Sunburnt Home - an Australian-Sri Lankan novel

Chapter 28: 'My lost heritage'

By Sunil GOVINNAGE

As the large passenger jet with Singapore airline logo painted on the trunk touched down the Bandaranayaike International Airport, Jayadeva desired to have a quick glimpse of his native country. The plane was shaking before touching down and the darkness outside made the images unclear despite Jayadeva’s longing to see the landmarks on ground before arrival.

It was a sudden decision to visit the funeral of Prasana who had died in a Colombo hospital according to the email he had received from Rasika, who not only forwarded the funeral arrangements of an old friend, but had added a few lines giving his opinion of Prassana’s untimely death due to complications of diabetics and kidney failure.

Jayadeva had not seen Prasaana since their re-union of ‘77 engineering batch-mateswho met at a tourist resort in Kalutara. That was almost a decade ago. His links with Prasanna was only through occasional emails and other Australian rumours and gossips he received through networks of old university friends who now live in Sydney,Melbourne, Brisbane and Darwin.

Jayadeva tried to recall the bits of information about Perdeniya life now recorded in blogs and other internet-based informationsources that sometimes captured Prasanna’s life and work. But all the bits of information was blurred and vague like the environment outside. Everything was unclear and had changed. Of various information that reached Jayadeva, what remained like a stone pillar was Prasanna’s project on ‘glory of the past’focusing on a documentary on Anuradhapura and Pollonnaruwa periods of Sri Lanka’s history.

Like the flashing lights outside the runway to the terminal, Jayadeva recalled an email from the Melbourne-based Rasika who circulated some Sri Lankan gossips onParana’s heavy drinking habits.That news reached Jayadeva last year. It was a startling revelation as Prasaana was a teetotaller during his student days as an active member of university Buddhist society. Jayadeva could not recall whether Prasanna was drunk at the re-union party that was held two years before his migration to Australia.

Past was always an undefined shadow that dissipated into an unreachable universe.

Having had his quota of disappointments about life and living in Australia, Jayadeva had a deep respect for Prasanna for his decision to stay behind in Sri Lanka, and in particular on his work on the glory of the past to share information on the lost civilization of Anuradhapura and Pollonnaruwa. Jayadeva was eagerly waiting to receive a copy of the documentary to share with his two children who have grown up like blue gum trees in Perth with less knowledge of parent’s heritage including the history of the country. As Jayadeva had realised, Australian education system had almost zero information on Sri Lanka, except projecting it as a country ravaged by a civil war and labelled as a Third World country as he once read in a social science reference book used by Sunitha.

Jayadeva cursed himself for coming back to Sri Lanka suddenly, as he was unsure why he wanted to attend Prasanna’s funeral to be held in Anuradhapura in two days’ time.

The night outside Katunayake airport was thick as kaludodol and humidity walls came in waves and covered him. Jayadeva thought of cold winter weather,back in Perth, which he normally hated, but now as a friend when he experienced the humidity ashe arrived at the passage way to get into the hiring car that he booked via online only seventy two hours ago.

His decision to attend Prassana’s funeral was sudden, and he was still unsure why he came having received a sermon from Malini for attending a funeral of a person whom he didn’t closely associate for over ten years. But there was an unexplainable attraction for Jayadeva to attend the funeral as an excuse to find out and explore a bit more not only about Prasanna’s work on the lost glory of the past, but also about himself. Jayadeva was also curious to understand what kept Prasanna in Sri Lanka unlike most of his university friends who had departed the country under the disguise of civil war and giving children a better education.

The driver came with a sign with his name in English, and the word AUSTRALIA. As soon as Jayadeva sat in the back seat comfortably, the driver was inquisitive about a Sri Lankan going to a tourist hotel in a hiring car in the midst of the night.

The driver asked in Sinhala whether he was from Anuradhapura.

Jayadeva was sleepy and didn’t want to engage in a conversation with a stranger explaining the purpose of his trip, but the Sri Lankan driver was not only inquisitive but persuasive. After all, any visitor whether Sinhala or Tamil who wanted to travel towards a mid-way to the north of the island could be a suspicious personespecially when they travel beyond Anuradhapura.

Jayadeva lowered the windows of the car to breath fresh air, but he smelt waves of salty air that came from the pulverised lagoon next to the airport.

Jayadeva replied in Sinhala to explain the purpose of his visit by telling a white lie. “Ne mama Kalutara, Mage hondama yaluwage mala gamatai yanne. Eyage gama Anuradha pure”

“No I’m from Kalutara and I’m going to my best friend’s funeral. He is from Anuradhapura.”

But the driver had more questions, and Jayadeva had to entertain him just to keep himself awake until they reached Ambepussa.

There were several check points and army soldier scuriously asked questions why Jayadeva didn’t have his Sri Lankan national identity card. But his Australian passport and eloquent Sinhala quenched fears and curiosity of the security people who were guarding their country.

Jayadeva asked the driver whether President Kumarasinghe would be able to end the war.

Jayadeva could feel the vicious words of the driver about the attitude of the people. About the rulers and continuous attacks on civilians even in the scared area now heavily guarded by security forces.

As the first sun rays touched the Ruwanweliseya, the driver managed to bring the car safely to the hotel run by the Tourist Board that was located adjacent to the scared city.

****

Jayadeva was unsure of the time when he woke up. The Perth time in his wrist watch indicated 2.30pm but he had realised that it was only mid-day in Sri Lanka. As he came out of the air-conditioned room Jayadeva was surrounded again by unfamiliar humidity walls which were a part of his normal life in Sri Lanka.

Having consumed a large plate of rice with fried local fish and a few hot curries, he contacted one of his junior officers' in his old office in Kalaweva.

“As soon as the man realised that Jayadeva had come to attend a funeral in Anuradhapura and staying at a tourist hotel, his former subordinate’s reaction was something he expected.

“Sir, you came all the way to a funeral in Anuradhapura! If you told me we’d have arranged our circuit Bungalow, no?”

“No I didn’t want to trouble anyone and it was a quick decision.” Jayadeva attempted to explain the reason for his sudden visit.”

“Sir then, the dead person must be a close relative!”

Jayadeva kept his responses to a minimum as he regretted contacting his old office person for a chat.

Jayadeva went towards the main road and walked along the path leading to the Ruwanweli Chethiya.

The sacred area was once a part of their life when he worked in the Mahaweli and he recalled bringing Asela when he was just three months to fulfil a vow by his mother to the scared bo-tree for the safe birth of the second grandchild.

As he walked towards the gigantic dagoba, its mere size mesmerised his eyes. As he got closer to the temple, a woman came after him and asked his hands to tell an astrological prediction.

She was one of the many Malayalam women who stayed around to prey on people for money by predicting things people like to hear.

The woman chased him when he walked fast to avoid her.

“Sir, please don’t go away, and show me your hands.” Like a strange magical charm he stopped and showed his right hand to the woman.

“Sir, you are here on your own and your mind is all over, like a kite in the sky without a string. You have a very long life, Sir! At least 92, or 95 years without any problems. According to this hand, you will leave the country soon…”

Despite the news of his long life expectancy, Jayadeva knew by intuition that these are standard lines these women tell every person who are foolish enough to show their palms to these women who make a living by predicting the future of others but still living impoverishly.

Jayadeva pulled a five hundred rupee note and gave it to the woman and continued his journey towards the pagoda.

Despite the rising sun and humidity, devotees and pilgrims from all walks of life were chanting gathas and circumnavigated the dagaba, and Jayadeva raised his hands and followed them, as if he was a needle attracted to a magnet.

Having taken a few steps with the rest of the people, he felt as if he had been turned back through a passage of history, and had once again become a devoted Sinhala Buddhist leaving behind his Australian life. As he chanted the gathas like the rest, he felt as if the humidity he could not tolerate on arrival as normal, and once again had become a normal part of his life.

The cold Australian winter was an ephemeral dream and only affected those who lived in a faraway land.

He realised that this weather was a part of a creative climate that encouraged his ancestors and those who ruled the country to leave behind a glorious and mysterious civilisation, and the Ruwan Weli Dagaba was only a one part of his history.

All of a sudden it struck him that he had done this journey as a child and also during his early teenage years with his parents; a tradition that he had failed to continue on behalf of his children due to his diasporic life in Australia.

(To be continued)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

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