Eclipse of Megawathi and Padmawathi

Padma Edirisinghe

What is in a name? Hackneyed question. Still more hackneyed is the adage that a rose smells sweet even under another name. Who tags on names? When is a name tagged on? Leaving out the broad sweep of answers, humans have their names tagged on to them when they are wearing their first set of nappies. Well. All cultures are not nappy-cultures.

Hence in the case of others, it is when the infant is still fumbling at his or her mother’s breast to sustain itself. Distraught mothers on hospital beds, fathers just bloated with pride that they have caused a new life to spring - these are usually the name-givers.

Let us forget the commercial name - giver who builds palaces out of the profession of tongue twisting names. Let us think only of the bloated parents who give names as Napoleon, Churchill, Maha Devi and Sarva Loka Rupani. They expect the tiny tot to conquer the world one day. That thinking pulsates behind the name which finally becomes a burden to the victim. His very name is a challenge.

I remember a former President asking a MP of the Trincomalee area who had been named Nelson to win the Battle of Trafagar for Sri Lanka. This battle was fought between the English and the French in the early decade of the 19th Century. I wonder what two parties the president had in mind since the LTTEs were not that active at this time.

He would have meant the two political parties still in a roaring battle as the Trafalgar one. The other Nelson of the West by the way was Lord Nelson, who while winning military plaudits had scandalised staid England by his many affairs. What activate parents to name their son after a British war hero (forget the womanising bit) or make the daughter the Beauty of the Whole Universe by name, is only left to baffling guesswork. Some become victims of their names.

Panti Nona, was a teacher trainee of mine in ancient or medieval days. The mother named her by a piece of underwear. But every time her name is called out in the students register she just cringes. So was the local Vedamahaththaya in my village. He had been named Satan but a more religious and decent one could not be found for miles. A popular song runs that Kapuruhamy, associated with fragrant camphor just stinks while Seelawathie, the deeply religious woman is noted for telling lies. Such is the paradox of names. Satyapala, too is a terrible liar.

That social stigmas get attached to names is almost superfluous to state. Some names go completely out of fashion. The Wathie piece in female names too is now subject to such disappearance though Megawathi of Indonesia, a powerful political figurehead still carries it like the very Megha. I remember a certain doctor approaching me to handle a piece on the genealogical history of his family.

All the data was brought. But there was a hitch in the bulky data material that had as the final motive, the establishment of a connection to the Kotte royal line. Most of the stuff sounded genuine though the family is now Christian which too fits into what happened to the prominent Kotte families later. The hitch was that there was running in and out of the chronicle a queen called Padma Jayaweera. Only Mrs. missing. “This name sounds bogus” I said “This kind of name comes into vogue only after the colonial period, the personal name preceding the surname. And queens do not carry surnames. One never hears of an Elizabeth Windsor”.

“No. Actually the original name is Padmawathie but my sister who helped me in compiling this stylised it”.

It was a familiar story. I remember once getting into a genealogy tracing mood myself and browsing through the Heena Thombu or the Thombu of the Siyane Korale at the Archives. I discovered here the data pertaining to both my grandfather and grandmother. In the family line of my grandmother was a Mannaperuma Mohottilage Jangi Nona akin to Panti Nona. I happened to get this fact into the press and was faced with a volcano of anger by a relative.

“Just because you have no daughters, you come out with some torrid facts in the press”.

“What torrid stuff?” I remember asking puzzled.

“Why to write that a Jangi Nona existed in our family line. No one would have bothered to check our family history. You could have easily changed that name to Jagathdevi or something grandiose like that. Now no decent person will marry from our family”, that had Jangi Nonas.

I told her not to bother about that since very few read newspapers, mostly dry matter as Thombus. Further I boasted that I survive in the press since I try to be truthful. And here is an instance of that.

This further illustrates the fact that very few can withstand changing social patterns that include the changing fashions in names. As a daughter of a headmaster, I used to trail behind him in my childhood attending every school he headed. Though in my book, “Widows world in the East” now selling fast in India where it was published I had advocated a kind of free state, where children’s lives need not be completely dominated by parents” activities. Yet I had never visualised a picture of me telling my father, just go round the country enjoying the scenery, I am going to stay put in the Western province where I was born and enjoy the plums of education. No. Never had the guts to make such a speech. Finally when he ended up in a school in a village that housed a monk who had the audacity to kill the country’s prime minister, I was given a new name by my new class master.

People develop instant likes and dislikes. He and I developed the latter for no apparent reason. Then came the roll - call. Last name called was Padmawathie. The name of the entrant that day, I sensed, for everybody looked at me. I sat there stone faced and not saying “Innawa” like the others had done. “You are the new girl. Why don’t you answer to your name?”

“That is not my name” I said rudely and then walked to my mother who was taking her first lesson in the new school. She like me had to join every school that father headed. Such is female slavery.

During this time in the vernacular schools all classes were held in one hall and they could rival fish markets by the noise and confusion. Many listened to the teacher with the loudest voice and not to the lesson in the classroom.

I informed her of my fall from fame or to put it less grandly my name - change. She promised to settle it adding some very uncomplimentary things about the school head’s mental state. And not softly either. Marriage knot was forgotten, by this assistant teacher, when it came to criticism.

She questioned the dictatorial name changer when we met for tea at the new quarters.

“What made you give to the register an incorrect name for Gem?”

“Ah. That is a small matter”. The mighty school head was trying to laugh it off.

“How can it be a small matter. The name in the register has to be same as one in the birth certificate”. She went on to query about his knowledge of such small matters.

But the headmaster had his alibi. His explanation was very noble making me just mad over him.

Daughters loving fathers and vice - versa. Sigmund Freud elaborates on it, if I remember correct...

“I did it with a motive that women cannot understand. I went through that class register and found all the girls to be Leelawathis, Pemawathis, Dayawathis, Gunawathis and so made up Gem’s name to match them. Gem acts swollen headed often. This would make her equal with them”.

But mother just scoffed. Never mind your democracy just change that name to the name in the birth certificate was the final command.

Meanwhile the class master was waiting to get rid of me and an opportunity soon arose. Into this village had fallen from somewhere a very extrovert gentleman who soon became pals with father. Name, Joseph, ethnicity, Tamil, religion Christianity. Finally it was he who suggested to father that I be admitted to an English medium school in Awissawella. English, he said, was in mad vogue. Well. An English school was sited very close. Father and I after consuming Kiri bathand Kavum just crossed the railway line and stood at the gate of this new school. Never would I forget the unexpected scene at the gate. Dear Mr. Joseph stood there in a theatrical posture holding a bouquet of lilies.

“Welcome, daughter, to a bright English education”.

My eyes filled with tears. I could have kissed and hugged him for his concern but our culture does not allow it even in the case of a 11 year old girl. As to who named Mr. Joseph so, is another issue.

Perhaps the Portuguese who converted Tamils in Jaffna too. I mean they would have given the name to his ancestor. The name is frequent around the Sea of Galilee where wandered Christ and his disciples. All the names of Christ’s followers are carried today by Sri Lankans.

Abraham. Peter, Francis, David, Joseph, Simon, Pius. Name - wise Sri Lanka is such a hotch-potch.