By the banks of the Mahaweli

Donald Nugawela

Shortly after the rains had stopped pounding the Mahaweli early January and the muddied waters had turned clear I walked along the Gannoruwa side of the great river. I was in search of the seventeenth century battle-field and to relive the fierce encounter between the Sinhalese army led by King Rajasinha II and the Portuguese in 1638 and where the Portuguese were simply decimated in a great guerilla style operation. It is now known to History as the Battle of Gannoruwa.

To this end I was accompanied by Dingiribanda, aka Bande and Bandaiya to lesser mortals. Bande was an ageless wonder and was Man Friday to a relative who loaned him for a few hours to show me around the nooks and crannies of Gannoruwa. Bande was best suited for this small expedition, being a sturdy son of the soil. Born and bred at Gannoruwa his entire world revolved by the banks of the Mahaweli. It was also his proud boast that his ancestors formed a part of the army which massacred the Portuguese. Folklore and family lore embellished with the passage of time by the few original families whose ancestors had fought for king and country in those ancient times were not many. I met a few of them and they were in a minority with settlers more in the majority, and with warring battles and history all buried under modern Gannoruwa.

Bande led me safely along the banks where the soil was yet soft and which squelched under foot following the recent rains. We came to a small bend and sat on two dry rocks overlooking the swiftly flowing waters. Across the river was the Peradeniya Botanical Gardens, looking neat and tidy and to the far right was the centuries old Peradeniya bridge which has withstood many a monsoonal storm. On the far background was the now elegant Gannoruwa highway and further away the old and familiar agricultural research stations that has been contributing so much towards the nations agricultural needs.

Seated on the rock with the sun on my back I watched Bande going through the motions of preparing his chew of betel. He took time over assembling the betel, areca, tobacco and lime, which to me seemed very elaborate. How many times had I seen our peasants putting together their chew which for me always seemed a near divine ritual practised by them. And so did Bande on this day as I sat patiently and in silence for the ritual to end. He folded the betel into a small packet and deposited it in his mouth and I strained my ears to hear the crunch of areca and for the grunts of delight as he ejected the inevitable red spittle with unerring aim at a chosen spot. He was ready to take me back and unfold the battle fought in the wild terrains of Gannoruwa several centuries ago. His account as told by his ancestors and passed down from generation to generations of true blue Gannoruwans is as follows.

When spies brought the frightening news that a large army headed by the Portuguese was converging on the Kandyan Kingdom there was near panic. King Rajasinha immediately gathered his army together but being short of manpower, Criers were sent out to all parts of the kingdom calling on the people to come forward in defence of their country. The response was magnificent. They came in their hundreds, from Thumpane, Harispattuwa, Dumbara, Yatinuwara and Udunuwara and they flocked to Senkadagala in defence of their king and country.

They had left behind their agricultural pursuits, their homesteads and loved ones to fight for their honour and for all that was dear to them.

They came armed with primitive weapons. Bows and arrows, swords, katties and sharpened staves. They massed on the banks of the Mahaweli and took up positions in the thick jungle, under large boulders, on trees and on every available space.

They waited patiently and in silence until the last enemy soldier had walked into the trap. The enemy was unaware that a large force had encircled them and that there was no escape for them. When the first long hoot pierced the thick jungle canopy they descended on the hapless Portuguese. The Portuguese did not fire their muskets and cannon in their defence as the surprise was complete. They were massacred to a man and those who tried to escape were pursued and killed with bare hands. Such was the intensity and fury of the Sinhalese soldiers.

Bande seemed animated when he concluded his grim account. He stood up eyes aflame and spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the entire modern Gannoruwa told me that the area was one large battlefield and that there were no graves to mark any burial spot and no enemy was ever buried in Gannowuwa.

Their graves was the Mahaweli which on that day was a river of blood and what mattered he said was that the over-confident Portuguese were taught a lasting lesson and they never did attempt to invade Senkadagala thereafter.

My urge to capture the past sated, I reflected that Age had left us two silent witnesses to that carnage. The jungle now reduced to a Reserve rich in Fauna and Flora and the banks of the Mahaweli soaked in blood and gore and where much of it had been carried away swiftly by the river on its long and lonely journey to the sea.