A Short Story

BY SIRI GALHENAGE

I sit at my desk by the window to study. The all-important Advanced Level Examination is fast approaching. I am troubled by mixed feelings of anxiety and sadness. Unable to focus my attention on the assigned homework, I gaze into the vast expanse of the valley below, and the dense forest that extends as far as the eye could see. The sun sank into the horizon leaving behind a sky that looks like a weepy red eye. Standing on a hillock, beyond the paddy field and the lake that feeds it, is the village temple with its Dagoba and the bell tower, emerging from the bush surrounding it. The echo of the temple bells is heard across the valley signalling the start of devotional offerings to the Bo-Tree by devotees.

It is a quiet evening. The chatter of children, who usually play under the Tamarind tree at the heart of the village, is not heard. The flocks of bats that fly in at dusk to rest in the trees around appear to have gone elsewhere.

My thoughts return to my early years. Mine was a carefree life bonded with nature. During weekends we roamed around the outskirts of the forest without fear. My sister and I woke up early morning to compete with each other to pick the cadju nuts discarded by bats after the succulent puhulang had been eaten by them. We enjoyed watching the brooks that rolled over rocks onto pearly sands before they entered the lake below.

We picked the lilies that grew on its fringes – re-living our nature poems we recited in class. At a distance, fenced by the tall trees beyond the brooks, we often witnessed herds of elephants parading down a passage to their feeding grounds in the valley. We climbed our favourite Kumbuk tree and sat on its branches to watch the elephants bathing and frolicking in the marshes far away.

I remember the day, about a year ago, when a group of haughty town folk arrived in our village accompanied by the local Member of Parliament who was not seen after election time. They conversed among themselves for nearly an hour, and the inquisitive villagers, including my father, converged towards them, but stayed at a distance. During their conversation, one of the visitors opened up a scroll which the others examined pointing to the area of forest beyond the brooks.

Not many weeks passed when our village was regularly visited by surveyors and their assistants. They seemed to have chosen a picturesque location overlooking the valley. Few weeks later the tree-loppers came in with their chain saws. Their roar resonated throughout the day with frequent thuds of falling trees. The massive tree trunks were laid to rest on heavy trucks and taken away along the village road making it muddy, causing much inconvenience to villagers on foot. They put up an electric fence bordering the forest to protect the premises from wild animals entering it and a guard post was built in the cleared area to keep away human intruders. A security officer was seen at night carrying a torch and a rifle.

A group of villagers visited the local government offices in town to inquire into the recent developments occuring in their neighbourhood without any consultation with the locals. They were told that the government was planning to embark on a project which will generate income to the village by providing employment to the local folk. The plan was to build a tourist hotel in the environs of the forest; a private company has offered to help. The villagers were divided in their opinion about the project. Some believed that it could alleviate poverty in the village.

Interrupting my thoughts, my mother comes in to place a kerosene lamp on my desk, saying that it is bad for the eyes to be studying in the dark. There is sadness written on her face. She returns to the kitchen where she gets ready to prepare our evening meal. My sister puts down the book she was reading to join my mother, and starts grating a coconut. They work quietly together.

Intrusive thoughts about that dreadful night, few weeks ago, rob me of my concentration. It sends a shudder through my spine. I felt frozen, unable to move, re-living the horror. I close my book and put aside my pen.

It was past 10 pm. on that night. After a hard day’s work in the paddy field, my father was resting in his armchair on the veranda of our thatched house. I had just completed my assignment and was ready for bed.

The village was gripped in darkness. There was incessant barking of dogs. Suddenly, a rumble; shatter of banana trees in the backyard; a thud and the collapse of walls, followed by screams; a couple of gunshots, and the rush rolled away into the valley. The dogs continued to bark.

The last I heard from my father was a firm, “stay inside”, and a groan. Fearing his safety, my mother and I rushed outside to find him under the rubble of the collapsed roof of the veranda. We yelled for help from our neighbours who were running around in thick darkness, flashing torches. They pulled my father out of the rubble and rushed him in a three-wheeler to a base hospital, several miles away. My mother accompanied him.

At the crack of dawn, the villagers were out examining the trail of destruction left by a herd of marauding elephants who invaded the village. They explored the damage caused to their mud brick dwellings and their crops. A crowd gathered around a bull elephant with gunshot wounds lying on the slopes, fighting for his life. Others rushed to my home, as the word got round about my father, murmured to each other, and anxiously awaited news from the hospital.

My mother returned home with the bad news we dreaded. Hugging me and my sister, she wept; those gathered, joined in. The future of my family was overturned overnight – hopes shattered, with the demise of the breadwinner of the family.

Hit with a sense of disbelief, my emotions were initially numbed. As reality set in, I was overcome by a deep sense of sadness. As days passed by, I was confronted with feelings of anger and guilt. Anger: directed at whom? I do not know. Guilt: within myself for not being able to save my father; how? I do not know.

My father’s funeral was held at the local cemetery amidst a large gathering of villagers. The workers, who cleared a section of the forest for the hotel project, provided a helping hand in setting up the funeral pier using left over logs from the clearing. The head priest of the village temple performed the last rites with his compassionate eyes cast upon my mother, sister and me, weeping in a huddle. The local Member of Parliament made a brief visit to offer his condolences. He arrived in his Defender jeep accompanied by security staff. He left hurriedly, having to attend to ‘urgent business’ regarding the upcoming general election. He approached me and my sister, kindly offering to help us in our future endeavours.

In keeping with Buddhist tradition, an alms-giving to the monks was held at my home, seven days after my father’s death. The sermon that followed, delivered by the head priest of the village temple, was inspiring, and made a lasting impression in me.

“We lost an iconic figure that epitomised our village – a hardworking paddy farmer”. He described my father as ‘a man of wisdom’, and underscored his dignity, his generosity of spirit, his ability to work harmoniously with the village folk, and his patronage to the village temple. The ageing head priest reminded those present of the old Sinhala adage that, ‘washed off the mud, our paddy farmer is fit for the throne’, which he said my father symbolised. Turning to my mother, he said that my father always worked hard for the betterment of his family, and that he had confided in him of his desire to see his children achieve academically.

The prelate then went on to address the general topic of ‘loss’. He said, “while we incorporate the positive aspects of the person we have lost, we need to work through our grief ‘letting go’ of our emotions attached to the lost person”. “It is the only way we could move forward”.

“Ancient wisdom”, he went on to say, “Teaches us about the unity and interconnectedness of the human body and spirit and the flora and fauna around us and the universe at large with its celestial bodies, such as the sun, the moon and the stars”. “We are all one”. “When one aspect of nature is destroyed, the other aspects come back with a vengeance, and many innocents may get hurt as a result. No fence can prevent it. Such is the unity and interconnectedness of nature. Life, in all forms is sacred, and should be protected. Modern man, driven by greed, is yet to understand this. What you have witnessed here is the destruction of a forest, a man, and a beast – all very sacred to us. Man needs to learn to live in harmony with nature”.

I got up from my seat to join my mother and sister in a shared meal and a shared grief, and a shared determination.

[sirigalhenage@gmail.com]