We take a holiday
THEATRE: After my dalliance with my good friend, my brother -
Somapala Hewakapuge - last week, let me get back to my regular
narrative.
After seeing two doctors and after getting their strict advice we
decided to take a holiday - mostly to get me out of the blues - or shall
I say to get me out of the ‘ices’.
When Mr. Martin Wickramasinghe [who had written a fine review of
‘Apata Puthe’ and later included it in his book ‘Sinhala Natyaya ha
Sandakinduruwa, published in 1970] heard that I was ill he called us and
kindly offered his holiday bungalow at Bandarawela for me to recuperate
“You can have a nice, quiet holiday there.
There is a bungalow keeper. He will help you with the cooking too,”
said Mr. Wickramasinghe to Manel.
A couple of days later, we took leave from our offices and took train
to Bandarawela. I obtained free railway warrants from my office, for the
journey. If I remember right, we took the night mail to Badulla which
has sleeping berths and arrived in Bandarawela early in the morning.
Of course those days train rides were far more comfortable and
enjoyable than now and we enjoyed the ride. My good friend at
Bandarawela, T.G. Sumanapala met us at the station and took us to Mr.
Wickramasinghe’s holiday bungalow. It was situated at the bottom of a
hill - rather far removed from any other houses.
It would have been an ideal place for a quiet, undisturbed holiday if
I had not been suffering from the phobia of being lonely. Immediately I
felt it was going to be too lonely for just the two of us.
But I said nothing and walked behind Manel wherever she moved. My
good friend Sumanapala must have felt that I was ill and not the usual
joyous person. He spent some time with us and left saying that he would
bring lunch for us.
The caretaker was a nice old man - a rather quiet person. I really
did not know what was wrong with me. All I knew was that I was scared of
being alone and the Bandarawela climate added to my feeling of cold.
Fortunately it was not raining.
Still both of us wore woolen sweaters. In the dip of that hill, the
cold could have been sharper. Sumane came with his wife, Seetha. They
had brought lunch for all of us. Both of them suggested that we come
over to their place and that we would be less lonely there.
They had a new born baby girl too. I liked the idea and Manel too
agreed. I am sure she too felt the loneliness a little too much. So that
evening itself we shifted to Sumane’s home.
Insurance agent
Sumane was a popular man in Bandarawela and being the insurance agent
there, he knew many people. He was what we pithily call a ‘kana-bona’
man. His friends dropped in the evening or else we were invited to one
of their homes.
That was pleasant and I am sure the Bandarawela climate helped too,
when the evening got ‘warmer’ with the old stuff. I must say I followed
the doctors’ instructions as far as possible although not entirely.
I have a feeling that Sumane went out of his way to invite friends
etc. hoping to take the blues away from me in that manner. It did help,
but only for a while. Soon you get tired of that kind of thing too. One
begins to feel that all the concern and attention is ‘staged’ liberally
helped by the stuff that is supposed to cheer!
We were glad to be back home after about a week. I felt that there
was no place like home. I had got rid of the ‘cold’ and the lonesomeness
to a certain extent. But something was still bothering me. I was still
feeling disinterested in most of the things. True, we had shows to
perform and various other duties. But they no longer brought me much
pleasure. I was in a vortex of dejection.
One day, my good friend Edwin Hewakapuge visited us. He was the elder
brother of Somapala Hewakapuge of whom I wrote about last week. Edwin
was a very practical man and also a smart son of the soil.
“These ‘western concoctions’ and their philosophy are not going to
cure my friend. Manel, with YOUR permission I am going to take him to my
village, to Nawimana at Matara and give him the ‘oriental’ treatment.
Don’t worry. You take a rest yourself. I will take my friend home, cure
him of all the evil mouth and eye and bring him back in one week!”, said
Edwin.
So Edwin and I took a train to Matara and he took me to his
brother-in-law, Mr. Yapa Abeywardena’s place at Meddawatta - the very
home where we had had so much fun during our Theatre Festival last year.
The very first question that Mr. Abeywardena asked me after being
welcomed to his home was “Mr. Henry, what has happened to your smile ?
Why is your brow so knitted up?” Then only I remembered to smile.
Theatre activities
We spent a quiet evening chatting about various things that night.
Mr. Abeywardene lightly enquired about my theatre activities in Colombo.
Edwin must have told his brother-in-law about my predicament. “Isn’t it
time you became a father Henry Mahattaya.
That should cure all your ills!” Declared the jovial man. “We ARE
working towards that end!” I told him unashamedly and we all laughed.
“There you are! That’s the way you should be! It is only now you treated
us with a proper laugh ever since you arrived here!”, said Mr.
Abeywardena.
The next day there were preparations for what the Southerners call
Aththa Kaha Methireema - in other words a lime cutting ceremony or Dehi
Kepilla. I languished the whole day while Edwin, Mr. Abeywardena and his
very efficient wife made all the preparations for the ceremony in a part
of the house downstairs.
In the evening, after an early dinner, I was taken to the place. I
was clad in a white sarong and a white shirt. A couple of mattresses had
been laid down on the floor covered with spotless white sheets.
My hosts had got down a well-known Vedaduru [healer] for the
performance of the Dehi Kepilla. I was laid down on the special bed and
asked just to lie still. I looked around to see that the ‘Vedaduru’ had
gathered all kinds of healing material around him.
There were limes, joss sticks, kattakumanjal, saffron water, camphor,
multi coloured flowers and a whole lot of other paraphernalia, including
a freshly cut sprig of mango. It was so fresh I could feel its soothing
smell in my nostrils.
This Veda Mahattaya was not the sage looking, wise looking man, that
had come to my home at Dehiwala to cure Manel of the evil eye and the
evil mouth, five or six years ago. This man was a much more down to
earth, a sort of jolly bird of the soil.
He was much younger, jovial. He was in a white sarong and a white
kameez. Of course he had the inevitable little ‘konde’ tied up at the
back of his head. “Deng ape atura mahattaya keama kaalane ?” [now, our
patient is after dinner, yes?] I said that I had my dinner early.. “You
have not partaken of anything else, no?” He asked with a bit of a crafty
smile. “Not today, Veda Mahattaya.
” I told him the truth. “You can break rest a little bit ?” “Why not
? We are theatre people and we are used to it!” “Why, sir, I have seen
almost all your plays at Rahula Vidyalaya. And I have seen you as our
Piyal Mahattaya in Gamperaliya. He was a talkative chap. “Sir, if you
had done a ‘Dehi Kepilla’, before you got married to Nandawathie Lamaya
[from Gamperaliya] You would not have had all those problems!”
My friend Edwin and Mr. Abywardena were seated near me enjoying the
Veda Mahattaya’s banter. They looked extremely relaxed which was a cue
for me too.
Stoic will
The Veda Mahattaya started by singing some long ‘stotra’
[incantations], while raising screens of smoke from the dummala and
kattakumanjal and also shaking the twig of mango over my body. My head
was in a raised position with two pillows under and I watched the Veda
Mahattaya’s movements. It occurred to me as a strange thing.
I had never seen this man. Neither had he seen or met me. I have
never helped him. Yet this unknown man is taking so much trouble over
me. It is true he will get some Guru Panduru [healer fee] from either
Edwin or from Mr. Abeywardena tomorrow morning.. But his dedication, his
stoic will to cure the patient, and the skills he employs in doing so
cannot be repaid with money.
When we go to a doctor, he prescribes medicine for you. Those
medicines were not made by the doctor, neither were they prepared by
him. He does not administer them for you. The doctor passes on his
knowledge to us, in a scrap of paper.
We go to some pharmacy or a chemist and buy them. How different from
that is this man’s turn of duty? He IS the healer. He IS the
administrator. The healing process is spread all over his brain, his
sinews and his nerves. It is a combination of will, determination and a
kind of expertise. There is something like a ‘miracle’ here.
‘Dummala’ is not a medicine. Neither is ‘kattakumanjal. When we use
the juice of a lime in a curry, there is no miracle there. Saffron and
camphor are no medicines. And a twig of mango is no magic wand. But this
man, out of his heart and soul casts a spell born out of his conviction
on these ingredients and directs it towards the patient.
A man devotes a whole night, and sometimes much more to bring relief
to an unknown person. His whole being is concentrated on that relief.
I must have dozed off half way through. When I became fully awake in
the morning, the Veda Mahattaya was gone. Edwin sat near me, smiling. He
did not even ask me if I was well.
He must have SEEN that I was completely cured.
Thought of the week
Talking of this kind of ritual, I have a feeling that they are things
of the past. Even now, people DO indulge in ‘Dehi Keplili’ and other
ritualistic practices hoping to cure the inimical effects of Es Vaha and
Kata Vaha and the debilitating effects of bad planetary influences.
But somehow, ‘commercialism’ has now crept into these rituals too. In
the good old days, as I have pointed out in my main article, the healer
GAVE ALL HE HAD AND KNEW, to the patient. There indeed WAS a kind of
MAGIC SPELL in the elaborately prepared, but simple proceedings.
In the present day the HEART has gone out of the proceedings. The
ritual itself has become more a ‘performance’ than anything else. I
wonder if they obtain the same amount of CURE, as Manel and I
experienced personally. Today even Mantara Gurukam are advertised in the
newspapers and even over TV. The secrecy and the magic are gone.
People in distress will try anything - most of the time. When illness
or misfortune hits you all the cynicism and sarcasm will take a back
seat.
I should know because I have experienced the phenomenon. I do wish
there are still ‘healers’ of the kind that Manel and I experienced
nearly half a century ago.
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