By Douglas B. Ranasinghe

excerpted from from the authorized biography of Thilo Hoffmann

Soon after their marriage, Thilo and Mae began to make extensive journeys through the country, during weekends and holidays. Once, on one of their first, they found themselves at Arugam Bay late in the afternoon. The old resthouse on the dunes consisted of a small trellised veranda, a dining room beyond that, two bedrooms, kitchen and staff quarters. It was already occupied. However, the resthouse keeper and the occupants graciously allowed the Hoffmanns to put up for the night on the veranda.

Before dusk, they went for a drive towards Komari. On their return, a fine male leopard crossed the road just ahead of the car. It was Mae’s first. Back at the resthouse, lit by cosy kerosene lamps, she recounted the episode to their new acquaintances, who were four Sri Lankan hunters, probably planters as Thilo now surmises. After she had finished, one of them in turn, told of an experience with a leopard. During this lengthy and enthusiastic account Thilo absent-mindedly asked – so his wife used to recall – three times: “Was it a bear?”

After the third time Mae lost her temper and upbraided him severely. Since that time, throughout their lives, whenever his attention began to wane she would say: “Was it a bear?”

In their younger years Mae used to join Thilo in almost all his travels in the island. He recalls:

“She had great endurance and stamina. Despite her rather fragile physique she would outwalk me. Together we faced many hardships without any complaints from her, such as tick bites galore, and leeches in wet areas and remote jungle tanks.

He continues:

“Three times I came down with malaria and once with a nasty hepatitis attack. During a memorable three-day walk along the Kala Oya I became infected with amoebiasis, which months later confined me to hospital for one month whilst undergoing emetine treatment. With my friend Marcel Roth (who was then chef at the GFH) I did the 25 mile trek along the left bank through thick riverine jungle, never stepping on the other side of the river which was the Wilpattu National Park.

“We slept on sandy patches, one night in close proximity to a herd of elephants whom we heard throughout. The two of us scrupulously boils the water we drank except once when thirst overpowered our good sense. That is how we contracted amoebiasis. Marcel, as a result, nearly died of a cyst in the liver some time later. We found my Land Rover in an open field about two miles east of Elavankulam, where my appu Velu had it left three days earlier. This was well before the large Rajanganaya reservoir was built further up-river (or the ill-conceived Inginimitiya tank, both areas then teeming with elephants).”

Mae was not only the accountant in the family (see Chapter I) but also the photographer and movie-maker. In 1951 Thilo’s parents, on their first visit to the couple, brought them an American-made Bell and Howell movie camera as a present. Mae and Thilo’s involvement in photography is described in the next Chapter. In 1967, for his 45th birthday, she gave him a fine pair of binoculars, which she could barely afford. It thereafter accompanied him wherever he went.

Dr and Mrs Hoffmann on that visit together with their son and daughter-in-law visited the ruined cities, Kandy and Horton Plains, which was then accessible by car only via Diyagama East Estate off Agarapatana. Over the years both Thilo’s and Mae’s parents visited Ceylon, later Sri Lanka, several times.

So did their brothers and sisters and, later, nephews. They all got to know the island quite well and appreciate its attractions.Memorable incidents were many across the years. A few of these to do with nature and travel are found across this book; two others ‘off beat’ are recounted here.

One day at Kinellan Estate, Ella the Hoffmanns Jr. and Sr. were sitting down to lunch with the Superintendent and his wife in the open veranda. From the ceiling fell a thin stream of liquid on to the plate before Thilo’s father. The food on the table was ruined. The culprit was one of a family of ‘polecats’ (Indian palm civets) which had their home in the roof!

In another of Thilo’s stories, the local fauna again turned on them:

“We were on our way to Arugam Bay where in the dunes the Boyd-Mosses had a romantic abode made mostly of remnants from a demolished tea factory. At that time Durban Boyd-Moss was the superintendent of Baurs’ Chelsea Estate.

“While driving past Tirukkovil my wife spotted a bull being tormented by two men who threw chunks of road ‘metal’ (stone) at it from a heap on the roadside. The bull’s head was tied down to one of its front legs and it was lying on the ground.

“As I was supposed to do something about this, I got down from the car, shouted at the miscreants, took an open pocket-knife to cut the rope, and slowly approached the lying bull from front, making appropriate calming noises. When I touched its head the bull jumped up and charged into my lower legs. I flew up in the air and somersaulted, still holding the open knife. On coming down I lost for a moment all sense of orientation. Then I ran blindly right into a deep wide drain. Here I lay with the bull butting me continuously.

“My brother, a strong man, eventually managed to pull it off me by its loose tethering rope. It then went for the other two men. They ran across the dry paddy fields, leaping over the bunds like in a steeplechase. It was first shock, then great fun for all, except for the bruises and bleeding abrasions, and my brother’s rope burns on legs and arms which became infected and took a long time to heal.”

Milo and Mae travelled for a variety of interests. There was a total eclipse of the sun in June 1955. He took a half-day’s leave and drove with her to Tabbowa.

They waited on the bund of the tank. Around noon, as ‘night’ fell rapidly the singing of birds and the chirping of cicadas ceased. Mimosa plants folded up their leaves, birds were roosting, total silence reigned and the air became chilly. The sun had disappeared behind the moon which was outlined by faint light around its edges. The wonder did not last long, ‘dawn’ broke quickly, and soon the world around was normal again.

A similar, later incident illustrates the conditions in those decades:

“One memorable night, in March 1978, on the southern shore of the Jaffna Lagoon we witnessed the total eclipse of the full moon lying on our camp beds. As we had been en route for some days, we were unaware of the event, and wondered whether we had had one too many!

“This casual and easy way of passing a night outdoors was then possible as there were fewer people, less violence and more jungles. I never experienced the slightest apprehension of danger, be it from humans, or wild animals. I never carried a weapon on these occasions (even in the days when this was permitted). The attitude of the people, especially of the rural population, towards foreigners was then generally friendly and trusting.

“In our travels through the island, we often used to camp overnight at any suitable spot along the route, selected at random. We did not use tents, but just unfolded camp beds, made a fire for cooking and slept under the open sky — all in the dry zone where the weather is predictable. Rivers and tanks offered fine opportunities for bathing and washing. When we stayed longer in one place we used a heavy tarpaulin from one of Baurs’ open lorries. It was stretched over a rope strung between two trees. At one end it reached the ground and, with a trench dug there, gave excellent spacious shelter even in bad weather.

“Places where I remember camping are Kokkilai, Kuchchaveli, the Parangi Aru, the Modaragam Aru, Mail Villu (then in Wilpattu West Sanctuary), Kala Oya, along the road from Puttalam to Anuradhapura (then all in jungle), on the Kumbukkan Oya, Potana, off Galge, at Mullegama, Maha Oya, Inginiyagala and Koddiyar Bay.”

In the earlier decades of the twentieth century, John Still described the northern dry-zone jungles as “the great plains that are now so empty of men”. This is how Thilo first saw them. When he arrived in Ceylon the island had just over six million inhabitants; today there are more than three times that.

For half a century Thilo and Mae, and after her death then he, would continue travelling and exploring all parts of the island, unique in character and variety, including unspoilt and beautiful areas unknown to most Sri Lankans then and now. The knowledge and experience he gained of the country in this way would form the basis for his work in conservation.

Kataratgama

Thilo records his memories of a famous place, and his thoughts on its transformation:

“I remember vividly an early occasion when my wife and I decided to visit Kataragama for the first time, to watch the annual fire-walking ceremony. This was in 1949, when the event fell on a weekend. I took half-a-day’s leave, as we worked on Saturdays.

“We drove in our open MG to Tissamaharama, where we arrived shortly after noon. From there we walked because during the festival season vehicles were prohibited on the dirt track which led to the holy shrine in the jungle. This kept away idle thrill-seekers, as only genuine pilgrims and serious observers like us undertook the tough 17 km long walk in great heat.

“Only some years later was a jeep track provided via Yodawewa and Katagamuwa, opening the floodgates to sightseers. Today there is a motorable highway. Kataragama has lost its mystic charm and changed beyond recognition. We reached our destination by early evening. Across the Menik Ganga was only a narrow hanging footbridge. There were no pilgrim rests or any other places at which to stay.

“Until late in the night we watched the fascinating scenes and events, moving amongst a multitude of mostly Hindu but also many Buddhist pilgrims. The scenes at the river, the peraheras with one elephant carrying a symbol of God Kataragama (Skanda) to the Valliamma Shrine and back, the devotees with small silver spears stuck through cheeks and tongue and on breast and arms, the kavadi bearers walking on sandals of nails, people rolling on the ground around the main temple, the pujas, the offerings of flowers and fruit, the frenzy and ecstasy in the smoke-filled dimly lit temple itself, with the deafening noise of drums, conch, flute and bells, the smells of burning joss-sticks, incense, camphor and coconut oil and of sweating humanity: these are indelible in my memory, as is the image of a man and a woman who frantically tried to place burning lumps of camphor on their tongues, picking them up with bare fingers from bowls filled with holy ash. All these acts are in fulfillment of vows in penance.

“We watched and moved amongst the crowds till about midnight, when we tried to get some rest at the foot of a large tree. We had brought with us neither food nor drink, and, of course, none were on sale.

The fire-walking was said to start at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning. Hours earlier the fire had been lit, so that when the time came there was a deep bed of red hot embers, left from burning entire logs. Soon people began to assemble around the fire in a wide circle sitting on the ground. We were assigned places right in front. The heat was great and several times we had to move backwards. Preparations continued for quite a while yet, including those of the fire-walking devotees who were kept in a separate abode nearby. My wife and I were the only white people present.

“By about 4 a.m. all was ready, and the first barefoot devotee walked across the bed of embers which was about 35 feet long and six feet wide. Attendants saw to it that all proceeded in an orderly fashion and that the embers were not unduly disturbed. One after another the walkers were sent through the embers, some marching slowly and deliberately, others in a hurry, nearly running, and some quite obviously in a trance. One stumbled and embers were sprayed in all directions. There were about 20 participants and if I remember correctly one or two were women. No burns were reported, and all went well. (Some years later a misguided Christian priest tried it and burned his feet badly.)

“When it was all over daylight began tentatively to break. Exhausted as we were, we began the return walk, another 17 km to Tissa, together with hundreds of pilgrims. I remember a Tamil man who walked ahead of us for some time with his little daughter of perhaps five or six years chanting a religious verse which ended with “Haro hara”, when the girl’s clear silvery voice chimed in. For us this was an enchanting episode.

“A beautiful but hot day was coming up as we trekked along the foot of Vedahitikanda hill. We were dead tired, and my wife almost had to drag me over the last kilometres to our car, which we had left near the Tissa resthouse. For an hour or two we slept in the car, and then I drove all the way back to Colombo. That night we slept like logs, a memorable experience behind us, one of so many similar ones in our long lives ahead.”

“Kataragama was then a truly sylvan shrine with only a few ancient temples and other buildings, a mosque, the Basnayaka’s and the GA’s residences and a row of seasonal shops (’boutiques’), all in a garden of trees. During most of the year the area was left in solitude for wildlife to roam – elephants, sambhur, spotted deer, leopard and bear.

“Today we have a modern ‘Holy City’ in its place with many unnecessary concrete ’embellishments’, lamp-posts, hotels, pilgrim rests, bridges and tarred roads. The avenue between the two main temples is fringed with exotic Tabebuia trees. The whole area now is a great commercial enterprise.

In later years we used to meet Swami Gowripala (Herr Schon-feldt) there and also Kalki Swami (Mike Wilson).”

Lost to modernity

Thilo continues:

“The Ven. Bhikkhu Sumedha, a long-time friend who had grown up in Switzerland, spent his early hermit years as a Buddhist monk at Situlpauwa and at the top of Vedahitikanda. He later obtained higher ordination, and died in Kandy in 2006. On his occasional visits to Colombo, dana was regularly offered at our house.

“Situlpauwa was then a jungle-covered site with only an occasional hermit monk in residence, and wildlife roaming freely through it. Today, as a result of restoration and development, the jungle has given way to concrete, electric lights, noise and commerce.”

During his time in Sri Lanka Thilo has been dismayed to witness such change, in diverse ways, at countless holy and historical places. He adds one example:

“We may perhaps record two different alterations at the famous Koneswaram Temple, on Swami Rock at Trincomalee. The entire temple has been ‘restored’ and renovated, covering under cement and plaster and layers of glossy new paint all traces of its ancient history.

“It is also the site of an act of vandalism. There on a stone pillar was an inscription in high relief recording the death of a young Dutch woman who in the 18th century threw herself over the precipice after watching her lover’s ship sail away. This was chiselled away in the 1980s, a testimony to the prevalent politico-religious chauvinism.

(To be continued)