers. Near the Pol-oya bridge, Upalis would regularly pick up three passengers bound for Galle town, either to attend to some business matters or, not infrequently, to go to the law courts in connection with litigation over property rights. Upalis would reach Kadawatha¹, well before nine. That was as far as he would take his passengers. He never went beyond the Kadawatha bridge, as he did not possess the licence that authorized him to take the vehicle into Galle town. Unlike the hackery drivers who operated within the town throughout the day, Upalis did not find it worth his while to pay the extra licence fee. 1. Bazaar Except on Saturdays and Sundays, the run to and back from Kadawatha had been Upalis’ daily routine for the past twenty years. His earnings were rarely more than two rupees a day. On Sundays, he yoked Handaya to an open cart, and leisurely transported coconut-husks or coral lime-stones for the villagers. He did not put Handaya even to this light work, on full-moon days.

It was Handaya, even more than his children, that Upalis wanted to pet and pamper. He rubbed down Handaya with oil once a month to keep him free of ticks. He hunted down every gad­fly hidden in Handaya’s coat of hair, like an aborigine stalking game hiding in a jungle. He cared for Handaya like a mother for her child, and he never beat the animal. If he wanted to urge Handaya to quicken his pace, he would push the slender stick in his hand down between its hind legs to gently tickle its scrotum, and exclaim “Hurry up, son!” •

Upalis often pretended not to hear passengers who urged him to greater speed. There were times when a passenger would get angry over his lack of response, and scold Upalis. Upalis would smile, and bending forward to place one hand on Handaya’s back, urge him to quicken his pace saying, “Hurry up, son!” Handaya would quicken his pace, as if to please the irate passenger. Upalis would then try to allay the passenger’s anxiety.

“Sir, you must be wanting to reach the Courts on time.”

“Of course man. I have a litigation case that is coming up for a hearing today in the District Court.”

“There is plenty of time. I will drop you at Kadawatha before eight.” He would look up at the eastern sky. “It is not yet half past six.”

The experience of twenty years of this way of life had given Upalis the knack to read the time with uncanny accuracy by looking at the sky. A passenger who checked his pocket rarely found him to be wrong.

Upalis’ wife broke into his reveries.

“Handaya is very old now,” she said. “The flies swarm round him. He does not get enough to eat. They all yoke Handaya without any consideration to get their work done, but they never think of giving him a feed of poonac. The poor animal cannot fill its stomach even by grazing throughout the day. His bones stick out and make him look like a rickety fence.”

She watched Handaya flick his tail over his back as he walked across the garden.

“We should not sell him for those very reasons. He worked for twelve years to help us to earn a living. It is because of him that we are able to live even like this.”

Upalis recalled his narrow escape from death. He had been driving his cart to Kadawatha eight months ago, when the foot he had placed on the shaft to balance himself slipped and he fell before the wheels of the cart. The cart stopped dead in its track. Had it not, its wheels would have run over Upalis’ chest. Upalis realised that Handaya had heard his cry of ‘apoi” as he fell, and halted instantly. Upalis had injured his spine in the fall, and suffered intense pain for over six months. Even now, it was painful to sit up or walk. But despite the pain, he insisted on hobbling to the backyard, leaning heavily on a walking-stick, whenever he needed to answer a call of nature. He would never allow his wife or any one else to help him in this. Many a villager would have died rather than seek the help of his wife or children to answer a call of nature.

Handaya wandered away from the garden and began to graze by the road that ran through the village.

“There is no grass for Handaya to graze, because of this drought,” said Upalis’ wife. “He has to feed on dried leaves and people grudge him even that. There! Someone is trying to lead him away!”

“Ask that man not to take him away,” said Upalis.

Upalis’ little daughter ran behind the man.

“Father asks you not to take Handaya away.”

“Why not?”

“Let him graze today. He has not had a feed of poonac for four days. We have no money to spare to buy him even a little poonac.”

“I will give him some poonac. I have to cart my coconut husks to the river today,” replied the middle-aged man.                                                              

“Please Ando-aiya, get another bull for the work.”

“I have not yoked Handaya to my cart even once during’the past two months. Thepanis gets him to cart his coconut husks at least two or three times a week, and the others make as much use of him. They don’t give him a drop of water, leave alone poonac.”

The man tied a noose round Handaya’s neck.

“But you have money, Ando-aiya. You can hire a bull to do the work, can’t you? Juanis blames us for letting Handaya wander about. He says he cannot earn a living because of Handaya. He complains that the people of the village take work out of Handaya as if he is a charitable bull provided for their use by us.”

“Everyone in the village knows that Handaya belongs to Upalis. Doesn’t the merit gained by Handaya revert to Upalis?”

“How can there be merit to us if people harass Handaya. Please don’t yoke him to your cart, Ando-aiya,” she pleaded.

“I will release the animal within an hour. I have to cart just three hundred husks. Here, take this.” He gave her a ten cent coin. “Buy two pounds of poonac and feed the animal this evening.”

The girl knew from past experience that even if Ando-aiya should let him go, within an hour some other villager would take him. As a result Handaya had often to resort to browsing while it was yoked to the cart. As soon as the villager halted his cart, he would push his snout into the clumps of grass by the road and starts to graze. Whenever he was released from the cart, Handaya would bend his legs at the knee to sprawl on the ground and chew the cud, like an old man chewing betel. Even at a distance one could see his champing jaws, moving like grinding stones. The swollen veins would expand and contract. While thus engaged, he would suddenly flick his tail and then jerk his head over to butt himself in a particular spot. A gad fly would then creep under the hair, away from the sharp horn seeking to dislodge it.

However, it was not often that he was allowed to rest for long. Little village boys, when they found him resting, would crowd round him and struggle for an hour or more to lift Handaya onto all fours in order to ride on his back. Handaya was accustomed to their game. To persuade him to get up, the urchins gripped his horns and pulled and stretched his fore-limbs which were flexed beneath him. All this he bore passively. But when someone dared to tug at his tail, he would snort and threaten to butt the boy nearest to him. He deigned to get up only when the pushing and pulling and raucous shouting became unbearable.

Upalis was happily surprised that day to see Handaya come back earlier than he was accustomed to. The aging cart-bull was in the front yard, resting on his stomach and chewing the cud, moving his jaws with deliberation.

Upalis reminisced that before he injured his spine, he had been accustomed to bathe Handaya in sea water every week. He picked the ticks off the animal’s back and threw them into the sea. Handaya would stand motionless when he was thus receiving Upalis’ attention. But from time to time he turned his head to look at Upalis, like a deaf-mute trying to express his gratitude.

“Who will tend to you when I am not here?” Upalis would murmur to Handaya.

Upalis’ daughter had dissolved pieces of the poonac she had purchased with the ten cents given by Ando-aiya into a watery paste in a large earthen urn. She carried the urn and placed it before the prostrate Handaya, who lowered his snout into the bowl and noisily sucked in mouthfuls of poonac without bothering to get up. He suddenly jerked his head back. Drops of poonac dripping from Handaya’s snout splashed onto the girl’s jacket as well as the animal’s own back.

“Is this what I get for feeding you poonac?” asked the girl, as she slapped the animal’s cheek.

Handaya immersed his snout in the poonac once more, and sucked it in, only to suddenly toss his head back again. He then snorted and blew out a spray of water and particles of poonac that drenched the girl’s jacket, before lowering his head again.

“Are you trying to butt me, you mean old rascal?” She ran and picked up a thin stick and hit Handaya on its back. She looked sternly at Handaya and said, “They say that even the timid goat will tilt its chin at someone who is helpless.”

“Don’t hit him, daughter,” called out Upalis. “He was not trying to butt you. A gad fly must have bitten him. When he saw you, he lowered the head that he raised to butt the fly.”

A little before midnight it began to rain heavily. Upalis’ wife opened the front door and spoke to Upalis.

“Come inside. It is chilly out here. Come, you can sleep in the house for the night.”

“No I don’t feel the cold. I have got so accustomed to sleeping out here that I cannot fall asleep inside the house.”

“The blowing is not good for you. Please come and sleep inside the house. It is better, even if you cannot fall asleep.”

As Upalis would not go inside, his wife brought out a sheet of coarse cloth and covered him from neck to foot.

“It is not four months since you started getting chest-pains. The native physician says that you must take good care of yourself. I think it would be better if you come into the house,” persisted Upalis’ wife.

“No, I will be all right. You go back to bed. I feel comfortable, now that I am well covered.”

The howling of the wind as it swept through the trees waxed and waned. Upalis heard a stray dog clamber warily on to the verandah. Village dogs were not allowed into the house, but Upalis did not have the heart to shoo it away. The animal shook its body and flapped its ears. In his mind’s eye Upalis could see it bending its head, legs and tail, and curling itself tightly, in its attempt to remain dry and warm. He heard the animal whimper from time to time.

Upalis heard the moaning sounds raised by the storm outside as it beat on the roof, the walls and the trees, like a thousand lashing whips. The fury of thunder-storms and gales and the darkness of the night held no terrors for Upalis. He had been accustomed to sleeping out in the verandah of the house for a long time, long before he had become a cripple.

Handaya had moved away to the rear yard of the house. He stood there on all fours waiting for the dawn. As the dawn broke, he moved as usual to the front verandah and began to lick Upalis’ feet. Upalis did not wake up. Handaya licked his feet several times, and then climbed on to the verandah, without waiting for Upalis’ customary invitation. He licked Upalis’ head, but receiving no response, Handaya went on to lick Upalis’ hands, and then his cheeks.

Handaya gazed pensively at the unresponsive Upalis. He then turned his head to look at the front door.

Awakened by the sound ofHandaya’s hoofs on the verandah, Upalis’ wife, opened the door and stepped out.

The smell of the earth and the moist air tickled her nose. The foliage of the trees swelled and rustled in the gentle breeze like birds blowing out their wet feathers.

The cawing of the crows and the chirping of the birds suddenly had a hollow, desolate quality. Like an animal that instinctively senses danger, she turned towards her husband’s bed. She drew close to his prostrate motionless form. Her eyes dilated in agony, and seemed to move forward from their sockets.

Translated by Ranga Wickramasinghe

Other Stories include:
# THE CATSEYE by W.A. de Silva # MOTHER by G. B. Senanayake # A SCHOLARSHIP FOR MY SON by Gunadasa Amarasekera # A LATRINE FOR US TOO  by K. Jayatilake # THE MACHINE GUN   by Nandasena Ratnapala # THE FISHING EXPEDITION by Madawala S. Ratnayake # HOUSE OF DEMONS by Tennyson Perera # WATER by Ajith Tilakasena # TALE OF A LOWER BEING by Simon Nawagaththegama # THE GIRL by Sita Kulatunga # THE STORY UNTOLD by Sunanda Mahendra # COME IN SEARCH OF ME by Arawwala Nandamithra # LET ALL STOP HERE  by Asoka Kolombage # THE AWAKENING by Somaratne Balasooriya # THE BALLET RECITAL by Ediriweera Sarachchandra # THE FAITHFUL WIFE OF A POLITICIAN by A.V.Suraweera # WORLDS WITHIN WORLD! by Sirilal Kodikara # TODAY MY SON COMES HOME by Karuna Perera # THE BRIDGE by Gunasena Vithana # THE SAW by Minuwan P. Tilakarathne # UNDER THE LIGHT HOUSE by Ranjith Dharmakeerthi # THE PAWN BROKER by K.P. Nihal Nanda # THE HUNTER’S DILEMMA by Indrakeerthi Siriweera # THE THEATRE by Madurasinghe Gunatilleke

© 2003 Godage International Publishers
ISBN 955-20-6239-X

AD 491`

AD 491
Sinhagiri¹
Lanka²

He sat at the throne made from solid rock facing east on top of the rock that was his citadel. In front of him was the pond hewn from solid rock. The water level in the pond was low since water had to be carried all the way from the ground below to fill it in the dry season. He preferred to use the pond at the top of the rock even in the dry season although there was a palace and ponds on the ground below for the express use during the dry season. There had been no rain now for the last two months. It had cost several years of hard labour for this artificial pond to be constructed. The workers who had perished in the construction of this citadel were many. These thoughts passed fleetingly through his mind as he stared in to the distance.

He kept on seeing the same vision that had haunted him for the entity of his reign which had now lasted for eighteen years. It was the image of the shrunken and broken body of his father whom he had imprisoned. He recalled that it was the night he had ordered his father’s death that he was called to the cell. The messenger had said that his father wished to speak to him about a matter that he had been asking him about. It was with a sense of achievement that he had hurried to his fathers’ cell that night. He remembered his question with trepidation now.

His father dressed only in a loincloth chained to the wall of his cell had raised his tired head from his chest as he approached. With sunken and bloodshot eyes that also conveyed a look of sympathy he had whispered,

“You ask me for my fortune which you thought I was hiding from you to give to your half brother and rightful heir to the throne”

He had been angered then by his fathers’ reference to Moggalana his half brother as the rightful heir. He had struck out at his father. His father had shaken his head to clear it after the blow and said,

“Please be seated. I have something important to tell you”

Angered but still inquisitive he had remained standing and asked his father to continue. When his father had spoken with haltering words he had been angered beyond control. He had immediately called the guards and ordered that his father be put to death by cementing him in the bund of a water tank that was being constructed by first light. He was not to know then that such an act of patricide was not to be repeated for another one thousand years in the kingdom.

What his father had told him had caused him concern as the years went by. It now caused him so much concern that he found sleep eluded him and his decisions and actions were not rational at times. It was a message that his father had given him.

“The last king who reigned before me King Mittasena passed on a message when I defeated the Dravidian rulers who had seized the throne of Lanka.  It was a message which told me how the right to rule this kingdom is passed down the ages. However to benefit by this divine intervention the rulers should be guardians of the faith and concentrate on the internal development of the people. I was required to pass on the same message by word of mouth to my successor”

His father then told him the origin of this force and how it had worked in the past. He cautioned about the important proviso to be complied with in order to benefit by this force. He had paused in his narration to catch his breath and concluded,

“I am now nearing the end of my life. I find that I cannot wait for the rightful heir to come forth to pass on the same message and I have therefore decided to pass it on to you. That is my fortune which you seek so hard. Pass this message to whomever your successor is if he is a Buddhist. From the time of King Sirimeghavanna it has been so”

He had been angered to the extreme because his father had not disclosed his wealth to him. Disappointment had made him lose his head and he had ordered his fathers death in the morning. While he was leaving his father had whispered,

“Do your duty as a Buddhist and all your akusalakamma will be negated by that kusalakamma”

It was this uncertainty that was causing him the restlessness the past few weeks. He knew that his half brother Moggalana had returned from India where he had gone after he seized the throne to raise an army against him. His spies had informed him that they had landed several days ago at Mannaramtota³  and was camping there waiting for orders to march. He knew that the small army of mercenary soldiers that had accompanied his brother back was insufficient to attack him on his newly constructed citadel.

 *                      *                       *                       *

A council of war was in progress at the camp of the mercenary army that had landed two days ago at Mannaramtota. Heading the council was Moggalana, who was speaking,

“The shifting of the capital away from Anuradhapura causes us concern in waging a campaign against the king”

“Why should a mere change of location a short distance away become a problem as long as there are no forced marches for the troops?” asked the commander of the foot soldiers.

“Because the present citadel of the king is atop a monolithic rock on the central plains of the land” replied Moggalana. “Besides it is inaccessible other than through a single staircase”

At the request of the gathering, maps were produced of the general location of the Sinhagiri in relation to Anuradhapura and Mannaramtota and details of the citadel itself. Moggalana was the first to raise his head and speak,

“Our information is correct. Sinhagiri is truly inaccessible to any army with traditional fighting methods. The path to the top is narrow and has to be climbed in single file. That does not facilitate the charging of it by foot soldiers. We can probably fight our way up to the lion platform but from there the soldiers are exposed and can be picked one by one from archers on top”

He looked expectantly around the gathering waiting for any ideas. The men gathered around were the best mercenary soldiers available in the market and he expected them to do the impossible.

“There are two alternatives” replied the commander of the foot soldiers who had spoken before. “We can use non military techniques to gain access to the citadel or lay siege to the citadel” he smile and added. “If we cannot charge the citadel the defenders would also be unable to leave it to obtain essential provisions”

They discussed at length the two alternatives. The prospect of infiltration and the dependency on the infiltrators to provide access to the attackers was discussed and discarded. It would require a long time to implement such a plan and they did not have the time. They would have to attack before the rains due in just over a month and besides the mercenary soldiers were impatient to return home after the work. That left the second option as the only available one.

“Will not a siege also be long?” asked the commander of the cavalry who had so far been silent in view of his possible inactivity in the campaign.

“That is true but it will only need a few soldiers to lay a siege at this location. We can withdraw the cavalry first who will guard the perimeter of the operation and thereafter the foot soldiers. They will be replaced with our small contingent of local soldiers whom we expect will expand due to the unpopularity of the king” replied Moggalana.

The discussion went on for a long time and plans were made to move the troops to Sinhagiri the next day at dawn and commence the siege after two days of rest. The movement of the foot soldiers, the cavalry and the supply wagons were planned. Their arrival on the plain to the west of the rock fortress and order of encampment were decided. The solider would receive their battle orders the night before the siege was to commence.  The commanders of Moggalana’s army of south Indian mercenaries hurried away to attend to their various tasks.

*                       *                       *                       *

The King was seated again on the same spot as before at dawn two days later. He was waiting for his ministers to join him for a council of war. News had reached him that Moggalana with a small band of foreign mercenary soldiers were camped on the plains to the west of the citadel half a days march away. It was to discuss this matter that the king was awaiting his ministers having arrived earlier than the appointed hour.

A pretty handmaiden wiped his body after he had taken his early morning bath in the royal pond. She applied perfumes and robed him in royal regalia. Finally she placed his royal crown on his forehead and stepping back awaited instructions. The king dismissed her when these ministrations were over. He had other things on his mind.

The first to arrive was Migara the commander of his army. He now knew that Migara had manipulated him. It was Migara who had initially convinced him that his father would name Moggalana as his rightful heir. Migara had worked on his anger and hatred that he nourished for his half brother. Migara wanted to avenge the death of his mother who was condemned by her own brother the King’s father. It was Migara, who spoke now,

“I understand that Moggalana intends to lay siege to the fortress using his army of mercenaries and hope to replace them with local soldiers when they leave. He is of the view that the people will turn against you when he commences his siege”

“How did you come to find out these matters?” asked the king who had received similar information from his spies.

“How but through loyal subjects” answered Migara.

Further discussions between them were interrupted as one by one the minister’s entered the pavilion and after making obeisances to the king took their respective seats. When all of them had thus seated themselves the king spoke,

“We have to issue orders in a short while for the order of battle to our army. As you may be aware by now our half brother Moggalana is camped on the western plane with an army of mercenary soldiers from the Indian mainland. The question before us is are we to confront him for a conventional battle on the plains below as his army is small and does not give us any cause for concern or await his arrival at the citadel and attempt to capture it which is considered impossible by our commander”

The king paused in his narration turning to Migara for confirmation. The latter nodded his head in agreement. It was an invitation for the ministers to voice their thoughts. The minister of defence spoke first,

“We have always expected the arrival of Moggalana to do battle with us with the help of foreign forces. That is why the capital was shifted to this inaccessible location in the first place. Why should we think of giving up the security that the location gives us?”

It was the minister of public affairs, who answered him with a question,

“If we stay in our present location what alternative does the enemy have other than to storm it?”

 The minister of defence answered,

“He may lay siege to the citadel with a minimum of forces and with the minimum of losses”

“Are we prepared for such an event?” the minister of public affairs now addressed his question to the minister of agriculture.

“If it is food and water that you are concerned with our stocks will last for the next two months. It can be even extended to three months with rationing” replied the minister of agriculture.

The minister of defence turned towards the king and said,

“Sire, I urge you to let Moggalana lay siege to the citadel and when it has lasted for a month and when his mercenary soldiers have returned home and when the remaining local soldiers are weak of mind and body let us counter attack and defeat him. You will then have a glorious victory and revenge for the treason he has committed by inviting foreign troops to set foot on Lanka”

It was indeed a good strategy and all the ministers agreed. The King however had a far away look in his eyes as he stood up. The council of ministers also stood up as one and followed him as he walked to the further side of the pond. He stood there staring earnestly at the distance. The early morning sun low on the horizon caused a long shadow to fall behind him which seemed to make him look a small figure as he stood there with his hands folded behind his back. Finally he turned back and spoke,

“We will march out to meet him at dawn tomorrow on the western plane. Issue battle instructions to the troops immediately. We will only leave a small contingent of troops to guard the citadel”

All the ministers filed our immediately thereafter to carryout the king’s decision. After he had dismissed his ministers the king continued his solitude, staring into the distance. He was in deep contemplation. He had repented the imprisonment and later ordering the death of his father for the last several years. He desperately sought atonement for the akusalakamma that he had accumulated. It was during the last few months that his father’s last words had begun to have an effect on his action. He now remembered them.

“Do your duty as a Buddhist and all your akusalakamma will be negated by that kusalakamma”

Finally his mind made up the king stood up and walked away. He knew that what he had to do would not be acceptable to his ministers but was committed to carry it out because he saw no other way to find inner peace.

*                       *                       *                       *

Another war council was held in Moggalana’s camp.  Present were the same member as earlier. The commander of the cavalry was speaking,

“If the information of enemy troop movements is correct it appears that they were getting ready for a conventional battle on the plains outside the citadel”

“That is my thinking too” added the commander of the foot soldiers. “We must first ascertain that it is not a trick. However I am unable to imagine how it could be of any use to them. Although we are few in numbers the superior quality of our cavalry will give us an advantage”

Moggalana was also confused. True to the opinions that were expressed their main strength was the cavalry which was designed to offset their weakness in the infantry. All this time it appeared that the cavalry on which they had banked would be out of contention. Now all of a sudden they were allowed to play the decisive role intended for them. 

“Let us now change our battle orders for the troops to prepare for a conventional war on the western plains tomorrow at dawn” summed up Moggalana breaking off the meeting.

*                       *                       *                       *

Prior to daybreak the next day the plains to the west of the citadel was a hive of activity. Two lines of men could be seen forming at the extreme ends. The army to the west was bare bodied and wore dhotis from waist downwards. First stood a few lines of foot soldiers armed with spears and shields. They carried swords hung on to their belts. Next stood several lines of foot soldiers armed with swords and shields. They did not carry spears. Further back partly hidden by the trees stood the archers. Of the cavalry on which Moggalana banked so much was no where in sight. He was riding a black stallion that was restless, trotting up and down the line of archers.

Moggalana had armed the first few lines of foot soldiers with spears in anticipation of a cavalry charge by the enemy at the onset of the battle. These lines would be decimated on the field of battle except for a few. The main bulk of his foot soldiers that made up the second layer would then advance. The archers would next come in to action and fire above their heads at the approaching line of enemy foot soldiers. They would be able to fire at least five arrows maximum before the two armies met and the battle proper commenced.

He was keeping his cavalry in the rear in reserve which he would put into action when the foot soldiers retreated due to heavy opposition. The enemy foot soldiers would be caught in the open by this manoeuvre and the cavalry would decimate them. His main concern was the evidence of elephants that the enemy possessed. He was unable to transport elephants with the army of mercenaries from south India and was without elephants in his army. As there was no evidence of elephants in the enemy army other than the kings escort the cavalry would win the day for him. That was the plan and with a little bit of luck it would work.

On the other side of the meadow that by the end of the day would be drenched in blood stood the lines of the king’s forces. The commander of the army Migara was organising his troops. Just as Moggalana had assumed he was planning to charge the enemy lines with his cavalry at the very onset of battle. His theory was that he could decimate the opposing army foot soldiers with his cavalry. The enemy cavalry which he too assumed correctly they would throw against him at the end of the battle would be countered by fresh reserves of cavalry that he had at the rear. He was correct in assuming that the enemy was unaware of these reserves which he had built up during the past few years.

On the whole the plans of both opposing armies on that day were to secure victory at the final stages of the battle. It was to be a battle of will power as the army that did not lose its resolve would win the day. This plan was to result in dire consequences to the future of the kingdom. The foot soldiers would be sacrificed and the battle would be decided by the cavalry. There would be a few foot soldiers who would survive but the day would belong to the cavalry.

Before long hakgedi ⁴ was sounded on both camps giving instructions to the troops and indicating that the battle was about to commence. It was observed immediately thereafter that the front lines of foot soldiers of both armies began to advance. However a little while later it was observed that the soldiers of the king’s army stooped well short of the other. They allowed a passage between them for their cavalry to ride ahead.

It was a testing day for both armies. The commanders were consumed with anxiety as the battle progressed. The troops were subject to moments of indecision as to how the overall battle was progressing. True to the plans envisaged by the opposing commanders the first cavalry charge of the king’s army was beaten back by the spear born soldiers while they themselves were sacrificed in battle. Overall this phrase was a victory for the mercenaries. Although only a few lucky soldiers made it back to their lines they had succeeded in effectively beating back the enemy cavalry. The foot soldiers of both armies then clashed in a mighty battle. It was a resounding victory for the king’s army. The superior numbers of foot soldiers were able to decimate the enemy and even fewer mercenaries survived.

The shifting of the fortunes of battle added to the confusion of the soldiers. The field drenched in the blood of those killed in battle was slowly taking a pink hue. From the view of many the battle was over several hours after it started. The king’s army were the victors. It was then that a pounding of thousands of hooves which sounded like thunder from a clear blue sky was heard. It was disturbing and distressing for the tired survivors of the battle. The enemy cavalry, three thousand strong broke in to the plains from the north side upon the victorious but tired foot soldiers of the king’s army.

Migara waited. He knew that the foot soldiers were being massacred in the plains below but did not want to commit his reserves till the enemy cavalry was tired. He now smiled to himself. He knew that his strategy was superior and they would win the day. He had not even told the king about his battle plan. Today his revenge from King Dhatusena would be complete when Moggalana was captured and punished with death for treason.

 *                       *                       *                       *

Atop the royal elephant the King swayed in the mild breeze that was blowing across the plain. He had watched the unfolding of the battle from the small hillock to the rear of the battlefield. He had seen the shifting of fortunes in the progress of the battle. At one time it appeared that his forces were defeated. At another moment they appeared victorious. He was not renowned as a warrior king but more as an artistic king. He could not understand the strategies of his commander and came to the conclusion that the battle was lost when he saw his foot soldiers massacred in the field.

He urged his elephant to move. He wanted to convey what his father had said to his half brother who he thought was victorious. His attendants raised a cry when his elephant started to move but did not interfere. The elephant gathered speed as he urged the animal faster and then broke on to a run which soon became a full charge.

Migara saw the elephant break the line from behind where his mount was and immediately realised that it was the king’s elephant. The battle field was in the hands of the enemy. He could not ask his reserves to move in to action as he had already given instruction about the timing of their charge. He watched helplessly as the king’s elephant charged in to the battle field. The enemy cavalry was equally surprised to see the charging elephant. They quickly moved away from its path. However for some horsemen it was too late. The elephant trampled them as it charged.

That was when the cavalry commander reached to the side of his mount and extracted a bow. He reached behind his neck and took an arrow from the pouch hung behind his neck. He fitted the arrow and unhurriedly drew the bow taking aim at the approaching animal. He released the arrow high above the animal to the air. The arrow arched in to the sky and true to the aim of the bowmen pierced the chest of the king and came out through his back. The cavalry commander was unable to get away from the charging animal after releasing the arrow. The elephant crashed in to his mount and trampled his body in its passage. The elephant losing the urging of the rider slowed down and after a while came to a complete stop in the middle of the battle field. The lifeless body of the king toppled from the back of the elephant.

At that moment thunder was heard for the second time that day and a little while later the reserve cavalry that Migara had ordered broke in to the battle field. They were three thousand strong. The riders and their mounts were fresh. They fell upon the enemy who was scattered by the charge of the elephant and tired after battle, with a vengeance. Of the mercenary force of thirty thousand who had landed with Moggalana a week before only a handful lived to see their homeland again.

It was a resounding victory for the king’s army but unfortunately the king was not alive to see it. Moggalana had however survived the day. The mercenary army which he had brought to Lanka was no more. The kingdom required a king and in a single voice the people hoisted Moggalana the rightful heir of King Dhatusena as their new king.

He was to rule for the next seventeen years and rule wisely and justly. He made immediate plans to move his capital back to Anuradhapura. Sinhagiri was handed to the order of the bikkhus. He did not want to stay a single day at the capital that his brother created. To his dying day he was to wonder why his brother had charged the battle field and died in the effort when in a few hours the battle could have been won. If that had happened it would have been he who would be condemned to death and his brother would have continued to rule.

It was never to be known that a message that had passed down the ages was lost in that mad rush of his brother.

© Ananda Liyanage
Foremost Books
ISBN 978-955-1509-02-6

PROLOGUE

BC 140
Anuradhapura
Lanka

The city has gone to sleep several hours ago. The houses spreading from the centre of the city to the suburbs in all directions were in darkness. The street lights, the only city in BC 140 in the Kingdom which had this facility were extinguished. To an aerial observer only the sentry lights from the guard posts at the palace gates and the four city gates to the north, south, east and west of the city gave any indication that it was a living city. For all intent and purpose the capital city of Lanka¹, Anuradhapura was asleep. The only other light in the sleeping city came from the royal palace. The palace which was spread on a large track of land towards the north end of the city was a single story structure with guard towers placed strategically at the four corners of the rectangular compound surrounded by a high rampart. The royal palace was built with a courtyard at the centre and wings to the east, west and north. The south side of the palace formed the entrance to the courtyard.

It was from the east wing of the palace that a light shone. The east wing formed the living quarters and connected facilities of the King which included the conference and audience chambers. The west wing housed the quarters of the Queen, and other members of the royal family. The north wing was the utility section of the palace which included among other things the cooking facilities, the living quarters for the palace guards and servants. The out buildings of the palace were the royal stable with living quarters for the handlers, the large storehouse that housed the many requirements of the palace and the armoury, all of which was housed within the palace compound. The lights which were normally extinguished at around midnight shone today well past that hour. The illumination could be observed by a close inspection to be coming from the Kings sleeping chamber.

This was alien to the King who followed the principle of waking up early to the call of the birds and who was therefore seldom seen awake at such a late hour. Contrary to routine the King was wide awake. He was not sitting at his table where he attended to the many chores of ruling a Kingdom. Neither was he pacing up and down which he was reputed to do when actively thinking or planning a military campaign. He was lying in bed in an upright position. He was a person of slightly above average height and dark in complexion. His features were rugged and belied his age. His body bore scars of wounds that were acquired during the many military campaigns he had conducted. The most amazing feature in his entire countenance was his eyes. They were a most penetrating dark pair of eyes which had an inner depth. They were alive and conveyed a sense of urgency to those looking at them. In fact they had the ability to seduce any person who came in to close contact with King Gamani².

His mind was active despite the late hour. He was wrestling with a problem that had surfaced during the last few years of his reign. He was aware that it became more pronounced with every day that brought him closer to his death. That day he knew was approaching fast. How he knew this he did not know, but he knew it. Although he ruled the Kingdom from the capital in the north he had been born to the divided south of the Kingdom. At birth he had been hailed as the long awaited saviour of the nation who would one day unify it. He now realised that his father was largely responsible for this belief. His father had laid the ground work for the military conquests that he was to accomplish at a latter date.

King Kavantissa his father who ruled Rohana³ had unified the people through the spreading of the religion while maintaining that he was opposed to violence as dictated by the dharma⁴. He however was responsible for building the strong army which was declared as a defensive weapon and which was one day to be used by his son for the conquest of the north. The realisation gave him a sense of pride and satisfaction to be the son of such a great king. He had never seen past his father’s outer shell of complaisance which he took for cowardice in his young age. He regretted this now but there was little he could do as his father was dead the last thirty years. He fervently hoped that he could make amends with his father and wished him to appear from whatever place he was for this was the belief of his religion that you roam the universe until the attainment of nirvana⁵. Maybe his father had achieved this supreme status. The thought satisfied him.

What was keeping him awake tonight was none of these thoughts. It was a realisation that his father’s plans for a unified Lanka were incomplete. There were measures in his father’s plan for the colonisation of the conquered areas with people of the Sinhala race, to reduce the percentage of aliens that had been imported from the native land of the former ruler. Since the end of hostilities he had implemented these steps. This was the reason why he decided to rule from Anuradhapura rather than from the southern seat of his father. The dedication of the ruler to the religion and the building of religious monuments were also a part of his father’s plan to establish a strong religious presence in the conquered areas. He had performed these tasks beyond all expectations. His father had further planned the economic revival of the conquered lands by the extension of the agrarian economy. He had achieved a substantial amount of these tasks. The plans for a post war Kingdom were communicated to him by his brother Tissa. His father had conveyed all his plans for the establishment of the Sinhala rule in the conquered territory to his brother under oath that they would only be disclosed after the end of hostilities to his brother. These steps were seen essential to ensure his father’s outward rejection of military conquest.

It was his brother Prince Tissa that he sent for now since he had at last formed a strategy to rectify the defects that he had seen in his father’s plans. The message was passed by servants along dark corridors and Prince Tissa received the call in his quarters. He was amazed to be summoned at such a late hour. Nevertheless he complied by hurriedly adorning his robes and following the servants back to the King’s quarters. Compared to his brother Prince Tissa was of fair skin and average height. It was said that King Gamani had taken after his father while Prince Tissa had taken after his mother. He entered the room and found the King staring out of the window of his room at a spot in the near distance. Without turning his head when Prince Tissa was announced the King said,

“What think you of that spot a little distance from the palace surrounded by trees Prince?’

King Gamani had the habit of assuming that the person who he was talking could hear what he in fact had only been thinking.

“What about that spot my King?” Prince Tissa replied.

“For building a Dagoba⁶ of course” he murmured. “My astrologers say that it would bear the same coordinates when compared to the Thuparama Dagoba and Mirisavati Dagoba as to three stars in the night sky during the month of Vesakha⁷. They also say that if the Dagoba was of a particular height it would match the glow of the stars which in turn would make it the single highest structure in the Kingdom” he chuckled “We would be creating heaven on earth and what is more it would be visible from our window”

“Do you intend it to be the symbol by which you wish latter generations to remember you with my King?” asked Prince Tissa.

“That is so, that is so” answered King Gamani “But only for the time being, thereafter we may have other ideas. This is what we wanted to talk to you about at this late hour. Please be seated Prince”

He summoned the servants for light refreshment, a habit left over from King Gamani’s military days where food for him was on an available time basis. After the servants had cleared the dishes King Gamani got down to serious talk. He explained to Prince Tissa that their father had planned the military campaigns for the unification of the Kingdom to the last detail and had thereafter planned the establishment and continuation of peace and prosperity in the Kingdom. He had foreseen all possible obstacles to his plans and had counter planned accordingly. But he had not accounted for the greed of future rulers who may seek conquest for its own sake or ignore the need to maintain a bastion for the propagation of Buddhism. He explained to Prince Tissa that he had divine guidance in his military campaigns. His kunta⁸ had a relic of Lord Buddha⁹embedded within it. This relic had been handed down to his father by his great great grandfather who was the brother of the great King Devanampiyatissa who in turn received it from Emperor Asoka in India. He was concerned about the kunta falling in to the hands of rulers who were not worthy to posses it and who were unaware of its powers. The reason why their father had not seen this danger, he explained, was because he was a man without deceit who adhered strictly to the duties of the king devoid of all adverse impulses.

“You see Prince our royal father was a model king who would see all consequences of a decision he was taking and would not weigh his decision on personal considerations. He would be guided by the dharma and the well being of his people. He therefore could not see any ruler breaking the code of conduct of kings as laid down in the charithra¹⁰” said King Gamani. “I have no doubt that after our rule you who will succeed us will carry on the plans of our father to an even higher level of achievement”

He waved aside Prince Tissa’s objections that he King Gamani would live a long and healthy life. He knew that the hardships of his military campaigns had taken its toll from both his mind and body. Both bore scares which could not be erased. He knew his time was limited and accepted the inevitable with grace. Prince Tissa listened in silence. This was what King Gamani preferred until he had spoken in full. Then he would listen to the other person.

“The question is how long we can assure that future rulers will be guided by the high standards of our royal father. Sooner or later, there will be a ruler who will consider himself before the Kingdom. Our royal father did not create the necessary safeguards to ensure that future rulers will use the great power at their command only for the benefit of the nation and not for personal glorification” concluded King Gamani.

“I believe you have made a point with your arguments but how long can we influence the events of the future. We are after all mortals” replied Prince Tissa.

The two brothers, one the King and the other the Crown Prince spoke at length on the subject of the future of the Kingdom. Finally Prince Tissa asked,

“Do you have a plan to control the abuse of power or ignore the needs of the nation by any ruler in the future my King?”

King Gamani smiled that rare smile which brought out the best in his dark features.

“We certainly do” he said. “We seek your acceptance and support for this plan. However it should be understood that our plan should not only ensure that the power of our kunta should not fall in to the wrong hands but also that it will be available to rulers like us for the continuation of a unified Kingdom”

“Your plan will ensure that both opposing conditions will be maintained King?” inquired Prince Tissa.

King Gamani nodded slowly. The oil lamps were burning very low and the cries of the morning birds were heard in the sky by the time King Gamani had detailed his plans to his brother. Prince Tissa listened without interruption amazed at the farsighted vision of the King and the wisdom of his plan where all alternatives were considered and countered. He silently accepted that he had failed to fathom the quality of statesmanship of the King in the past.

“However Prince you will observe that carrying out most of this plan is in your hands as we will only have the job of accepting our karma¹¹” said King Gamani.

“That is what I fear” replied Prince Tissa.

“We will instruct the ten great warriors to assist you in this task under oath of secrecy. What is more we will instruct Prince Panduka to support you” assured King Gamani glad of having convinced and obtained the support of his brother towards the achievement of his plans.

*                               *                               *                               *

Several dozen times the moon waxed and waned after the two brothers had their discussion. During this time steps were taken to build the largest Dagoba in the Kingdom at the site predicted by the astrologers, little knowing that in a distant land the heavens had already been created on earth by man in the replication of stars in the sky by the construction of crypts for emperors which would one day be called Pyramids. Construction work continued with ever increasing momentum as the health of King Gamani declined and he declared his desire to see the Dagoba which he had named Mahadagoba¹² completed before his death. This was one campaign that King Gamani was to lose.

The situation on the night of his death was different to other nights in the city of Anuradhapura. The city in the middle of the night was ablaze with light, coming from almost every abode. The street light was kept on during the entire night so that people may walk up for news about their beloved King. The royal palace was a beacon of light in a well lit city. The royal family, the guards and servants all kept awake for they did not want their hero King to go on his last journey alone. They were in no doubt that the King was near the end of his life. They also knew that no amount of medication or the attention of the physicians would keep him alive beyond the time allocated for his life.

As before King Gamani lay face up in his bed. His breathing was shallow. His eyes stayed open taking all that was happening around him. It was time for the farewells to take place in the reverse order as was the tradition. Firstly the palace servants and guards went in to his chamber to bid the King farewell and bestow the blessings of the triple gem on their beloved ruler. Next it was the turn of the lesser officials of the palace. This was followed by the ministers of the King. The friends closely followed by the relatives of the King came next. The last was the Queen who stayed with the King until he breathed his last.

The tradition of visitors to bid farewell to the King was changed on this occasion at the instigation of his brother Prince Tissa. After the relatives had visited him and before it was the turn of the Queen the ten great warriors who had been commanders of the ten legions of the army entered the King’s chamber together with Prince Tissa. In the chamber each of them bid their King farewell after which the King summoned the last council with his warriors, an act that he had performed many times during their campaign in the battle fields. He told them that his brother Prince Tissa would brief them shortly on certain matters of state that he fully endorses. They were to carry out these orders as if they came from him in the battlefield where the fate of the Sinhala was the prize. He also asked each of them to maintain absolute secrecy unto death on the matters they were about to hear and expected to perform in the coming days. Prince Tissa informed the ten great warriors that he would brief them individually a little while later in his own chamber. After the departure of the ten great warriors the King turned to his brother and bid him a successful reign in the years to come. He then turned towards the closed window and said.

“It is indeed a pity Prince that we cannot see the completed Dagoba that we have commissioned to built”

“If it is the completed Dagoba that you want to see I am sorry but you will lose that battle my King” replied Prince Tissa. “But if you only want to see how it would look like when completed then it may be possible to do something”

“Can you do that” asked the King.

For an answer Prince Tissa went to the window and drew up the curtains that were holding it closed. Lo and behold! The eyes could feast upon a giant completed Dagoba that stood illuminated by a thousand lamps glowing in brilliant white. This spectacle was achieved by Prince Tissa by covering the incomplete brickwork of the Dagoba with white cloth and the construction of a wooden pinnacle. He had anticipated the King’s desires correctly. The face of the King cracked into a smile.

“You have made our death an acceptable alternative to life Prince” the King said. “Will you now call the Queen? Please tell her that we wish to be with her until the last”

Prince Tissa bowed low to the King that he had served for the last twenty four years. He respectfully backed from the room for it was undignified to turn your back on the King. He would be the King the next day but that as far as he was concerned was a long time in the future.

When the Queen had entered the King’s chambers Prince Tissa informed the servants in attendance that he would be in his own chambers if needed and hurried there to meet the ten great warriors. They were waiting for him. He summoned them two at a time and gave them instructions as to the tasks they should perform. The first was Abhaya¹³ and Gotaimbara followed by Bharana¹⁴ and Pussadeva¹⁵, by Vasabha¹⁶ and Suranimila, by Mahasona and Nandhimitra, and finally by Khanjadeva and Velusumana. All the ten great warriors received instructions only on the role that they would perform in the operation. They would never be able to fathom the entire plan and furthermore they were under oath to their dying King to carry this secret to their grave. The ten great warriors who were all military men left immediately thereafter to attend to their respective tasks.

*                               *                               *                               *

Early next morning after the Queen had returned to her quarters to commence her traditional year of mourning, a horseman entered the palace gates to the north by order of the late King’s brother who was the successor to the throne. This was an entrance never used by visitors to the palace. It was used by tradesmen, servants and palace guards and was a portal that was used for lesser activities that had to be kept away from the notice of the royal personage. The rider proceeded on horseback to the east wing of the palace and stopped by the entrance to the wing. He dismounted and entered the palace. Returning almost immediately he made his way back from the palace compound through the same gate and out of the city by the south gate which led to the road to Rohana. Once on this road he was met by another horseman and they settled to a steady gallop as if getting ready for a long ride.

*                               *                               *                               *

Several days later and several yoduna¹⁷ to the south of Anuradhapura where all these events were taking place, the male members of a particular clan met at a secret location. The elder of the clan announced that he had received news that King Gamani had died at his palace at Anuradhapura and that King Tissa has succeeded him. He reminded the members that they were custodians appointed by King Gamani’s father to a particular establishment. He said that he had received instructions from King Tissa relating to certain matters of state which they were requested to perform. He reminded the members about their oath of total secrecy in the conduct of all affairs of the establishment handed to their care. He then went on to detail the actions that they were requested to perform.

*                               *                               *                               *

One week after the death of King Gamani the funeral rites were performed in the palace compound according to religious dictates. Two thousand Bikkhus¹⁸ of the Mahavihare¹⁹ were present to perform the last rites of King Gamani. The Chief Bikkhu in his sermon referred to the reign of King Gamani as a model for all kings who would succeed him. He said that the ability of King Gamani to sin and the ability to repent for the sin were unique qualities. He concluded by stating that King Gamani has taken a positive step towards enlightenment.

King Gamani was cremated according to the tradition of his religion and the ashes were placed in a silver container. The container together with his royal insignia was encrypted in the burial chamber which was constructed within the city walls of Anuradhapura. It was fitting since he had made it his life’s duty to restore the city to the Sinhala as their rightful possession.

King Abhaya Gamani²⁰ of Lanka was laid to rest in BC 137. It was decreed by his successor and brother that his crypt should be guarded day and night and all entertainment should cease in its vicinity. King or commoner alike should only pass it on foot.

Footnotes:
1.  Sri Lanka as it was called 2000 years ago
2.  Historically referred to as Dutugamunu
3.  The southern part of the Kingdom
4.  Teachings of Lord Buddha
5.  Enlightenment according to Buddhism
6.  A Buddhist religious monument
7.  March/April or April/May
8.  Scepter
9.  The Enlightened one
10. Protocol
11. The sum of accumulated merits and demerits
12. The present Ruwanweliseya
13. Also known as Theraputtabhaya
14. Also known as Mahabharana
15. Also known as Unmadapussadeva
16. Also known as Lhabbiyavasabha
17. An ancient measurement of distance of approximately 24 miles
18. Members of the Buddhist clergy
19. The Repository of Theravada Buddhism
20. The full name of King Dutugamunu

© Ananda Liyanage
Foremost Books
ISBN 955-1509-00-5

FIRST CHAPTER:
River House

I came to work at the river house not so long ago. It was a few years before the world turned 2000. Two thousand to me is a nice sounding number, that is why I remember, like twenty-five. I know the exact month too when all this started. It was the mango month. That is how everybody in our village called it – mango month.

We always had our own names for the months. That way it was easy to remember how the years came and went. Mango month, raining month, dry month, mangosteen month, first month, last month and so on it went. Mango month was when there were more green mangoes than green leaves on the branches of the mango trees.

That’s when I first came to the river house.

‘Can you cook?’ the Master in the river house asked me.

‘Can you iron clothes?’

‘Can you do the marketing; buy vegetables, buy bread, buy beef?’

One after the other the questions came, like thunderclaps.

I could never figure out why people asked me so many questions. Maybe they thought I knew all the answers to life. Even when I stood at a bus stop, someone would ask me some stupid question.

‘What time will the next bus come?’

 People always asked me things like that. How would I know when the next bus is coming?

‘When did the last bus go?’

That is a real stupid question. I wouldn’t be here if I had been at the bus stop when the last bus went, would I?

Some even ask me, ‘Are you waiting for a bus?’

‘No, I’m waiting for a boat,’ I would mutter softly under my breath.

 I think people like to ask questions. I don’t mind that. But why pick on me? I don’t like questions. As long as I remember, it had been that way with me. My life has always been simple. No questions, no answers. Just take it as it comes.

I never looked for answers in life. What’s the point? They would seldom be the ones I want them to be. No, I never worried about knowing what the answers were. Maybe that is why I didn’t like questions.

‘How old?’

‘What do you do?’

‘You have brothers? Sisters?’ People would ask me. Those were rather the common and easy ones.

There were more difficult ones too.

‘Are you a fool? Are you dumb?’

Yes, they asked me things like that. What can I say? Even if I am a fool, do you think I will say yes? How many dumb people do you know who would say they are dumb? See what I mean about these questions? Asked for the sake of asking. That’s why I don’t like them. That is why I do not like when people ask so many questions from me.

The funny thing is when some idiot asked me something, I would take some time to answer. Then he would keep looking at me as if his very life depended on what I said.

There were some answers I knew for sure. I had two sisters, two brothers and an old mother who tapped rubber to put food on our table. That’s the only reply I gave to anybody who asked me questions. That part I was sure of. The rest of it was always so vague.

‘How old?’

How would I know when I was born? I was too young to note and remember. But then again, nobody told me about how and when I came to this world. Even if they did, I would forget.

‘What can you do?’

What a stupid question. I can do so many things. How to list? I have lived this long in my life doing many things. Of course these people who ask me questions always look at me in a strange manner. If I do not answer they get annoyed. If I answer and if my reply is different to the one they expected, they look disappointed. They stare at me in a funny way. Somehow this makes me feel that I am confusing them. I am used to it, like so many other things in my life. Sometimes I think I am different. Often I feel so. Maybe that is why they give me strange looks.

Even when I first went to the village school, I remember the same look.

At the beginning, the old teacher and some of the children who came from other villages looked at me that way. I have seen it so often I even have an idea what it is all about. I think this look belongs to people when they see me for the first time. It takes awhile for them to get used to me. No, no, I am not ugly, definitely not as ugly as Leandro. Its got nothing to do with the way my face is. Maybe it is the way I speak. Sometimes some words spit out of my lips with a hissing noise, like the air pump in the bicycle shop. ‘Shu shu shu,’ some noise like that.

 Back in my village, they never do that; I mean the funny look business. Must be because the people in our village were used to me. I grew up there. They were always there and I was always there.

Our villagers were not strangers, not first- timers like the schoolteacher and the children from other villages, or like my new Master in the river house. Well, that is not my story. I am as usual jumping rails. What I mean is that I started telling you about this new river house and my new job as a houseboy and went in a circle about the strange ways people look at me. How stupid!

*****

My new Master in the river house was no different. The first time we met, out came the questions. First he asked me whether I could cook and all those kind of questions I mentioned at the beginning. Then he came out with some special ones.

‘Have you worked before?’ The Master asked me.

 I said ‘yes’ and told him all about Madam Martell and her house in Colombo. She was a white lady from a far away land who had a thin tall white husband who played cards all the time.

‘How old are you?’

I told him twenty-five, the number always sounded nice to me. I like twenty-five, same as two thousand.

Then the Master wanted to know how long I worked for Madam Martell. I told him twenty-five again. He gave me a strange look and laughed.

 ‘Did you go to work straight from the hospital?’ The Master asked me and then he laughed out loud.

I didn’t know why, but I laughed too. Anyway, I got the job. He said I was in charge of everything in the house.

‘Sam, I am the Big Boss here,’ he gestured with his arms opened wide like a platform politician and laughed again. I also kept laughing.            

‘You can call me Boss.’

‘You are the Small Boss,’ he gestured again, still laughing and this time going in a smaller circle with his hands. We both continued like that – laughing together.

We must have appeared like two mad men, he in his own joke and I in my ‘no’ joke. Big Boss and Small Boss, each laughing away for his own reasons, with the other not knowing why or what it was all about.

Life was easy in the river house. I was the ‘Small Boss’ as the Master said. I did everything. I swept the garden; I watered the flowerbeds and the lawn. I washed the cars. I opened the gate when the cars came and closed the gate when the cars went. I fed the dogs and switched on the house and garden lights in the evening and switched them off in the morning.

The lights were simple to remember. Down is “on”, up is “off”.

I loved that business of switching lights. There were so many lights in the river house. I don’t know why, but most of them we never used. They were fixed everywhere and they came in all kinds. Bright ones and dimmed ones and even small ones that gave more darkness than light. They all had different switches.

Down is “on”, up is “off”. Easy, how to forget?

There were so many lights in the garden too, in different colours, hidden in the flower bushes. They made the garden trees glow blue, red, yellow and green. The lights were very badly hidden. Though you couldn’t see the bulbs, you didn’t have much problems knowing where they were. The glow in the garden bushes gave away where the light bulbs were hiding.

I think it was a bit stupid.

 Other than switching lights, my favourite job in the river house was watering the garden. I loved the long yellow hose and the sprouting water. I would open the tap, drag the hose near the plants, aim and fire. I could make various patterns with my big finger and send the water flow any way I chose; hard, soft, wide, narrow, anything. I loved that.

I would send the water hard on the anthuriums. I didn’t like them. They looked vulgar, with that thing sticking out as if it had been having dirty thoughts. But I was always gentle with the shoe flowers. I liked their colours, bright and cheerful, like my mood when I watered the garden.

Every afternoon, I would watch the sky like a hawk, looking for clouds and rain. I didn’t want to miss my watering. I didn’t mind the rain, I could go out and yet water the plants in the rain. But the Madam said it was useless.

‘Don’t water the plants when it rains, Sammy.’

She never told me why.

My Master’s house was big. Everything there was big; the garden was big, the river was big. Even the room where Leandro cooked was big. Leandro was not my friend. He was the cook in the river house. Leandro was short and ugly and was a bit stupid. He belonged to the other kind. So was Janet, the housemaid. But Janet was not like Leandro; she was a little better. She hardly spoke, just did her work and combed her hair whenever she had nothing to do. She had very long hair, always oiled and always combed. Janet wasn’t bad looking either; she had those things, a bit jutting out from the front of her blouse, but always well covered.

 Leandro and Janet were both from the kind that made war and killed soldiers and threw bombs at our leaders. I didn’t like them. If I knew I had to work with their kind, I would not have come to the river house. But I was here; I couldn’t go back, nothing to go back to in the village. That’s another story, I’ll tell you later about that part as I go along.

Bhurus was my best friend. He was the dog in the river house. He was a boxing dog; brown and black lines on his skin. Bhurus had no tail. I think some stupid man had cut it when he was a baby dog. He now had a little stump that he wagged with vigour whenever he saw me. He was very ugly, with a big ugly mouth and no nose. But I loved Bhurus. He loved me too. We spent a lot of time together. Every time I called him ‘Bhurus, Bhurus, Bhurus’ the Master’s daughter would come shouting.

‘No no Sam, it is not Bhurus, it is BRUTUS.’

She would make her eyes big and give this funny growling sound; she called it rolling. She would start by tightening her mouth and extending her lips into a small round hole saying ‘brrrr-ouuuuu’ and then go ‘TUS’ like breaking a stick. ‘Brutus, Brutus, Brutus,’ she would repeat the sound for my benefit.

I never could get that funny sounding name. After awhile she gave up. She stopped trying to correct me whenever I called my friend. I am not sure but I think she knew I was right. Once or twice I heard her ignoring her round mouth “ooos” and stick breaking “tusses” and calling my friend the way I did – Bhurus.

Bhurus of course didn’t mind. I don’t think he cared very much about this business of how he was called.

When I said ‘Bhurus, come, come,’ he came. I think he liked my name better, Bhurus.

The other dog was Lena. She was beautiful; she was tall and had a brown shining coat. Lena didn’t run around like the stupid Bhurus. She minded her own business and slept most of the time. In her own way she was nice. Bhurus and Lena were my friends. They didn’t throw bombs. They didn’t kill any people.

I liked my Boss’s house by the river. It had a large garden.The outside was painted white and the inside had different colours for different rooms. The floor was red, polished red, lines this way and lines that way, all in perfect squares. That was downstairs. Upstairs had wood on the floor in some places and tiles in other places. I do not know why that is. They must have run out of tiles and finished the job with wood, or they may have even run out of wood and finished the job with tiles. Something must have run out but they managed nicely. Not just mixed, but room by room, some wood, some tile.

 There were bathrooms everywhere in the river house. Each bedroom had one. We had ours next to the garage, for Leandro, Janet and me. I was the one who cleaned them all. That’s how I became a good bathroom man.

The inside of the river house was big, so many different sections, different rooms for different things. To eat, there was one place, to talk, another place, to watch television an entire room, to read books, another place. At the beginning I always got confused with all these separate sections of the house. Back where I came from, in our village, most houses had only one room. We did everything there, within four walls. I mean not real walls but more like half -rotted planks, but no confusion. The river house was a different place; too many rooms.

The area where the river house people ate and sat to talk and drink, the walls were painted nicely in a cream colour. But for some reason they were all mostly covered with something or the other. There were many pictures hanging on them. Each one pasted in a wide wooden frame. Some were glass covered, some just plain. There were paint pictures of all kinds; of flowers and trees, of hills with blue skies and seas with black skies, of ships sailing and birds flying; all kinds of pictures. There were women too, white women in big pictures; beautiful, shy women with their dresses falling from their chests or lifting above their knees and showing those shy parts of their bodies. They only showed little, maybe half, not the real thing, not worth hanging on a wall and looking.

 Where there were no pictures, there were so many other things covering the wall. No wall was empty. There were small carpets in bright colours, larger carpets with dull colours hanging by long nails. There were shining brass curved knives and long brass swords, all fixed to polished wooden planks and stuck on the wall. In some places there were ugly looking masks and in other places there were many pictures of their God.

One wall was filled only with pictures of the family. Those pictures were all when the children were babies and the Master and the Madam were young. I think they have taken the good ones and put them there to make the Master and Madam look good. Young and pretty, black hair and thin and always smiling.

That’s how the walls were in the river house.

Even the pillars inside the house had various things hanging on them.

Now you get an idea what my new house was like? Let me tell you more.

The riverside of my Master’s house was all glass; large glass windows on wooden frames that rolled to the sides on noisy little wheels. We could move the windows out of the way and open the house to get the river breeze. When the windows were rolled out, the river could be clearly seen by anyone sitting in the living room.

‘That’s how we wanted it Sam, to look at the river,’ my Boss told me that.

I don’t know why they wanted to keep looking at the river. It was the same river; it flowed slow and looked the same everyday.

The house had chairs everywhere. There were chairs to sit and drink, chairs to read newspapers, chairs to watch cricket matches on television, chairs to relax and look at the river. It was like the rooms; almost everything had its own special chair.

There were many bedrooms too; each one in the house had their own sleeping place. All except Master and Madam and Leandro and I. We are the ones who shared rooms. Master and Madam had a big room that could be cooled. Leandro and I had a smaller room, but no cooling. Master’s daughter, the Girl, had a room and so did the Master’s son, the one I call the Boy. Our Janet too had her own. Her room was the tiniest in the house, just big enough to keep her small bed and her old green canvas bag where she kept everything in the world that belonged to her.

My room was nice; I mean our room – Leandro’s and mine. It had a large window and I could see the river and see the fishing boats as they went past our house. All that was good. The only problem was Leandro. I hated sharing the room with him.

Most things he did annoyed me. I hated when Leandro washed and hung his multicoloured lankets. His normal washing he hung outside, but his lankets he always hung inside the room as if he didn’t want anyone to know what he wore under his sarong to protect his things. Leandro had a string drawn right across the room to hang his lankets. They hung on it to dry. Red, green and all colours, they hung there like dead bats. Big holes for the legs, a big hole for his fat waist and a little piece of cloth to hold his things. Those were his lankets, constantly dripping water and wetting our room floor; hanging like dead bats on current wires.

I had to be very careful when I walked, I didn’t want that cloth to touch my face, specially the part that held his things.

There was another problem that bothered me in sharing the room with this fool. Leandro farted. I have never seen someone who farted so much and so loud. Leandro’s farts varied and had their own tunes. Some slow dragged “ppppeeeee” like a note from an old snake charmer’s horn, and others went “boom” like gunshots. It was annoying.

I hated his farts, I hated his wet lankets, and I hated him. Anyway I had no choice; Leandro remained my roommate, though many a time I secretly wished it was Janet.

The garden of the river house went all the way to the river, all grass and many trees. Many trees meant many leaves fell. I had to sweep many times to keep the garden clean. In no time I became a champion garden sweeping man.

 At the beginning itself our Madam very seriously told me everything about sweeping the garden and what to do with the dirt. ‘Sammy boy, don’t put dirt into the river, collect them into the garbage bags.’ She always called me Sammy boy.

I don’t know why she was worried about collecting dirt into bags and not throwing it all into the river. We always did that in our village. She spoke as if the river would mind. Every time she saw me sweeping the garden she kept repeating the same thing.

‘Sammy boy, don’t put dirt into the river.’

One day no one was at home. I swept the entire garden and collected a lot of dirt, mostly fallen leaves. I threw all that into the river, just to see what would happen. Nothing happened. The dirt got swallowed by the water and drifted down. I carefully watched till it all disappeared. I wanted to tell the Madam that nothing happens when you put dirt into the river. But Janet stopped me.

‘Don’t be stupid Sam, don’t tell them everything that happens here.’ That’s what she said. I didn’t want to be stupid.

She said it is better we take dirt in the garbage bag to the place where they dumped all the rot. That was fine, it suited me. It was I who mostly went in the van to throw the garbage bags. I always enjoyed those van rides. I got selected to do them fairly and squarely. That is what Leandro said; democratically, he used these big words. I always won the vote to carry the garbage.

Come to think of it, voting was big among the three of us. Leandro Janet and me, we voted on everything. Leandro said that is how things are done when you need to do things properly. You vote. He said our leaders always got voted to run the country. That was big stuff. Ours was small, kitchen vote, but to us it was very important. Most times I lost, so what? I didn’t mind. Sometimes I also won.

Every evening we voted in what language we would watch the television – Sinhala or Tamil. It was our television, fixed in the kitchen. Leandro would take a box of matches and pick three matchsticks. He would break them in two and give each of us both parts. Stick only and stick and black. He would then take a cup and tell us to throw in the cup our vote. Stick only is Sinhala, stick and black is Tamil. We threw our choice and he shook the cup up and down like a magic man and poured the result out. I do not know how, but it was always a Tamil win.

 But sometimes I too won the voting. I noticed that it happened mostly when Janet was not in the competition; it was about things like who takes the garbage and who cleans the toilet. The competition was strictly Leandro against me. But all three voted. It was democratic. I am sure at such times Janet voted for me and I got elected. I beat Leandro every time. Many times I did get the feeling she had a soft corner for me. She was nice. But the problem was we were different. Janet was from the side that threw bombs.

They both told me that we must not tell the Madam about our voting.

‘We must sort things out democratically, like our leaders,’ they explained very seriously.

That was fine. I kept my mouth shut. Democratic voting was fine with me. I won some and lost some. In the ones I won, like cleaning the toilets, sometimes I got all three votes. Even Leandro voted for me. The ones I lost I didn’t mind, specially the television. People on television always spoke so fast. I could never understand what they were saying or what was going on; never mind in what language it was said.

Harrison too was a big player in the river house. He drove the vehicles in the river house. It was through him that I came to work for my Master. Harrison’s older brother drove a “tuk-tuk” three-wheeler in the city and this brother’s woman was from our village. My sister Loku and this woman went to school together. That’s how Harrison came to know of me and arranged the job, all by connections.

 Apart from driving, Harrison took care of everything that needed to be done that was beyond Janet, Leandro and me. It was always Harrison, for things the river house needed from outside its walls. Inside, it was the three of us.

‘Harrison go there, Harrison buy fish, Harrison go and pay the telephone bill, Harrison bring the carpenter, Harrison bring the plumber,’ that’s how the outside orders went.

He was good at getting things done. My Master always called him “Friday Man” even though he did things everyday of the week.

Harrison came in the morning and went in the evening. He had a house and a family who lived not so far away. He was the one who drove the van when I went to drop the garbage.

Sometimes Harrison stayed the night when Master and Madam were away and only Janet, Leandro and I were in the river house. He got extra pay for that. That’s what he told me. Nice job; got paid to sleep. He was the boss when Master and Madam were out. I mean he was the real boss. I was the boss for the work. Leandro was nothing. Only a stupid cook. Janet of course is a woman, so she never counted.

I almost forgot. It is the Master’s son, the Boy. After Bhurus and Lena, he was the best. He was a tall pretty boy, always smiling. From the very first day we met he liked me and I liked him. He was the one who spoke with me most in the river house.

‘Sammy, what’s the scene?’

That’s what he always said.

‘Sammy, how’s it going man?’ – that was his next line.

We did a lot of things together. We went in the boat, we went in his car, we sometimes caught fish together, many things. There was always something happening when the Boy was around.

Often we used to wear hats and go in the rowing boat. It was a long red boat with two seats. The Boy had named it “Solitaire” and that name was written in big yellow letters in front of the boat. The Boy rowed the red boat and I sat and watched. That’s the way he wanted it.

‘You relax Sam, I’ll row, it’s good for my muscles,’ he grinned and repeated the words often.

I always enjoyed going in the boat with him. We spoke about a lot of things. He rowed and spoke and I mostly listened. It was quiet in the river, nobody disturbed us. There was no noise, only the waves slapping on the side of our “Solitaire”.

He used to ask me about my life in the village. What I did before I came to his father’s house. I told him many things, about my home, about my mother tapping rubber, about my brothers Jaya and Madiya and my two sisters Loku and Podi. I also told him about my friend Piya and how he drowned the day the river overflowed. I told him whatever I could remember. I kept some back too. My mother had told me not to talk about them.

 The Boy always said that when he grew old he would take me to work for him. ‘Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll take care of you.’

I knew he meant it.

My life was always full when the Boy was at home. He had many friends and they came often to the river house. We had a lot of fun. His friends were also like him. They laughed easily and they didn’t give me strange looks. I think the Boy had told them that I was his friend. That made it easy. That is how his friends became my friends.

My Boss’ two children came to the river house only for their holidays. The Boy and his sister were learning in a far away land. Like Madam Martell’s land; very far. You have to fly there in a thing called the aerobblane; too far to walk, too far even to go by car. Harrison told me that. He mentioned some name for the place, but I have forgotten.

That was how life was for me in the river house. I had three good friends, Bhurus, Lena and the Boy. I had more than enough to eat and a nice room to sleep. No problems, just days that passed nice and simple. My time was spent in switching lights, sweeping the garden, watering the plants, opening and closing the gate, things like that.

I had only one enemy, Leandro and one half-enemy. No, that is not right. Janet was not half, maybe a quarter enemy, that too only because she was from the other kind.

Even both of them put together would only be a very small problem.

My life never had real problems. I could never figure out what a problem was. That’s why I never had problems.

Copyright © Elmo Jayawardena
Vijitha Yapa Publications

FIRST CHAPTER:
UNCLE ARUN BOARDS THE TRAIN

It was dawn enough when Uncle Arun got down from his three wheeler at the country’s premier railway station at Colombo. The morning mist was still lingering partly and the weather was nippy. Uncle Arun, being old, was wearing a light pullover that contrasted boldly with the open chested and single shirted young bucks who were rushing into what was called the Fort Railway Station, almost jostling while doing so, to board the train that was by now waiting for them at No. 1 Platform, to go to Vavuniya. It was the usual slightly coldish weather of a January morning over most of Sri Lanka, and soon the mists were to clear away with a clear blue sky for the rest of the day.

But Uncle Arun had no thought or time for these, firstly with his age, secondly like for most other things, having lived through so many Januaries in his life and, above all, since he was most keen not to miss the train. He had reserved a seat alright, given the class he was travelling in, but he knew it was perilously close to departure time and of course bookings had nothing to do with this.

Uncle Arun managed to plough through the crowd somehow, lucky to find the correct bogey sooner than he thought and was soon seated comfortably by a window seat, as he always preferred, facing the direction of the engine.

As expected, passengers had already filled in, occupying their reservations. Uncle Arun quickly had a look around his own compartment set in the customary four rows with three seats in each, for he loved, being from the older generation, getting to know everybody around him and, in the usual Sri Lankan way, inquiring where they were from, where they were going to, why, for how long, when were they returning, and all of it. When he found the time was right, he would indulge in old stories which his listeners, who were much younger, fortunately loved to hear.

The train had not started yet but was obviously about to do so and Uncle Arun noticed, amidst the by now full complement, that two seats right in front of him were still vacant. Strange he thought, when almost with the blow of the whistle there rushed in a handsome young fella. Contrary to style he popped in first, took a firm grip of a beautiful girl’s hand obviously his new wife or friend and saw her firmly in. They smiled, deeply satisfied it seemed more in each other than even having jumped into the train in time. They certainly made a beautiful couple, she a nature’s product and he carrying the spit and polish of a young man from abroad, who seemed to have had a rich father. He was clearly Tamil, said Uncle Arun to himself. The girl was Tamil of course, but above all carrying a beauty which exceeded all artifacts, long haired although tied up in a knot – the `konde’, one of so many styles common to both Sinhalese and Tamils, betraying the similarities of their peoples, despite the murderous War that was going on between the two up in the North.

The train had now started moving after the usual shrill call of an overused diesel engine, and somehow, as in all these journeys everybody suddenly felt relaxed and ready to be friendly. The war had created a strange land. Here was a mixture of both Sinhalese and Tamil speaking passengers, the former primarily to Anuradhapura, before the train went on, some thirty miles north of Anuradhapura, to the border town of Vavuniya, but still around ninety miles south of the old time railway destination of Jaffna.

Uncle Arun himself was going only up to Vavuniya, but almost all other Tamil passengers on this train, which always had an overwhelming complement of Tamil passengers, were going to Jaffna, from Vavuniya by a tortuous land route, in which every journey, with delays, needed endurance and carried unimagined difficulties, and was an adventure by itself.

Uncle Arun knew at once that the young couple was destined for Jaffna. They had given Uncle Arun a smile of respect the moment they had seated themselves. Now when they had gathered their breaths and seemed more composed, Uncle Arun thought he should open up his first conversation, in the usual good old Jaffna fashion. He felt privileged of course since it seemed they had already taken him to be their paternal senior, in position and as well as in age. The train was now at fair speed, marked more by its noise and rattle, seemingly not able to go faster, for want of the condition of the rails or condition of the engine or both, beyond the forty miles per hour or thereabout that it seemed to be doing.

Talking under such circumstances to fellow passengers was not easy, but somehow Sri Lankans had a penchant for conversation during train travel and nothing could seemingly put them out. Uncle Arun was particularly seasoned in this, having known the good old days of the great steam engines, which threw coal dust in the air and no one seemed to care, and the trains themselves, with one change of the engines at half way point at Anuradhapura were symbols of power and, for those days, real speed – enjoyed by passengers and bystanders.

Not sure whether the man in front knew Tamil enough, Uncle Arun started off in English. “Thamby”, which was the usual way of address of a younger person by an older, “Where are you both going?” Knowing Tamil already of course, despite Uncle Arun’s guess about his foreign links, and even more mindful of his beautiful girl he was taking with him who was totally Tamil speaking, the young man replied in excellent Tamil. “Aiyah, we are going of course to Jaffna and this is my bride to be who came all the way to Colombo with her Uncle, when I arrived from London. We are now going to where she lives with her parents for us to get married”. Ranee, which was the name of the girl, smiled coyly as she listened.

“You have not been to Jaffna before, have you?” he asked looking at the boy, whose name he had by now found out was Khanna. Uncle Arun, greatly relieved he could talk to them in Tamil, although he himself was equally conversant in English and Sinhalese, found out in true Jaffna style, Khanna’s background and brief life history. The latter had as a child been taken by his parents after the holocaust of 1983, all going as refugees to England. He remembered little of his country, therefore, had grown up abroad. Into his twenties now, he was a graduate, brimming with confidence, but above all, eager to marry a girl from back home. He did not carry much of the bitter memories that his parents carried from their home country, but had readily absorbed the language, habits and traditions of his people which his parents had fostered at their home and through the various cultural and other facilities that became plentiful in their new country.

He had already come to Sri Lanka, for the first time after his emigration, some months ago to be registered legally to his bride who had come down from Jaffna with her parents to Colombo for this purpose. Khanna’s parents had not come. In the Tamil custom, he knew that registration, although legally marriage, was taken simply as engagement. In order to live as husband and wife, the religious Hindu ceremony had to be completed. This was now his purpose. He was now going to his bride’s own home in Jaffna. While in Colombo for the registration, he and his bride had been given a little more freedom to be by themselves although that was not the old custom, and they had come to know each other, indeed in a deeply committed way. It was not surprising therefore that his bride to be was now going alone with him to Jaffna for their marriage.

Clearly Ranee was all excited herself although, being still the Jaffna girl, she could not show it. Uncle Arun learnt that Ranee’s parents were at Chavakachcheri in the southern segment of the Jaffna peninsula, living in a sprawling Jaffna style `Walawoo’ with its traditional airy front and back verandahs, spacious centre courtyard, open to the skies surrounded by rooms, a water well with all its accepted trappings discreetly on a side extension, straw thatched roofs at critical points for coolness, a traditional cattle shed behind for two cows that were always a source of their daily fresh warm milk early morning with green shredded palmyrah leaves in front of them, and some traditional beautiful flower gardens and Jaffna trees. The house was a haven for retired living. It had suffered from the unfortunate so called war of late but Ranee’s parents would never leave, for it was home and heaven. They lived with their two other younger children, eagerly awaiting Ranee’s arrival with her husband to be, preparing for the wedding of their daughter to Khanna, which has always in tradition taken place in the spacious home compound.

The train had stopped and started at a few stations, and it seemed time now when everybody thought that each should have a drink. In good Sri Lankan fashion, they had all brought their flasks or bottles with steaming hot tea and proceeded as if by some prior arrangement, to open them slowly, and silently have them. Unlike the western modes, oriental eating in at least what was known as the Indian Ocean countries, was a silent institution.

Uncle Arun proceeded to follow all, across the compartment. He observed that Khanna, apparently with his background, did not seem to opt for any for himself, but had thoughtfully brought a home made drink of coffee, which he knew people in Jaffna generally enjoyed more than their tea. Having opened a little flask which he had brought from England, and pouring out its contents into a beautiful holding cup, which seemed to become the unspoken envy of those around, he proceeded tenderly to give it to Ranee, holding her delicate fingers as if to help while she enjoyed his coffee. Knowing his English lifestyle and that he may indeed have made it himself, “So good”, she remarked in Tamil to Khanna, “did you make it yourself?” “Of course” he replied, “although my aunt with whom I am here is probably even better at it”. He took back his coffee cup slowly from her hand, reluctant to let his hand go off hers.

For a while they left themselves to their own thoughts. Ranee was looking through the window as she always loved to in the old days, watching the trees run past, punctuated by the artificial telegraphic poles, and all the while the blue sky with its patches of white cloud floating in it, so typical at this time of year. Ranee left herself to be enraptured in her thoughts, a strange mixture of past innocence, of simple living and robust rural joys, with her new found thrills of her womanhood with Khanna and look to every minute of their future lives together.

She knew something that only she and Khanna knew so far. Quite contrary to all tradition, in the knowledge that Khanna was on a visit for his engagement on the last occasion and was soon going back, she was now carrying their baby. The wedding ceremony for which they were both going to Jaffna, almost without delay, was therefore good for them both. Even as Khanna was as keen to safeguard his bride’s name, as she was afraid to have her beautiful secret known, in truth they could not just wait to be away from each other any more.

To Khanna she was his goddess now, beautiful beyond compare, and exceeding all those who he had known so well and intimately in his life abroad.

Ranee was indeed exceedingly striking. So Uncle Arun had thought too the moment he saw them, and he was himself one who had travelled far and wide in his time. Long haired, as he had noticed when she came aboard, she had an exceedingly soft complexion of lightest chestnut hue which it was clear to anybody ran through her entire body, if at all only more silken and fair than her striking face and limbs. Even though dressed conventionally she looked statuesque both in body and deportment.

It seemed the right moment, all looking relaxed, for Uncle Arun to talk of what he liked most, namely to tell his younger listeners things of moment to him which he was sure they would not know. Here he had two areas for him to talk. One was something more about their journey beyond Vavuniya, where the train would stop, and they would proceed on their own, although with scores of others who would be more familiar, to the Crossing and then to Jaffna.

The other was on the real Jaffna as it was before this wholly mischievous, politically created war had had its beginnings sometime in the Sixties, and when ordinary Sinhalese and Tamils moved around closely, and so many of the latter would receive them like brothers in Jaffna.

“I am sure neither of you know much about the route from Vavuniya to the Crossing, do you?” asked Uncle Arun of Khanna and Ranee. They nodded, affirming what he said, adding that the arrangements, both from Vavuniya to the short transit point into so called Tamil territory, and thence the trip to the beach head, were matters they were told they would pick up for themselves from their fellow travellers, who would even be sympathetic and ready to help. Ranee quickly added that also, as it happened, a mutual friend of both the families, who was on one of his innumerable journeys back and forth to his own family, would be meeting them at Vavuniya. “That is particularly good,” said Uncle Arun. “There is nothing like somebody known going along with you in your situation”. In a sense he was happy he did not have to spend much time on this with them, for he could go to his favourite topic, of the `good old days’ of Jaffna, the travel by the great trains of those days from the South, and the life styles of the old Jaffna, so spacious, so relaxed, healthy, and friendly to all comers.

“When you go to Jaffna please breathe every inch of its air, and the many fragrant scents of its soils. That is the nearest you will get to the old days of my time, which is the greatest sadness I feel for younger people who I know still love their home, as all – my Sinhala brothers as well as my Tamil brothers – love theirs”, he said addressing himself particularly to Khanna. “Yes, Uncle,” said Khanna, “we are looking forward, at least to carry back what we could when we return, for I do not know when we shall have peace once more”. After some pause they both said in strange coincidence, “Tell us something about the Jaffna that you knew, Uncle”. That gave Uncle Arun the rarest opportunity to reminisce on the great lost days as he used to mention so often, with as much sorrow that they were never to return, as a serene joy at drinking deep of those vivid sagas gone by.

“For one thing,” Uncle Arun began, “this train that you are travelling in is only a poor shadow of the great trains we had in the old days. Those began at No. 5 Platform right at the other end of the No. 1 Platform of the Fort Railway Station where you got in. The entrance to that great platform was by a broad roadway behind, then called McCallum Road, where the concourse at departure times was so great that this exclusive arrangement became noted as the departure platform for Jaffna.

There used to be two long passenger trains on normal days around the year, a Day Train and Night Mail, apart from the several Goods Trains. But during seasons, partly Christmas and mainly what was then called Easter Holidays, when schools and government servants had their longest vacations, the trains were as frequent as necessary – usually two by day and three by night – and filled to capacity. The famous No. 5 Platform during these periods was a veritable carnival, of as many people as the passengers themselves, who came to see their passengers off. They would be there at each window, with messages to their loved ones – for many ordinary families lived bachelor lives here, with their wives back home – telling them again and again what to bring when they come, the favourite Gingely (Sesame) Oil, and Drumsticks (Murunga in Sinhala or Tamil), and of course the great Palmyrah roots, fresh, dried, powdered, cooked and what not. Assurances seemed to be given and asked repeatedly through the windows simply in expressions of sentiments rather than in conformations of action, and the senders off would, with the deep whistle of the big steam engine starting off the train, keep walking, engaging in the same interminable conversations, till the end of the platform as it were and standing there till the last carriage and the guard’s green flag disappeared out of sight. The crowd would slowly turn back seemingly happy but sad they were staying behind, and soon the platform would be empty and silent again.”

Now it was Uncle Arun’s turn to tell Khanna and Ranee of what it was like being a passenger in those great trains. Pleasantly to Uncle Arun’s surprise at the end of it, he felt that the young couple seemed to have enjoyed all of it so much themselves. Thus began his  long story.

In those days for those of us who had our families in Colombo, and especially during the holiday season, we always travelled as a family. Those with children opted for the Day trains. It was too expensive, except for government servants of staff rank or the really rich to travel by 1st Class, where the night mails as they were called had their wonderful sleeping berths, bed sheets, pillows, attached bathrooms, night attendants who really attended and were immaculate. During the season there used to be four or five carriages to a night train only with berths. Most of them were what were called two berth compartments, but there were also a few amazingly fascinating, four-berth compartments for larger families – father, mother using the lower berths, the grown-up children on the upper, and the little ones happiest on the broad carpeted floors. It was all a great event for those who went in these compartments. Special meals ordered and brought along were had in the magic comfort of the trains, the rhythm of their wheels, hum of their fans, and the general chatter in the outside corridors, as on the station platforms wherever the trains stopped, all combining with the expectation, starting from leaving home in Colombo, of going to Jaffna, to its rarefied atmosphere, fine sands all around and its such totally relaxed surroundings.

Day trains or Night trains, not only the anticipations and the enjoyments were the same but the chatter were the same. The trains themselves seemed to prepare the atmosphere for all these. The number of bogeys made them so much longer than any during normal times and the steaming throttle of the great engines in front that were there to pull these trains, the 240 miles to Jaffna, completed the never fading novelty of these great giant serpents. The great steam engines were quite unlike the diesels of today, which had such anaemic whistles. One could hear the stentorian call of the engine, now with full steam, its deep long signalling to all in and alongside, that it was ready to go, slowly enveloping everybody.

The travel by day was soon like all travel inside compartments, punctuated by the usual silences, some chatter and a lot of snoozing, until they came up to border point at Vavuniya, entering into the Wanni and beyond. Elders would relax, satisfaction visibly on their faces, and the children would gaze out of the windows at the sudden transformation of the landscape, thick with primeval foliage and lazy white clouds set in deepest blue skies above.

There would be a change of engines at Anuradhapura, at the halfway point to Jaffna, that had a slightly shrill note, even though perhaps not by design, still seeming to fit into the wild open spaces that the train was now going through.

Just when all were getting somewhat jaded, having also long finished their aromatic lunches, the train would suddenly shake itself out of the thick forest covers, having left Mankulam station, and now just on the outskirts of what was called Paranthan. The entire train would wake up, for it was nearing home for all of its passengers, and the landscape itself changed so suddenly as if to tell them. Paranthan had a sparse look with dry vegetation and a few wells for irrigation, having just left at ‘Kilinochchi’, the last of the major natural reservoirs, known as Tanks, that dotted the entire landscape so majestically from the areas around Anuradhapura to the North.

Everybody now knew that the train was to leave all these behind and enter upon the distinctive landscape that was Jaffna. And so it did. Even small shrubs became fewer, purest white sands lay around, with only some vast man made salterns at slight distance away. The local tulip trees, (Poo-arasu, king of flowers, in Tamil) distinctive in their always slightly curved trunks, carrying broad green leaves and bright yellow flowers – the first being a source of wood for the ancient builders of Nelsonian calibre sailing ships that now are no more, and were built in Kayts and at a beach point called Thondaimannar near to Point Pedro; the leaves a favourite of the goats whose milk was a popular household diet in the Jaffna homes; and the flowers, which were later to become the symbol of popular national resistance to imperialism (the “Suriya-Mal” in Sinhalese).

They too ended as it were, and soon, all were amidst pure sand. The train, seeming to slow down, came into a beach fronted stretch of clear blue water, cutting across left and right, and it seemed to be running some distance almost at the same level. Here was the historic Elephant Pass, with a beautiful Dutch Fort, of later vintage, on the opposite side of the lagoon, to the right of the train. Having run on a causeway some distance and entering deeper water, the train by now quite slow was on a metallic bridge which carried it on across to the next causeway that finally led to the Peninsula which was Jaffna.

There used to be utter transformation of joy without ill will to anyone, exclaimed Uncle Arun to his two young listeners. In those days we had some gentry in what were called Mudaliyar’s Uniforms, which was the normal dress at one time of gentlemen. Given up by most, it was still donned by people steeped in their Tamil culture and professionally in what were called the Interpreter Mudliyars of the Supreme Courts of our land. I remember, said Uncle Arun, one of these Mudliyars, for all his old vintage, still so carried away as to stand up from his seat and recite an old Tamil stanza about the pure joy of `the land of his language and the honeyed music that it brought to his ears’.

As if to correct this, however Uncle Arun was quick to point out to his two young listeners that in truth, the beautiful Elephant Pass that they had crossed was not the dividing point between the Peninsula and the Wanni which the train had so far traversed from a little after mid day at Vavuniya till now, but its `umbilical cord’ between the two. For the Wanni, as it was known from time immemorial was an essential cultural, ecological, economic and historic part of the Peninsula. At the humble level, it was to the Wanni that cattle were sent from Jaffna for fattening and for calving, and firewood was brought in, and extended paddy lands cultivated. Family ties were maintained and family alliances forged right through. Uncle Arun recalled the railway stop at Omanthai, shortly after Vavuniya, which one of his friend’s grandfather used to recall as the stronghold of the last Wanniya Princess, Ponnar Wannichi, who he said was an ancestor of his, and was captured in her palace, still visible in ruins, by the British as late as 1818 or so, and taken prisoner to Trincomalee where she lived thereafter and died. The profusion of people’s names in Jaffna – Vanniasuriyas, Vanniasinghams, Vannianathans, Vanniasekarans, and others – were all of the same links, which in fact in the old days went right up to the Sinhala Kingdom of Anuradhapura and in particular to what was called the Nuwara Wewa – Bulankulame families, who also had a link with the ancestral name of Suriyakumara that again ran in the Jaffna families.

It was now well into the evening, and the Western sun was casting its shadows on the typical Jaffna fences made of palmyrah leaves that was the hallmark of every Jaffna home, whose very aromas thrilled the hearts of all Jaffna people coming back home. The train whistled its way from time to time mainly for cattle on the line, and with cheers from the little ones along the road that was running parallel from Elephant Pass almost up to Jaffna Town. The soil was still of the usual beautiful white sands, with fair profusions of coconut, the ubiquitous palmyrah and the clean wattle and daub cottages roofed with the leaves of palmyrah, interspersed with the occasional brick and mortar buildings, a hospital or institution here and there and, notably, schools small and large almost every where.

After several stops along its way, the train finally came to Jaffna station where most of the passengers would disembark. But there were many who went beyond too, to various points up to the final stop at the beautiful little port town of Kankesanturai on the northern coast lying between Point Pedro to its East and Keerimalai, the historical natural Spring by the sea, to its West. Uncle Arun would proceed up to a point near Palaly where the Airport is now, and in between was that most fertile red soil region of Jaffna, for miles East and West of the railway line, which produced the delicious Jaffna mangoes and the red onions and bananas, and were so famous right through the Island.

Uncle Arun had already told the young hearers when he had started his story in Colombo, of the great Night Mails with their reserved sleeping berths. On crossing through Elephant Pass and entering Jaffna, he told them how, while it was a different type of expectation, and to the little ones a special thrill, most of the  night travel was spent in slumber. To the little ones in the four-berth first class compartments as he had recalled, sleeping on the carpeted floor within, it all was a dream land that kept them happily awake, gazing at what looked like such a high ceiling from where they were, and with powerful fans throwing enough breeze at them, finally sending them happily into deep slumber till daylight – which was about the time the Night Mail would sight Elephant Pass.

The children would rub their eyes, and come out to gaze through the lifting mist and a shining sun, at the placid waters, which was Elephant Pass, and which in those days had not receded as now, and would lap the very walls of the Fort.

Adults were all by their window seats, where the berths were, and children in the corridors breathing in the freshness of the air that was so completely different from the humidified atmosphere from where they were coming. Those who knew the deep South knew however, how much there were shared links with that of the far North. Now the sun was rising from its East, with of course the Train proceeding northwards and the rural homes were all bright, people picking up the fallen leaves with quaint long forks, and sweeping their ever clean compounds that surrounded their humble houses. All of these, along with leaves of carefully planted trees and hedges around each fence, and well dried leaves of the palmyrah, would go every season into the soils for the next cultivation – an acme of `environmental resources management’ long before our new fangled slogan mongers came in, and, seemingly played their part so unconvincingly. At the main destination of Jaffna, night mails had larger numbers disgorging their passengers and equally large numbers awaiting them at the platform, with their evergreen, forty years old British Austin cars so reputed in Jaffna, standing in casual formation around the station.

Thus ended Uncle Arun’s tales of two regions, or two eras, as he called them. It was as well for the pedestrian morning diesel train they were in was now nearing Vavuniya and the long low whistle of the engine seemed to announce it to them.

Uncle Arun’s descriptions of the great trains of his day had led Khanna to contemplate, not without some amusement, his own emotional experiences with what he thought were the great trains of today. Coming to Colombo, Khanna had this time decided to do so, through Delhi, the season being fine for him, and he put up at a reasonable, out of city-centre hotel for the two days that he was going to spend there. Early the first night in his room, through one of the small windows that were customary above the large ones, kept open in the night, he woke up when it was still dark, and could see the fair heavy mist outside through the gas lights that were burning bright on the road. As he lazed in half slumber, he began to hear, first one, then another, and at quick regular intervals thereafter, a whole symphony of the great whistles – giants heaving as it were -of the powerful diesel railway engines of today and, remotely, even the noise of one or two of the trains whenever the gentle breeze that was typical at the time came his way. He knew what they were, for they were the processions of the magnificent night mails that were converging on Delhi, from all over this vast country, travelling hundreds, some times a thousand miles. Their engine whistles, deceptively sounding like so many wails, were yet so loud that only a Classical Homeric super human being or monster would have produced such volume. They were really long powerfully drawn trains, far more so than any of Uncle Arun’s old days, and pulled as many as sixteen to eighteen carriages averaging around sixty to eighty miles per hour. There were so many of them obviously converging on Delhi. Khanna had then suddenly wanted to write a little poem on them and he turned the title over in his head with the words “When The Trains Started Coming In…………..” or something of the sort.

He had forgotten about it by the time he arrived in Colombo, but went back vividly to it while listening to Uncle Arun. He himself understood the romance of the old big steam engines and recalled the thrill the crowds in England had when the great Flying Scotsman was taken out of a shed sometime ago for a special showpiece journey all the way down from the Highlands to London.

Khanna and Rani thanked Uncle Arun deeply and got down his address, and gave theirs in return, which Uncle Arun had wanted to ask for. He gave them also the address of a large Walawoo in Jaffna, which was really worth it he said, even for a little honeymoon, and he was informing his friend about it. He wished them well, a beautiful marriage, many many children and a wonderful life when they got back to England, but never to forget this land of their birth. The train was now at destination and with assurances exchanged once again, they all disembarked.

Uncle Arun’s final word was enough to tell his young couple not to worry and that everything would be fine. As if to strengthen this, Khanna and Ranee’s friend whom they had talked of earlier hailed them on the platform. His name was Somu, a husky well framed lawyer from Colombo. With a quick introduction of Somu to Uncle Arun, they went their way, Somu leading Khanna and Ranee along. He was distinctive of appearance, spoke with assurance and an accent as if to convey that he was a lawyer of the Supreme Court, always his Conan Doyle pipe in his mouth, pulling it out only to speak. He seemed as well to know most of the local establishments which were now particularly Sri Lanka police and army brass. Somu had impressed them after his many trips even though he spoke only English with them. Perhaps he did only this, knowing all of these gave him, and now his two companions, relatively easy passage, amidst the many obstacles that were part and parcel of their new bizarre journey, totally man made between this Northern most Tamil speaking point of Vavuniya and beyond, and the South.

Somu was to tell them many stories, not false, but certainly with hyperbole and elan. But that had to wait, for their task now was the checkpoint called Thandikulam, a short distance away from the town, but to which everyone had to proceed for clearance, before being eventually allowed to go on to the so called Tiger Territory checkpoint, from which the long trek to the beachhead began.

Copyright © C. Suriyakumaran

Vijitha Yapa Publications

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