When crows cawed and place names changed

Place names or more explicitly the urge to change them is one of our latest fetishes. The lists sent via the wizardly email if straightened out would run to miles. Bless those who send them propelled not only by cyber mechanisms but by the bloated pride of belonging to the race of the Lion. Trying to fall in line I try to get my blood boiled over the change of Sinhala names of villages into Tamil after the shift of population but as usual the curse of doubt enters me.

I will never cut a genuine figure in an aggressive procession calling for a return of these names to the original. I will be thinking of the frustrating turmoil the men and women of these villages will face under such alterations. Poor souls.

They were never a party to all that gigantic confusion and destructive melee. Victims of circumstance, they were. Why make them suffer further? And my random readings throw up this piece by an Army General.

"I hate wars. Wars are started by big men who push small boys (young lambs?) to the fore. Small boys finally get killed while the big men thrive on war gains or disappear themselves.

From such unwanted ruminations, I try to get back into a world quite distant from the magic boxes. Those were the days of "pastoral innocence" of non -sophistication. Then one's reading and" hearing " material included tales like The Crow Language/ Kaputu bhashawa.

Foolish kings

These tales were unpretentiously studded with pompous and foolish kings, with massive trees where birds held assembly and spoke to each other, where grandmothers sat on the doorstep with their grandsons waiting one day for a windfall, where bare torsoed and vermillion sashed Ana bera karayas or the couriers from the Royal Court beat their drums and issued orders, some sound, some just rotten. But coming from the king's mouth they had to be obeyed.

Now to the story from that preamble. There once lived a provincial king in the resplendent isle of Lanka. He thought he was the greatest. Yet sometimes when he was not very sure of it, his psyche tottering, he would ask the courtiers around him, "Who is the greatest in this country?" The overlord of the country lived far away and the courtiers, sure he could not hear them would chorus, "You,Your Majesty".

His Majesty was full of whims and one day the Royal Court was held under the skies in bright sunshine and the Q and A session began just as the courtiers were singing You are the Greatest: A crow flying overhead did the dirty on royal head and flew away. The black and white stuff trailed down his royal highness' face leading to a few sniggers too.

Problem

The king was infuriated and ordered the crow impaled. That led to a big problem. How can a crow be identified when they all look the same as some human races do. Even those humans who look alike have some distinguishing marks like birthmarks, gold teeth, hairy ears and wobbly walk. Dress identification too is difficult as crows rarely wear red T-shirts or yellow stockings. The king aware of the problem offered a 1000 Masuran for the one who succeeded in the challenging task of identifying the criminal crow.

At this time there lived in a suburb of the city where the king ruled an old woman and her orphaned grandchild. Needless to say they were down and out always wondering where the next meal would come from. But the old woman was very alert, intelligent and mindful of her Munupura's future. On her land was a huge tree on which crows of the area held their assembly every other evening. They would get together and make a loud and raucous caw-caw din.

"Listen, son. They are speaking to each other. They are discussing some problems and issues".

The Munupura dutifully listened and very soon was adept in the crow language. "Go on " commanded the old dame,""It will come handy to you one day. Any segment of knowledge gained will always come in handy, son".

Announcement

Very soon an Ana Bera Karaya passed by beating on his drum. He was red-sashed, his top bare. The grandmother and boy watched entranced as he made the announcement.

"Thousand Masuran (gold coins) to the one who identifies the crow who did the dirty on His Majesty's head".

The boy bided his time sharpening his knowledge of the crow language. He gave a very alert ear to the Crow assemblies held by about 100 crows who stood on different twigs and branches of the large tree.

One evening flew a crow who went right ahead and deposited himself on top of the tree. None of the other crows had ever seen him before. Despising the arrogant behaviour, one asked, "Who are you that you fly above all of us and deposit yourself right on top?"

" I am the greatest of crows", the visitor announced.

"How come?"

"I am the one who did the dirty on the greatest on this Land".. The rest of the story you can imagine. The boy, now adept in crow language hurried to the village elders and in a matter of an hour the impudent crow was caught and brought to the presence of the king and impaled (Ula thibba).

Salutary message

From that day this village was known as Kauda Ulla, the village where the crow was impaled. All our old folk tales are said to carry a salutary message. I am not clear as to what specific message this story contains. It could be a hotch -potch of many messages Knowledge in any form helps one; best policy in some circumstances is to keep your trap shut. Vanity is dangerous.

An overall conclusion is that many of our place names have a specific origin by way of a legend or a historical episode or a geographical feature. Or even a notable inhabitant. The long list of place names gathered, once Sinhala and now Tamilicised too is a problem now.

Over the years they have been changed mainly to adapt to the pronouncement patterns of the Tamils. Even where they changed deliberately to spite the Sinhalese it was not the ordinary man who did it but those intent on sowing seeds of discord.

Changing them now would erupt in another bout of offended mentality unless the dwellers themselves opt for the change. Feeding rancour at the mere change of a name-it is not worth it. But to be aware of the former names and the backgrounds that spawned the names is adding to one's knowledge. That is what the granny at Kaudaulla taught her son, that knowledge in any form is useful.

I decide to go through the long lists of changed village names of Lanka, again. They are mostly in the North and East.

They are nothing but tell-tale marks of the political transformations the island was subject to including the war path of Tamil militants.

However, changing them is better done with the concurrence of the denizens. It is not a matter of succumbing but a pattern of noble behaviour befitting the Lion race and that would contribute to healing wounds. Why scratch them and fester them? Finally, unhealed smelly wounds only help the maggots. Healed ones benefit everybody.

Coincidentally on the last night (January 29) on the mini screen I watched a group of students of Udella or Kaudaulla MV on the roads protesting on some issue.