(Excerpted from Falling Leaves, an anthology of autobiographical tales by LC Arulpragasam)

Vedda Tales

Elephants (apart from sneaky bears!) were the main danger to the Veddas – since they would ravage and destroy their chenas. Their main fear was that they could be ambushed by elephants when in the ‘talawa’ or tall ‘savannah’ grasslands, interspersed only with small trees that offered no safety from elephants. The danger was even greater from a lone bull elephant, injured or ostracized from the herd, which could attack, even if unprovoked.

The first story is from an isolated chena in the jungle, where a lone Vedda from a flimsy platform built on a sturdy tree, tried to scare away a marauding elephant that was destroying his chena crop. Armed only with an old flint-gun with only one ball cartridge, the frightened Vedda discharged his only shot at the elephant. The latter, although severely wounded, charged repeatedly at the tree to which the Vedda hung for dear life. After several attempts to get at his tormentor, the wounded elephant, roaring with rage, retreated into the jungle. But an elephant never forgets! The next time that the hapless Vedda ventured into the jungle, the elephant was waiting for him. It blocked his path – and smashed him into smithereens!

Another story involves a famed elephant ‘charmer’, who was the leader of his clan at Danigala. Whenever a rogue elephant charged, he was reputed to stand his ground unflinchingly, shouting some chant that would cause the elephant to veer away, lumbering harmlessly past him! This always happened – until he committed a grievous sin. During the maha roghe’ of the 1930s (probably the devastating malaria epidemic of that time), his entire clan and family had been wiped out.

He was left alone in his lonely fastness of the Danigala rock with only his 14-year-old daughter. It is then that he committed the unpardonable sin of co-habiting with his own daughter – for which he paid the ultimate price. The very next time that he was confronted with a charging elephant, he put out his chest as was his wont, and unflinchingly shouted out his famous chant. But the elephant did not waver this time. It hurled him many yards away and proceeded to stamp repeatedly on his lifeless body. Thereby hangs a cautionary tale!

A different story illustrates the Veddas’ tenuous hold on life in their daily struggle with the elements. One night in Henebedde, at the height of the monsoon, a terrifying thunderstorm arose, filling the night with thunderous roar, venting winds and livid lightning, tearing down mighty trees and striking terror among the Veddas. Adding to the chaos, terrified animals were stampeding through the hamlet, including a herd of elephants that rampaged through their pathetic huts.

Unfortunately, a terrified baby elephant, having lost its mother in the storm had found its way into one of their huts. While the terrified occupants cowered in the corner, the baby elephant even more terrified, was trumpeting forlornly to its mother. The angry mother looking for its baby smashed the hut down, killing one of the cowering children. I experience the elemental fear of the Veddas even today, in their thoughts of that terrible night!

There is also the famous story of ‘Wallaha’ (the Bear), the famous head of the Henebedde clan, justly famed for his bravery. One day on a jungle trail, he was suddenly attacked by a bear – probably the most dangerous animal in those jungles. It follows the unsuspecting, attacking them when they are most vulnerable. Taken by surprise, ‘Wallaha’, not being able to use his bow and arrow, had to fight the bear with his bare hands.

The struggle lasted for more than two hours, in which the bear gouged out his eye and tore out his right arm. He did, however, manage to kill the bear with his bare hands – for which he was revered for generations with the name ‘Wallaha’ (the Bear). I showed a photograph of ‘Wallaha’ from Seligmann’s book to Kaira his son, now head of the Henebedda clan. Since he had never seen a photo before, he shouted: ‘Wallaha’ – and proceeded proudly to show it off to his entire clan!

The last story pertains to one that I myself had witnessed – in which I almost shared the Veddas’ superstitions of evil spells and spirits! A feud had erupted between the Henebedde clan and the adjoining one that lived across the rivulet that divided their hunting grounds. Things came to a head when the rival clan hired a ‘kattadiya’ (a dealer in evil spirits) from the South to cast a curse and ‘evil eye’ upon them. I remember even to this day (75 years later!), the night of throbbing, obsessive beat of drums, wafted by the winds across the river, sounding a seeming spell on the terrified Veddas cowering over their fires.

The once-familiar jungle now seemed to be closing in on them from all sides, fraught with their fancied fears of foreboding evil, their strangulated faces framed by their flickering fires – with me too succumbing to their fear of evil afoot! None of the families slept that night: neither did I – for the terrifying drums kept throbbing through the night. The next morning, drugged by deprived sleep, we staggered on our way to our next jungle destination. On the way, we heard loud singing and the sound of much laughter – partly to scare away wild animals. But we found that the jolly songs were emanating from the ‘evil’ kattadiya of the previous night! He was actually a very jolly fellow, whose infectious laughter provided us with companionable company. How easily the terrors of the previous night were dissipated and its expected evils extirpated!

My Personal Travails on the Trail

I need to list some of the hardships that I experienced on this trek, since it is germane to my story. First, we only ate the frugal food that the Veddas shared with us – for we had thrown away our supplies, which weighed a ton after a 12-15 mile walk every other day. Secondly, although we were supposed to boil our drinking water, we could not even find water to boil! In fact, we had to dig deep with our hands in dry riverbeds to collect even a few drops of dirty water.

No wonder, I developed severe dysentery! Moreover, I had to wear the same khaki shirt and trousers for three months in the jungle, able to wash them only when we found any rock pool or watering hole! Fourthly, by walking about 12-15 miles every other day, I was forced to cut big blisters on the soles of my feet every night with an un-boiled blade – only to walk the next morning on the newly-cut blisters! Meanwhile, I had developed severe dysentery (passing blood) by drinking dirty water, with accompanying back aches due to weakness. I had also grown a long beard – which I had not been able to shave for over three months!

Meanwhile, we discovered that we had walked off our maps of the Uva Province and were in fact going farther into the Eastern Province – which had not been our intention! I therefore decided to try to reach Inginiyagala (some 27 miles away) for medical treatment for my debilitating dysentery. But walking into Inginiyagala from the jungle in 1951, we found only massive jungle-clearing by massive machinery and a boom town straight out of the American Wild West – since the dam was under construction by American contractors. We could not even find a town centre or any professional – least of all, a doctor. Not having any money, I had to return to the jungle without treatment.

Our immediate concern, however, was that we had no food to eat, nor any place to sleep – nor any money, which was a necessity in this American boom town! Fortunately, our Vedda led us to a garbage dump where I greedily gobbled down food (we had not eaten all day) thrown away by labourers into the garbage bin; I knew only that my dysentery couldn’t get any worse!! However, I now faced the gruelling prospect of walking back about 90 miles to our original starting point, which was Bibile, in the Badulla District. I gritted my teeth and accomplished this task too, using my rifle as a haramitiya or old man’s stick!

But worse was still to come! I had left all my money with a school teacher in Bibile, since I had no use for it in the jungle. The teacher now apologized that he had spent (gambled) it all away; promising profusely to pay me back in instalments over the next two years! But I needed the money immediately to pay for medical treatment – and to catch a train back to Colombo for hospitalization! Desperate now, I used my last 12 cents to buy a bus ticket to Padiyatalawa (In hindsight, I realize my folly now: I was trying to work my way always towards Colombo, where I needed to get into the hospital).

I had no money – not even to eat. I somehow managed to reach an Apothecary’s clinic, somewhere in the jungle near Padiyatalawa. It was night time now –and the clinic was closed. When I shouted for help, a shuttered window slowly opened, and a double-barrel gun poked out – for it was a lonely place in the jungle. I shouted in English that I was a Lecturer in the University – to show that I was not a bandit! At last, however, Providence smiled upon me.

By an absolute and unbelievable stroke of luck, this Apothecary had worked under my father, a medical doctor, whom he greatly admired. He said that he had never worked under a better boss, nor ever met a more decent gentleman than my father! He welcomed me into his house. After giving me to eat (I had not eaten since morning), he attended to my medical needs. He even advanced me money for a 3^rd Class train ticket to Colombo – as a low-paid Apothecary, he could not afford more. Tears come to my eyes (even after 75 years!) as I write this: for the providence that led me by chance to this forsaken place, where only the merit of my father saved me. I had neither the physical strength nor the financial means to go any farther! This was the lowest and most helpless position that I had reached in my entire life!

However, even more bad news awaited me in Colombo! Whereas I had been promised a post in the Sociology Faculty of the University, I found that the Vice-Chancellor (Sir Ivor Jennings) had now decided not to advertise the post that year. I was thus forced to sit for the Civil Service Examination – which was only two to three months away. Being absolutely sick with dysentery, I was forced despairingly to cram around the clock to face that examination. It is with luck that I managed to pass first in the CCS exam. of that year (1951).

In the Jungles of Wellassa-Bintenne

In 1950/51, when I was still in the University, I undertook a sociological survey of the Veddas living in the jungles of Wellassa and Bintenne in the Badulla District, as part of my University studies in Sociology. Mr. Cuda Bibile, a University colleague, accompanied me. The only authoritative study of the Veddas at that time had been done by Dr. C. Seligmann, a German anthropologist in 1911. In the course of our survey, we covered on foot about 250 miles through savannah-type grasslands in Wellassa and through thick jungles in Bintenne, visiting places where only Seligman and Dr. R.L. Spittel had been before.

We set out with a survey map dating from the 1930s of the scattered Vedda settlements. But the Veddas were hunter-gatherers, and their ‘hamlets’ had migrated over time along with their chena (swidden) fields, which moved every two years. Only sometimes knowing where we were, we ultimately found that we had walked off our maps of Wellassa and Bintenne in the Uva Province to Inginiyagala in the Batticaloa district of the Eastern Province! We trekked over a period of three months during the hottest time of the year, June-August, in the dry zone.

I carried a rusty old rifle (abandoned by the British Army after World War II), which I bought for the equivalent of US $ 2 off the Pettah pavement. This was to serve as protection against wild animals, as well as for foraging for food. But we found that it was impractical to shoot any game for food, since we had to carry the animal for the next fifteen miles until we reached our next destination. We also jettisoned our supplies because they weighed a ton by the end of each long day of walking!

We went into the jungle with no money – because there was no use for cash (only barter) in the forest. Since we had nothing to barter, we lived entirely on the charity of the poor Vedda families that we encountered. We would get a Vedda from one hamlet to walk with us for the ten to fifteen miles a day to reach the next little hamlet. These were not even ‘hamlets’ in the true sense of the term, since they consisted of only five to seven pathetic huts made of tree bark and leaves which moved, following the Veddas’ chena (slash and burn) cycle. We would spend about two to three days in each settlement, learning about their way of life and listening to their ancestral stories before moving on to the next settlement. In this manner, we covered the Vedda settlements of Dambana, Danigala, Henebedde, Bingoda and Mullegama over a period of three months.

Elephants were always a problem, especially in the ‘savanna’ grasslands of Wellassa. Sometimes on our walk of 10-20 miles each day, we would encounter a herd of elephants, sometimes up to fifteen or more, right across our way. Since this was open grassland, interspersed only with small trees that could easily be knocked down by elephants, we could not afford to be seen or scented by them. Our Vedda ‘tracker’ would always position us down-wind from the elephants, so that they could not scent us. But this meant lying in the grass sometimes for two hours, baked by the merciless sun, hoping that the herd would move on. We were always apprehensive that we would be benighted in the jungle, unable to reach our next destination before nightfall.

Life Among the Veddas

The Veddas in Seligmann’s time (1911) lived almost entirely on hunting and gathering. They shot game with their bows and arrows, gathered honey from the caves and trees as well as herbs and roots from the forest. By 1950, part of their time was devoted to chena (swidden) cultivation, which involved about four months’ work in felling and burning the forest in the dry season; they sowed their grains (mostly maize and millet) and planted their manioc (cassava) with the first rains. They continued their hunting and gathering at the same time, which continued to define their way of life.

Most of the Vedda settlements consisted of only five to eight households, all of them closely related. The group in Henebedde lived in a small clearing in the jungle, bounded by a perennial stream. Their huts were small, measuring only about 9 x 9 feet, with sides of bark and roofs of leaves. They only had one opening for the entrance, but no door or windows. They shared this limited space with their family, their hearth and their hunting dogs. Since there was no room in Kaira, their leader’s hut, I was allowed to sleep halfway through the door, with the choice of having either my head or my protruding toes being chewed by pesky bears!

Although the Veddas had their own language, which was still in use in Seligmann’s time, it was hardly used at the time of our visit in 1950. Like all the clans living in the area, they spoke Sinhala as their main language, even at home among themselves. However, as we walked eastward into what we later found was Bintenne Pattu of the Batticaloa district, we found that Tamil replaced Sinhalese as the main medium of communication.

We set out with a survey map dating from the 1930s that was supposed to mark the scattered Vedda settlements. But the latter were not to be found where they were supposed to be. The Veddas were hunter-gatherers, who lived partly by chena (slash and burn) cultivation. Hence their ‘hamlets’ had migrated along with their chena fields. We ultimately found that we had walked off our maps of Wellassa and Bintenne Pattus in the Uva Province, finding ourselves at Inginiyagala in the Eastern Province! We must have covered around 250 miles on foot over a period of three months, during the hottest time of the year, July-August, in the dry zone.

I carried a rusty old 303 rifle, which I had bought for the equivalent of US $2 off the pavement from old army surplus, sold as junk after World War II. I found later that it was completely cock-eyed, hitting one coconut tree while I was aiming at another coconut tree! But I reckoned that I could shoot a charging elephant at close range! The rifle was supposed to serve as protection against wild animals and foraging for food.

But we found that we could not shoot any animal for food since we had to carry it for the 12-15 miles to reach our next destination. Since we were supposed to cook our own food, we set out with some rice and dhal and a pan for cooking. However, we jettisoned our supplies within three days because they weighed a ton by the end of each walking day! We were also supposed to boil our water before drinking; but we could not even find water to boil! Since we were at the height of the dry season in the dry zone, we had to dig two to three feet with our bare hands in dry river-beds in order to find even a bit of black-coloured water to drink. No wonder that I got severe dysentery!

We went into the jungle with no money since there was no use for cash, but only barter, in the forest. Hence we lived entirely on the charity of the poor Vedda families that we visited. We would eat only what the Veddas ate – which was a kurrakanthalape (boiled kurakkan ball with a green chillie on top). We would get a ‘tracker’ from one hamlet to walk with us for the 12-15 miles needed to reach the next little hamlet. These were not even hamlets in the true sense of the term, since they consisted of only five to seven pathetic huts made of tree bark and leaves. Thus, we covered the Vedda settlements of Dambana, Danigala, Henebedde, Bingoda and Mullegama, over a period of three months.

Elephants were always a problem, especially in the savanna-type grasslands of Wellassa. Sometimes on our walk of 12-15 miles each day to a different settlement, we would encounter a herd of elephants (sometimes up to fifteen or more) right across our way. Since this was open grassland, interspersed with small trees that could easily be knocked down by elephants, we could not afford to be seen or scented by them. Since their sense of smell is strong, our vedda ‘tracker’ would always position us down-wind from them. But this meant lying in the grass for two hours or more, baked by the merciless sun, hoping that the herd would move away. We were always apprehensive that we would be benighted in the jungle, leaving us a prey to wild animals.

The Veddas in Seligmann’s time lived almost entirely on hunting and gathering. They shot game with their bows and arrows, gathered honey from the caves and trees, as well as herbs and roots from the forest. By the time of our visit, however, part of their time was devoted to chena cultivation. This involved about three months’ work in felling and burning the forest in the dry season and sowing their grains (mostly maize and millet) and manioc (cassava) with the first rains. They of course continued their hunting and gathering, which still continued to define their way of life.

Most of the Vedda settlements consisted of only five to eight households, all of them closely related. Their huts were small, measuring only about nine by nine feet, with sides of bark and roofs of leaves or talawa/ grass. They only had one opening for the entrance, but no door or windows. They shared this limited space with their family, their hearth and their hunting dogs. In the course of these travels, we spent three days in the settlement of Henebedde.

The group at Henebedde lived in a small clearing in the jungle, bounded by a perennial stream, which provided their water supply. The ‘hamlet’ comprised only seven or eight families, with Kaira as their head. He gave me shelter at night in his own hut, made only of bark and leaves. Since his hut was crowded with his family and hunting dogs; this left me with the choice of leaving either my head or my toes outside the hut – to be possibly nibbled by bears at night! We ate only what the family ate, which was cassava or sometimes kurakkan talappe (moist balls of ground millets), eaten with only a green chillie.

While at Henebedde, I showed Kaira a picture from Seligmann’s book (published in 1911) of the Vedda chief at that time. Kaira, who probably had not seen a photo before, was astounded to see a picture of his own father, the chief at that time: ‘Wallaha’! he cried. His father was named ‘Wallaha’ (‘Bear’) because he had fought and killed a bear with his bare hands, despite the fact that the bear had gouged out his eye and torn out one arm. We depended on Kaira’s protection, food and hospitality for three days, before going on to other Vedda settlements.

Although the Veddas had their own language, which was still in use in Seligmann’s time, it was hardly used at the time of our visit in 1951. Like all the clans living in the area, they spoke Sinhala as their main language, even at home among themselves. However, as we walked eastward into what we later found was Bintenne Pattu of the Eastern Province, we found that Tamil replaced Sinhalese as the main medium of communication. Of course when the Veddas came into town for barter, they used their own language, partly to prevent others from understanding their conversation, but partly as a ‘show’ to get money from strangers who had never seen Veddas before!

(More on the Veddahs next week)