There
can be many roads to lead to a place in an island that is located at a
reasonable distance from the sea. A city as opposed to a village, as any
map would show, is reached from more than one direction, especially if
it is of commercial, political or historical importance and accessible
to on account of a geography unimpeded by rivers or mountains.
Anuradhapura, for example.
Highways have expanded the number of
options for someone traveling by car from any point in Colombo. One
could go to Kurunegala and from there take the Dambulla route or the
Ella route, i.e. via Wariyapola. There’s also the ‘via Puttalam’ option.
Some would go to Katunayake and then to Minuwangoda and bypass
Kurunegala by way of cutting from Narammala to Wariyapola.
I
didn’t miss any exit or make a wrong turn this time. I was traveling
with my friend Muditha Hettigama and his daughter and he said he had
heard of a beautiful route that went through a place called Hiripitiya. He
was planning to attend a pinkama somewhere close to Isurumuniya, I was
free, so we went without worrying too much about making time.
So,
we took the Yaggapitiya exit, turned left and then turned right towards
Hiripitiya. The plan was to get to Ehetuwewa where we had arranged to
pick up an old friend, Thilak, who would take a bus from Galgamuwa to
get there around our expected time of arrival.
The Kurunegala-Wariyapola-
There was
everything that one is likely to encounter on any of the more-traveled
roads to Anuradhapura. But one is always a first-time traveler each time
one moves, different according to road taken, company chosen, time of
day, urgency or otherwise of the journey and the weather.
The
vegetation was, not unexpectedly, lush. The hills were differently
shaped. Google navigator was a bit tentative. We reverted to the old
ways. Asked for directions.
There were a few people waiting for a
bus somewhere near Polpithigama. We needed to get to Ehetuwewa. We
found we were on the right road, but the direction-giver politely
requested a ride. ‘Puluwan nam…’ (‘if you can,’ but essentially ‘if you
don’t mind’). We didn’t. Another person came up, assuming he was also to
be given a ride. He was going only a short distance. There was enough
room in the vehicle.
The first was going to Katnoruwa. He
informed us that they might have had to wait a couple of hours for a
bus. So, general chit-chat following. We ask questions and we are asked
questions in return. He was going to see his sister and said that
there are buses from Ehetuwewa to Katnoruwa.
All I knew was that
Katnoruwa was somewhere close to Reswehera and that almost 40 years ago,
helping a friend administer a survey to collect data for his
undergraduate dissertation, I have listed a quaint rock temple. The
chief incumbent, a very old haamuduruwo, made an observation that
stayed: ‘there is no such thing as parisaraya (environment); what there
is is svabhaava dharmaya (‘natural order or principles’).’ But we weren’t going to Katnoruwa.
The
elderly and genial passenger we picked up was grateful when he got off
at Ehetuwewa. Thilak had already arrived. He became our google map.
‘We can go through my father’s village, Hiddewa.’
‘That will take us close to Divulgane?’ I asked. He said ‘yes.’
Drawing from a couple of visits to Resvehera, I asked if we would pass Katnoruwa. Again, a ‘yes.’
This
meant that we could offer an extended ride to the man we picked up in
Polpithigama. ‘But,’ I said, we have to make a short stop in Divulgane.
Forty
years ago, I met a young man called Yasaratne, then a teacher in
Katnoruwa. He had been a schoolmate of Thilak and ‘Senevi’ who had both
attended the Ehetuwewa Maha Vidyalaya and were my batchmates in
Peradeniya. Yase, as we called him, was a gentle man with a wry sense of
humour.
‘An old friend,’ I announced.
He didn’t recognise, so he asked, ‘Kawda?’
He
couldn’t recognise. He had lost his sight about twenty years ago and
was forced into early retirement. As has become customary, I mentioned
my name and those of my companions. A quick visit, it was. As customary
he offered tea, lunch and a couple of jak fruit. We had to decline.
And then we proceeded. Our friend got off at Katnoruwa: ‘bohoma pin.’ Merit was thus conferred and we left.
A couple of stops for tea and once for lunch meant it took us over six hours to get to Anuradhapura from Kottawa.
Roads
are defined by the landscapes that cut through. Journeys by choices
made along the way. Where to stop for tea or lunch, whether directions
were sought or not, people who may ask for and given a ride,
nostalgia-inspired decisions to stop and say hello and the readiness to
retire all clocks for all time.
It was a slow road to
Anuradhapura, highways notwithstanding. A slow road that ended at
Isurumuniya and Tisa Wewa where wind-hewn archaeologies and liquid
histories constituted a meditative end point. Slow enough for the world
to pause its immemorial rotation and duly inscribe bits and pieces of
the unforgettable. To be caressed with heart-fingers and re-read at
will.
