Rajpal's Column

30th April 2000

Batticaloa: an unreally unique town

By Rajpal Abeynayake

When this writer did a similar pen-sketch of Jaffna after a three day tour a few years back, a senior writer complained that to hark back to images of Austin A 30's and bicycles was "not done'' after everything that town had been through. But, the inherent charms of a town dies with a conflict. Besides, its better to do a travel-sketch rather than a thesis after a three-day exposure to a troubled outpost.

It's a totally insensitive thing to say, but I am going to go ahead and say it. The conflict in Batticaloa probably imbues the town with a greater sense of romance than it already possesses. At least, certainly for the outsider.

A sense of angst hangs over the town and that's almost touchable, particularly in the outskirts where pockmarked buildings, legions of children and scores of troops add to the tableau.

But that's almost cliché, what you would have expected a columnist to write about Batticaloa in the first place.

What's really unique about Batticaloa is that it seems to thrive in a cauldron of extremes. Because men sit and talk about strife, war and danger all the time against a backdrop of riveting natural beauty and forgotten charm, Batticaloa seems to be pleasantly unreal.

The good thing is that all the prevailing angst has not deprived Batticaloa of its small pleasures such as the never-ending lagoon and the catacomb of roads. And the people. Though they definitely must give a damn, they don't seem to give a damn. Joseph Pararajasingham, the Member of Parliament for Batticaloa from the troubled TULF, is a good example because with his avuncular hail-fellow-well-met manner he seems to be a living contradiction that talks trouble, and lives well.

That's not to trivialize the troubles in Batticaloa but perhaps to say that somethings never change easily. As I said, this is the Batticaloa one sees on the surface.

But, Batticaloa is more interesting than any tourist resort that's hyped to the hilt. The conditions don't allow any of the people there to be artificial and that's probably one of the tricks.

The pristine charms of this Eastern town have rarely been molested and that goes for the heavenly beaches of Pasikudah and Kalkudah, the churches and the taverns in the town. The war, on the other hand, seems to have added to Batticaloa's character.

There are dozens of inconveniences for the town wallah, such as sudden water cuts in the hotel in a boys hostel where we lodged, a scarcity of a good brew, night curfews and a seemingly endless row of checkpoints.

But Batticaloa mocks life in that Sinhala soldiers swap stories oblivious to a seemingly alien Tamilness all around them and Tamil children go about as if it was all in a days work. Sinhala is spoken in Batticaloa in certain cocoons and cells which are almost always checkpoints.

A Brigadier talks to us and says he has won hearts and minds, but other realities abound and co-exist with this. Sizzling sands at refugee camps make them unlivable, but the people who sleep ten to a hut say they are quite glad they are in these little hell holes and not dead. In a time warp, fishermen clout freshly caught crabs to stun them, even as we hear that Elephant Pass has fallen. There is talk and more talk over prawns and rotti after that piece of news. I said I am not going to be in-depth.

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