Archives

by Punyakante Wijenaike

Podi Singho went on looking at his thirteen year old granddaughter spreading red chillies on a mat to dry in the sun. In his mind she was Isabella Hamy, his own daughter who had died tragically, reborn as his grandchild.

The dry zone sun was strong and the constant wind was shaking the four ends of the mat. She placed four large rocks to weigh them down. He smiled to himself. Unlike Isabella Hamy, this girl had a balanced head on her shoulders. No one could lead her astray.

He brought his mind back to the present from the past. At the moment the granddaughter had no school, After the last terrorist attack on the village the school had been closed down. He sighed. Always, always when things were beginning to look up for his family some ruly obstacle raised its head. It must have been his karmic force following him.

Podi Singho lay in a kind of wooden cot nailed together by is son Upasena, to hold his feeble old bones.

Forty years ago he had been a virile young farmer immigrating to this dry zone in search of a new life, leaving his bitterness in his home village. All he had wanted was a piece of land to call his own. He and Sellohamy and this one son, Upasena, then unmarried, rode in a cart to this new pasture, his few pots and pans, rattling away. He had not felt sorry to leave green fertile land as they had caused him such heartache. Even though this new land was dry and hard it was his own through the colonisation scheme. He saw the jungle as King. But a King who would yield to axe and knife and fire. He had been like some of the trees that raised naked branches to the sky in an appeal. And the giant water tanks built by his own Kings of the past, stood by to irrigate his new land pulled out of the jungle.

Ah! But the beginning had been hard! Each man was given three acres of low lying land for cultivation and three acres of high land to build himself a home. In the beginning Sellohamy, his young son and he lived in a temporary hut with a straw roof. Now he looked proudly at his home of brick and tile. Two rooms and a sitting out area with a small kitchen at the back. The walls were plastered and painted with white colour wash. Yes, he had come a long way from the unhappy past to take root in this new soil.

In the early years the nights he had lain with his Sellohamy made up for his hard toil. The virgin jungle had not yielded easily like his Sellohamy. And often he had been compelled to sleep away from her on tree tops singing all night to scare away wild beasts. He was glad when his son grew up to take his place on the tree-tops leaving him sleep with his woman....

Memory brought hot tears to his old eyes. His Sellohamy who had been soft and gentle as newly turned earth lying below him, had been killed by a terrorist's bullet. With Sellohamy gone it was as if the earth had moved away from him.

Yes, now it was not wild beasts they had to guard against but wild men in dark clothes armed with guns and knives crawling out of the jungle. The 'tigers' they called themselves and came to drive him from his own land claiming it as theirs by right. He closed his eyes against the bright sun. As long as the sun shone they wee safe. But when the sun set and darkness fell...

Suddenly he sat up straight holding his gun with both hands. He had opted to be one of the few home guards. He would kill and kill to protect his land and his family....

He would never permit his family to leave this land and go into a refugee camp leaning, once more, on the charity of others. He, Podi Singho, had once learnt on the kindness of others in his youth and it had not got him his land...

Was this land not theirs? Was it not written in his name? Had he not fought a hard battle with the jungle to make it his own? How could men in dark clothes come out of the jungle and claim it as theirs? Had he no rights at all?

His granddaughter stopped spreading chillies in the sun. She joined her sixteen year old brother who was kicking a foot ball hard against the trunk of a tree.

'Darpaka what did father decide to do?' asked Ranga the boy.

'Grandfather will be happy. I don't think we are moving to the camp', said Darpaka.

'Poor Seeya', said Ranga with feeling. 'He would rather die than abandon his land.'

Darpaka felt like his grandfather. The moment he turned eighteen he would join the army. Every so often an army truck would pass through the village filled with soldiers waving bravely. Some threw him sweets. Recently they had become less. The Ceasefire was on.

'Here Malli catch the ball!'

'I won't become a farmer', he said slowly. 'Even if the war ceases I will become a soldier.'

'Then who will look after grandfather's land after father dies?' teased Darpaka.

The girl, out of sudden sympathy went near the old man in the cot.

'When is your school starting?' asked Podi Singho. He was glad of his granddaughter's presence. Made him think and feel less.

'Soon grandfather, very soon'.

Podi Singho stared at her. 'Has no one been killed then, no one killed recently in the village?'

'No, grandfather.'

'Where has your father gone?'

'He has gone to the well to take a bath'.

'But shouldn't he be working in the fields? Why take a bath so early? I would work till sun down'.

Darpaka exchanged looks with her brother.

'Father has gone to the boutique to buy rice', said Ranga.

'Buy rice?' said Podi Singho 'Since when does a farmer with rice fields buy rice?'

'The fields are lying fallow now grandfather', said Darpaka.

Podi Singho got excited. 'Even when they lay fallow we had rice. The harvests were always good'.

'This time half the land was burnt by the men in black', reminded Ranga.

'He...never told him...the fields were torched', said Podi Singho brokenly.

Upsena returned and squatted near his father.

He knew there was limit to the sorrow the old man could stand. So he said quickly: 'Father there is a Ceasefire on. They are hoping the war will end soon. Then we won't be threatened by terrorists again. We can wait a little longer before deciding to join a refugee camp. We can wait and hope things will be all right and maybe we can keep our land'.

Inside the house Darpaka poured the remaining tea into two cups and took them out to her father and grandfather.

The two men began to sip their weak tea. Suddenly Podi Singho's hand trembled and he let go of the gun. The tea spilled onto his sarong.

Long tears began to course down his withered cheek. He knew then, without words being spoken, that his dream had not ended. That life still held hope....

Punyakante Wijenaike's first novel 'The waiting Earth' which is a supplementary reader for the Advanced Level Students tell the story of Podi Singho and his family. This story is like a sequel to the novel which narrates the finale of Podi Sinho's life.

News | Business | Features | Editorial | Security
Politics | World | Letters | Sports | Obituaries |

Produced by Lake House
Copyright 2001 The Associated Newspapers of Ceylon Ltd.
Comments and suggestions to :Web Manager