Vandanava 2012

 By Dr. V. Venkateswaran NSW

 

Vandanava 2012, a Sequel to Vandanava 1947”

 

          If there can be block buster movie sequels and best selling book sequels, why not a Vandanava 1947 sequel? As I ended almost abruptly the “Vandanava 1947”, let “Vandanava 2012, be a sequel to Vandanava 1947”

 

          People, conditions and attitudes had changed, so must the places. The time is fast forwarded to 2012 January and it's not Poson time anymore. There were only two of us, my wife and I, and we were certainly not in our first decade of like, where everything was found for me and I was told what to do and I did it. Perhaps that part hasn't changed much. Now my wife tells me what to do and I do it!! Childhood stubborn nature and obstinacy have given way to intolerance of fools and hoodwinkers. I have become street wise. We came from Sydney as foreigners and not from Galle. Everything had been paid for, a new air conditioned taxi, English speaking guide cum driver (Anil Samarasinghe), all five star hotels. He wished to be addressed as Anil, as the full name might have been difficult for foreigners!!!! All old contacts had faded away, so there no contacts to re establish along the way.

 

          My wife Kamala, and I always travel together on any trip, mutual safety in health. Of course, somebody has to keep all documents safe and remember monitor and control cash flow!!!! Last but not least I had to show her all or as many of the places that I used to boast to her about and relate them to the endless nostalgic stories that she had to put up from me for the last forty five years. There is a Tamil movie love song on the lines of a “Nan parthathellam nee parka vendum, nan ketta thellam nee ketka vendum”. Loosely translated “I want you to see all what I have seen, I want you to listen to all what I have listened” In short “I want you to share all my experiences”  It’s a very touching melody from a love struck soul. Perhaps the sentimental slob hiding in me was trying to surface.

             Anil met us at Katunayake airport. The copies of the itinerary were checked and we proceeded. He referred to his many earlier clients from Australia I mentioned that we will be stopping for a while at St Anthony’s Church in Kochikade. 

Eyebrows were raised but he made no comment. In the early twentieth century the Indians from the west coast, Kerala, mostly from Cochin/Kochin settled in that area as traders and as most were Catholics, they built St Anthony’s Church to cater to their spiritual needs and today it’s called Kochikade. We stopped over, candles were lit, offerings were done, thanks were given and we carried on to Hotel Ramada for the night. On the way we stopped for a thambili (king coconut) drink and suddenly Anil heard me talking to the lady in Sinhalese. Then I was forced to confess that I was originally from Galle. It suited him too, as whenever he fell compromised in his explanations in English, he swapped to ‘swabasha’. He almost gave up as a guide, as my knowledge and explanations to my wife were more accurate.

 

At the Bodhi in Kalutura, Sammadhan (money collection as offerings) was put into the till. Next stop was Galle.

 

     

In Galle we went to the Sivan Temple opposite the Vihara Maha Devi Park. Waves of nostalgia swept over me. The memories of the many temple functions I had visited along with my parents, came flooding back. Renovation and extra spires had been added, perhaps as a token of thanks; because that temple was spared during the tsunami whereas the adjoining ‘looney bin’ had been wiped out.

From there just across, climbing Mount Calvary we genuflected in front of ‘Our Lady of Fatima’ and entered St Mary’s Church. My wife knelt and an earnest prayer was said, perhaps a ‘thanks’ to all the good things we had been blessed with in life. 

The church was  the same but seemed smaller than what was in my memory. Memory plays tricks often! Into the St Aloysius’ College Chapel, we went after we genuflected and dipped into the receptacle of holy water. It was very distressing to see that except the crucifix most icons were not there.

 

          We left for Matara but Anil vetoed our going to Devundera.   On our way we found that anglicised Tangalle had gone back to the correct name, Thangalla

 

          As soon as we crossed the Ambalantota bridge, I asked Anil about the Deiyange rata part, he smiled and said,” Oi adhahas dhan kavuruth vishvasa karana nay, sir”  - “ Nobody believes in those idea any more, sir”. That explained both faith and superstition. I looked forward to the dhansalas but there were none.

 

         

We just by passed Tissa lake where hordes of people were picnicking, and where the previous week some young fellows had been drowned.  Anil, the philosopher,  promptly said “Dan kale tharuna katti Kataragamata enne Deiyanta seva karanna nevey, kelloth ekka sellan karanna vitharai, mehama thamai venney itthin” - “Now days youngsters do not come to Kataragama to pray to the deity but to have fun with the girls. Then this is what will happen ”

Kataragama is full of five-star  hotels and we checked into Mandara Rosen, a fantastic place of absolute comfort and with local architectural lines. We agreed to meet the next morning for the Poojas, and Anil retired to the “guides’ hostel”.

 

          The morning bath was in the hotel and not the traditional dip in the Menik Ganga. Kataragama has been converted into a ‘Holy City’ There were no bramble bushes, thorns or pebbles but the ground was still very hot. There were no shops inside, no choultries. All the vattis had to be purchased on the other side of the bank, each costing a minimum of Rs500/= which had originally cost only Rs5/= The swinging romantic suspension bridge was no more there. The kid in me felt sad, in its place a standard bridge had been built.  

As we entered the temple complex, Anil  told us about the history of the temple. Anyway I had been to Kataragama at least thrice a year for over 25 years and I didn’t need a guide and he realised it soon. 

The Kapurale accepted our vattis at the Murugan Devale and we got the customary prasad and we worshipped also at the Vinayaka Temple. 

There was a Dharga or mosque too in the holy city which we had to visit. 

Then we trekked to Kiri Vehera where lotus flowers were offered and we repeated after Anil in Pali, which amounted to something like

’Even as these flowers do fade,  my body marches towards a state of destruction’ . It was a Poya day and there marched in single file hundreds of ladies in white carrying vattis loaded with lotus flowers and arecanut sheafs and flowers, chanting ‘Sadhu, Sadhu”. 

Then we drove up to the Vinayaka Temple in Sella  Kataragama, a distance of four miles. Almost a complete renovation of the Vinayakar shrine had been done; there was also a Buddhist Temple up on the hill next to it. and Those days it was a walking track with spines and cobble stones.  We had to skip Kathira Malai(Hill) now renamed Vadihitti Kanda.  Standing on the bank & feeding the fish in the Menik Ganga was a ritual before our return to the hotel. The next morning we set out for Nuwara Eliya (City of Light).  

 

         

Sita Eliya was a mandatory stop where the Temple had become much bigger, been renovated and  newly painted. On the opposite side was a tiny waterfall called Ravana’s cut, never seemed to recall it earlier. Nuwara Eliya was a night’s stop, the day time was spent trying to locate the Parish House where I had been resuscitated from hypothermia as an infant. I failed to locate it.

 

         

Nuwara(Kandy) - the city,  beckoned us. From our hotel, the Dalada Maligawa and the lake were a beautiful sight, spread out below us. There was a long queue to enter the ‘Sanctum sanctorum’ . The place was so beautiful and we offered our flowers and prayers at the place where the ‘Exposition of the Tooth Relic”  was supposed to be. There was an air of calm and peace inside the temple and outside. The tranquil lake with the scalloped boundary wall around added to the mood. The frescoes inside the temple wall related how an Indian Princess had smuggled the tooth relic into Lanka, concealed in her tresses.

 

          Then the next day, it was off to Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa. Lots of the dagobas seemed to have undergone renovation. Everything was more orderly and no question of anybody trying to sleep at the foot of the structure. 

The Ruwan Vali Saaya had its quota of renovation. Standing under the Mahabodhi’s spreading branches and foliage could make anybody feel a sense of awe. 

To think we were standing directly under the very first Bo sapling that Sangamitta brought, made us feel part of history.

In the grounds of the Temple were Hindu Temples to Patthini and Vishnu. In Anuradhapura amongst the temples we saw a newly built Hindu Temple, which was a symbol of harmony.

 

         

We arrived in Dambulla and were put up in a beautiful cottage alongside the lake. Of course we never bargained for the millions of mosquitoes that came swarming in at night and nearly bled us to anaemic levels.  Before the climb starts, there was a giant Bodhisatva statue towards which there were statues of about a hundred yellow robed monks approaching in single file. The climb has never changed. Now I realised how my parents felt when they climbed up the rugged, irregular stone steps. But once up there, the history and faith was overwhelming. There were Buddha statues, Vishnu statues and Murugan statues all inside the cave temples.  The low ceiling made us claustrophobic. The descent was treacherous. My hips were complaining, my knees were creaking, my ankles were starting to ache. Anyway faith and determination brought us down in one piece.

 

         

The climb to Sigiriya between the paws of the lion was in no way less difficult. As we started one ‘guide’, asked us “Shall I come and hold you for the whole journey. Only ten dollars.” When I said that I was not interested he told his friend, “Giya sumaane mey vage kattiyak avilla, ganiyek vatilla maruna. Adha mey katti venna puluvan”  (“Last week there was a group like this and a lady from that group fell to her death. Maybe it will happen to this group this time”). I was forced to retort “ Mehema kataakaranna ekkenage diva kunu vela vattenath puluvan” (The tongue of the person who says that may also rot and fall off”). In sheer shock he looked at me, held my hands and said “Aney sir, sama venna” (Sir, pardon me”).With no grudges,  we parted. Anything was worth a trip up to Sigiriya. The place was a feat of engineering

 

          After such a tiring climb, we had to sleep over at the hotel, and next day started off for Colombo. At the airport, just before we parted he asked me “Prasnayak ahanndah, sir?” (Can I ask you a question, sir?“) As I nodded assent he continued, “Sir Catholica Aagame palliya giya, Katargamata giya, Galle Kovilata giya, Pansalata giya, Katargame Muslim Dhargavata giya. Serta, agamak naddha?” (“Sir, you went to the Catholic church, went to Kataragama, visited the Galle Kovil, went to the Pansala and to the Muslim Dharga. Haven’t you got any religeon?“) I told him “Anil, venasak nay, hamoma ekkai”(“Anil there is no difference, all are same”)

        

          The Vandanava 2012 was over. Though we had stayed with Anil for only about two weeks, an unusual bond had developed between us. We felt we were leaving behind a member of the family, not sure whether we’ll meet again. My wife enjoyed the trip and the holiday. Perhaps she understood the reason of my constant nostalgia. But then memories dim and  at the end of the day it’s the faith and the current feeling that it evokes, that matter. I wonder whether we’ll have the same emotional experience if we go on this same circuit again.