Jumping Jehosaphat! It's a froggy jamboree

Gaston de Rosayro

I grew up on my grandfather's suburban estate. The unique home stood on high ground overlooking the placid Bolgoda Lake and the backdrop of the unmarred wilderness of the Moratuwa marshes. It was an impressive edifice architecturally unique and possessing exceptional charm, combining the colonial Victorian with the traditional Ceylonese style.

The location was unimaginably alluring. Its access road ran through a charming, rustic village comprising mostly wattle and daub homes with cadjan thatched roofs.

Those were happy, carefree times and for us the children it was decidedly a delightfully composed mini-universe. Many of us still recollect the wild greenery and the clear waterways and channels that surrounded the mangroves.

We would fish in the nearby waterways with rod and line, wicker-baskets and casting nets and come up with an abundant variety of fresh-water denizens. There were carps, cat-fish, prawns, mud crabs and water-snakes.

I personally extracted the serpents with care from the nets and placed them in a separate wicker basket for a serpentarium for which I was paid handsomely. I was not much good at mathematics, but boy, I could easily tot up my collection in my head as I carefully placed the snakes in separate containers. Okay let us say my day's snake collection comprised three Checkered Keelbacks and four Dog-faced water-snakes.

The former, a non-venomous variety was more docile when compared with the aggressive latter species which possess a mild venom which rarely affects humans. I would make a quick calculation on his snake hunting profits and sing out the answer composing an on-the-spot doggerel: "Seven times eight is 56." Indeed a princely sum for an eight-year-old.

Yes we did capture all kinds of creatures great and small, such as fireflies, iguanas, wild hare and mouse deer. We were offered 15 cents for a frog by a Colombo restaurateur whose menu included the delicacy of the little amphibians' legs. But then I endeavoured to capture every frog in sight to populate my own frog pond in our expansive 'meda midula.' Not for profit but to indulge in frog jumping competitions and to play practical jokes on my younger sister Ann and my cousins, Villie, Amber and Margo.

They were still ardent believers in fairly tales and I impressed upon them that I regularly rescued potential princes, in the form of Gorakana frogs who when kissed would be transformed to their right royal human forms. When I approached them with a big Mister Froggy who kept flicking his tongue out they would scream like banshees and run for their very lives.

For some strange reason little girls who do believe profoundly in fairy-tales appear to have a distinct aversion to kissing frogs so my quest was not without difficulty. As time went on they fell in love and married. I must say that they all picked princes of husbands, who for the record, are not frogs.

The granddaddy of all the frogs in that pond was a massive specimen I named Bullfrog Mayo. His consort was a far slimmer well-proportioned and sleek female named Lindy. Ah yes, we ran around barefoot. Although I am still fascinated by fireflies, snakes and frogs I now live in Colombo and mostly wear shoes and sandals. But when the pond became overpopulated I was constrained to take the restaurateur up on his offer, although 15 cents for a froggy was chicken feed when compared with eight solid bucks for a water-snake. So I sent word through an emissary to the restaurant owner that I would supply him with around 20 of the amphibians which he would have to pick up during the lunch break from my school.

So I rounded up some 20 of the jumping amphibians and packed them into a cardboard box. Slipping into the classroom early I hid them behind the stationery cupboard.

All went well until just before the lunch break when curious Karim, the class monitor, for some inexplicable reason poked his head around the cupboard and kicked the box.

That was the day our class had an in-depth encounter with an entire herd of springing, leaping, hip-hopping and jumping jamboree of frogs. Our lady class teacher went into a merciful faint. The vice principal peeping into the classroom could only spew out the oath: "Jumping Jehosaphat!."

It is not easy to describe the pandemonium that ensued. The class-room was dehumanised, totally demoralised as soon as the first frog jumped. In quick succession the escaped bunch appeared to be playing leapfrog with perverse abandon. They appeared to be going hippity- hop everywhere at once. There were frogs on the desks, on the teacher's table and on window ledges. One of the lads bellowed blue murder as a lively leaper landed on his head. As the villain of the piece it took me a little while to emerge as the fearless hero. I managed to retrieve the box and begin the roundup which wasn't easy even for a skilled hunter of my experience.

The problem is you can't look in the face of a frog and tell what he is thinking. Talk about free will, a frog jumps when he wants to, where he wants to, how far he wants to, and asks no questions! I had lost count of how many I had recaptured so I did not know if I had caught all of them.

Then suddenly I observed Bullfrog Mayo on the windowsill and as I approached he made a record leap through the window.

Later I took the box out on the pretext I was going to dump the frogs in a stream near the park opposite. The restaurant guy was outside and handed me the cash.

I was hailed as a hero but I was disappointed that I had lost my prized Mayo. But during the afternoon session I heard a throaty rasping near my hand. It was the elusive reptilian Mayo. I hurriedly pocketed him before anyone could observe me. Which led me to believe that old frogs never die, they just croak.

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