Jaffna in those halcyon days

A personal vignette by Roger Thiedeman

One of Sri Lanka's ancient names was 'Serendib'. That musical name has also enriched the English language with a delightful word: 'serendipity'. Defined in dictionaries as the faculty of making unexpected and happy discoveries by accident, it nicely sums up one of my happier experiences in Sri Lanka over two decades ago.

It happened in 1978, when I returned to my native land for the first time since emigrating to Australia six years earlier. I had long nurtured a desire to see Jaffna, a part of Sri Lanka that had eluded me in my previous travels around the island. So, one morning when the opportunity presented itself, I boarded Air Ceylon's Avro 748 for a flight up north.

I was privileged to travel in the cockpit. After a brief stop at China Bay, I watched spellbound as the Jaffna peninsula's distinct outline began to dominate the horizon. From my vantage point up front, I had clear views of the Elephant Pass salt pans and the rich, red soil of the region (nowadays, alas, running redder still with the blood of Sri Lanka's youth). No geography lesson or textbook could have given me a better appreciation of the rugged beauty in that part of the world.

Upon landing at Palaly, the two pilots insisted I joined them for breakfast at the airport canteen. Stringhoppers, hodhi, parippu and ulundu vadai never tasted more delicious! Then, climbing into one of Jaffna's ubiquitous Austin A40 hiring cars, I was transported to town by two jovial gents. They were clearly pleased that I had chosen to visit their city.

After checking into the Subhas Hotel, I changed into T-shirt and shorts and headed for Casuarina Beach, Karainagar. Despite unfamiliarity with the Tamil language, I had no problem finding my way there. Friendly and helpful strangers ensured I boarded the right bus, then told the conductor where to drop me off. When I alighted from the vehicle, another kindly young lad - maybe 13 or 14 years old - offered to show me the path to the beach, going at least a mile out of his way in the process. I often ponder that boy's fate, in the context of today's conflict.

Soon, I was luxuriating in the warm waters off Karainagar. Sitting on the sandy floor submerged up to my neck, scarcely a ripple disturbed the sea around me. Gentle breezes sighed through the branches of tall casuarina trees lining the beach. As a benign sun beamed down, I reflected that this was as close to heaven as one could get on earth.

At first the beach was almost deserted. Only another six or seven people lazed on the sands, or in the water, to either side of me. But the population of Casuarina Beach suddenly swelled fourfold when an ancient Chevrolet private bus pulled up nearby.

Out of it spilled a throng of happy, laughing Sri Lankans - men, women and children of varying ages, and a boisterous dog. They lost no time racing for the water, clad in an assortment of bathing costumes: swimming trunks, one- and two-piece ladies' outfits, even diya-reddas. A couple of tots plunged in naked.

It was quickly apparent that their lingua franca was English, as they excitedly chattered and called out to one another. So, when some of the menfolk floated in my direction, I decided to engage them in conversation. Solitude is fine, but only up to a point!

I discovered they were a party of friends - Sinhalese and Burgher - from different parts of Sri Lanka, holidaying in Jaffna as guests of other friends, a Tamil family, who had also accompanied them to the beach. Suddenly, while I was introducing myself to this carefree, racially integrated group, a middle-aged lady perked up with obvious interest.

"Did you say your name was Roger Thiedeman?" she asked. I replied in the affirmative.

"Are you Noeline's son?" she asked again. Another "yes" from me.

"Why, your mother and I were good friends at the Wellawatte Methodist Sunday School!" shrieked the lady. Flinging her arms around my neck, she planted a kiss on my cheek and announced: "I carried this man when he was just a baby!"

Several weeks later in Australia, my mother's joyous disbelief exceeded my own when I told her how I met her old friend, right out of the blue, on a remote beach in northern Sri Lanka. This was indeed serendipity personified!

Back at Karainagar, the holidaymakers welcomed me into their midst. Waving aside my feeble protestations, they shared their picnic lunch with me. For the second time that day a stringhopper feed with all the trimmings really hit the spot. Later, after more chatting, basking and sea-bathing, then watching a glorious sunset, we all piled into the boneshaker bus and rattled our way back to Jaffna.

But my day with those lovely people was far from over. The Tamil family invited me to join them at home, with the rest of the gang, for dinner. And the meal? What more authentic Jaffna fare than thosai with the works?

Finally bidding farewell to my charming hosts on that warm night in August 1978, I mused that the world - Sri Lanka in particular - would be a better place if all races could mix as happily as did those friends.

Perhaps I had a foreboding of things to come. Less than three weeks after that Air Ceylon Avro returned me to Colombo, it was destroyed by a bomb at Ratmalana airport, fortunately without loss of life or limb. It was one of the earliest blows in the tragic war that festers to this day.

Which makes me grateful for having had the opportunity of visiting Jaffna in halcyon times, seeing its natural beauty, history and culture, and getting to know its people on their home turf. Sadly, I fear I will never be able to do that again.

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