Oh river, remember
As I observe my father curled up in bed, returning to his original foetus position, his sarong folded over his knees, revealing thin limbs, wasted through time, I allow myself no emotion and quietly let my mind go back to another place, another time.
On March 28 he was still another year older. As he journeys forward in age, I retreat into my souvenirs of childhood, of my home country which I left as a young woman of twenty to go to university, remembering holidays in my Grandfather’s holiday bungalow Claremont in Nuwara Eliya, of circuit bungalows – Diyatalawe, Ohiya, Palavi near Chilaw and of course Minipe – Mahiyangana, recalling the period at which he was attached to the Land Commission, where he met with the village heads in Gurulupotha, including the Veddha chiefs of Mahiyangana.
Despite his melancholy gaze, a smile hovers over his aged face in response to the kind words of his entourage, my mother’s devotion, my elder sister’s firm but gentle persuation to join in old, familiar hymns, and the care of the wellknown household staff, knowing him from better days – soft talk, soothing, reassuring.
I return to Gurulupotha, stop in front of the former Land Commission bungalows. Suddenly it’s no more the woman that gingerly gropes down the stony path but the child in a pinafore, goat- footed, impish, defying her mother’s instructions, bathing more than the recommended 50 bowlsful of water in the cool, running stream, shivering with the first bout of tonsilitis at the age of five. Today I accept a helping hand, my sandalled feet stray from pebble to pebble, over sharp stones, crackle over dry leaves, and brush aside green caterpillars on the way to the water.
Happy and at peace, I contemplate the river once again, that clear, limpid ribbon, revealing black pebbles, translucid fish, beige sand at the bottom. I hear the water run, rush, rise to a crescendo from under the forgotten bridge, even as we pass in front of the haunt we occupied just the day before the accident, when we were nearly ejected from the car and into the precipice due to skidding caused by a patch of oil.
I recall playing hopscotch between the house and the river, observing insects before they disappeared into their night shelter, tossing a coin on the back of my hand, playing shadows with my elder sister and Alice Menike, our helper originating from that district. Then there was mealtime: Martin the cook’s special dish of boiled and stirfried eggcurry, so typical of circuit bungalows and resthouses, the last vestige of British tradition.
Alice Menike would stay with her family for some time while we usually returned to Kandy taking care to pack my favourite cushion, the ‘Asa Kotte’ and the jar containing that unique river prawn from Gurulupotha in my father’s old seagreen Peugeot 203, the car we had before the accident on the Badulla road. Then the country produce- the manioc, sweet potato, freshly picked corn from the area and the bees’ honey from the Veddha tribe followed.
The young man from the Land Dept circuit bungalow is curious but kind. How long ago were we in the district, he wishes to know. I feel a little confused, which bungalow did we occupy, the one on the upper slope or the one closer to the river with the ramshackle staircase on the right hand side, leading to the river? The photo that I take back to Colombo would surely put the questioning to end.
People travel, time travels. Today I’m here, in the Central Province of Sri Lanka, in my father’s old Kachcheri haunts a week before the return to my adoptive country. What could I take back for my parents now in Colombo, ever since my father completed his adminstrative career in Mogadiso, Somalia in 1979. I could try to capture the moment with a photo of the river. I could record the sound of the water for him to lean forward and listen to.. Should I take back a leaf from a tree, for the knowledge of nature acquired while clambering through the bluetinted forests of Pine, Teak, Mahagony and Eucalyptus during the Timber Corporation days? One from the Eucalyptus tree, Mahagony tree for each of the Ministries, he worked in?
Should I place a Eucalyptus leaf in front of his chair and watch closely, so that with my mother we could see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes?